Because whipping an atlas at Jackson's head while he was flirt-touching that Frankie girl in geography would have been very satisfying. And beating him with the Eiffel Tower snowglobe while he kissed Cleo in French would have been tres cathartic. But she hadn't. Instead she'd been egg-like: a hard shell on the outside, and a runny mess on the inside.

Claire, did I invite you to my BBQ?" "No." "Then why are you up in my grill?

Loser loser, double loser, whatever, as if, get the picture. DUH!

I completely remember the horror I felt when my pits started getting hairy. I would walk with my arms pressed against my sides.

Wearing nothing but sweats and a sheer coat of lip gloss, she wiggle through her frosted window and jumped six feet to freedom, feeling more charged than a Visa card at Christmas time.

Uh, I thought DVDs werne't allowed at my sleepovers. They're not. Then why am i watching the Lady and the Tramp?

Do I look like a Jonas Brother? Then why is everyone waiting for me to lose it?