I was in love with Scott Bennett. That I had been in love with him my whole life, practically.

I snatched the paper away from Dopey. "Hey," he yelled. "I was reading that!" "Let somebody who can pronounce all the big words have a try," I said.

You'll blow up a helicopter, but you won't go out with me? What is wrong with you?

It’s my own fault, really. For believing in fairy tales. Not that I ever mistook them for actual historical fact, or anything. But I did grow up believing that for every girl, there’s a prince out there somewhere. All she has to do is find him. Then it’s on with the happily ever after. So you can only imagine what happened when I found out. That my prince really IS one. A prince. No, I really mean it. He’s an actual PRINCE.

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

Did you see him? I know the photo was grainy, but he looks like one of those death metal goth heads, or whatever they’re called. All dressed in black with long hair I took umbrage at my mother describing my boyfriend this way. John was the Lord of the Underworld. How else was he supposed to dress?

Mr. Greer timed all our speeches with an oven timer. Things were nothing at Tribeca Alternative, considered one of Manhattan's finest prep schools, if not high tech.