I'm a liar. And I can't stop thinking about boys.

and standing before me a bloodied bottle of Absolut in her hand, is Mrs. Allington, her pink jogging suit drenched, her chest heaving, her eyes filled with contempt as she stared down at Rachel's prone body. Mrs. Allington shakes her head. "I'm a size twelve," she says.

Escape from the realm of the dead is impossible. She's not dead. Not this time.

every seven miles, in America, there is at least one McDonald's. Not a hospital, mind you, or a police station, but a McDonald's, every seven miles. I mean, that's sort of scary, if you think about it.

You know what you sound like? A jealous girl friend. And how are things on Planet You Wish?

You didn't," John said, stepping from the shadows as he clapped for me, "even hit your head this time.

...men aren't in touch with their emotions, and don't share enough [?]