Hasn’t anyone ever told you,” Jesse asked, in a semi-amused voice, “ that a gentleman never lays a hand on a lady?” Which I thought was kind of funny, considering where Jesse had had his hand the last time I’d seen him. But I thought it better to let that slide.

I might look like a honey-eyed schoolgirl on the outside, in my skirt with its regulation four-inches-above-the-knee hem. But I'll rip those tassels off your shoes, old man. Just try Googling me.

Whatever. Boris, must you constantly breathe on me?

I realized that life is so short: Why waste one minute of it worrying what other people think or say about you, or what score you got on some test? Why not believe what you want to believe, and do what you love?

My mother's psychologist says I have an overactive anger switch, but people just keep pissing me off.

Someone, I was beginning to suspect, had a bit of a gangster complex. It wasn't really very hard to figure out who. I mean, I was guessing it wasn't Christopher's aunt Jackie.

Chaz looks me dead in the eye and says, 'Why yes, Lizzie. I’m manically depressed because the girl I’ve finally realized I’ve always been in love with, and who I was beginning to think just might love me back, turned around and got herself engaged to my best friend, who, frankly, doesn’t deserve her. Does that answer your question?