And the truth was that most of Nash's friends weren't that bad. Their girlfriends were another story. Speaking of bloodthirsty hyenas...

I don't want to wear your dad's clothes. He hates me." "You'd rather wear mine?" Nash scowled.

If Eastlake High School were the universe, I would be one of the moons circling Planet Emma, constantly hidden by her shadow, and glad to be there. Nash Hudson would be one of the stars: too bright to look at, too hot to touch and at the center of his own solar system.

What took you so long?” Nash asked, as he slid into the passenger seat and pulled the door closed. “I stopped to donate all your underwear to the homeless. You’re gonna wanna take care of those tighty whities—they’re all you’ve got left.” He leaned against the door, either too tired or too drunk to sit up. “And to think, most people don’t understand your sense of humor.” “Fools, all of them.

"He's lying, Kay," Nash said, fists clenched at his sides. "Hellions can't lie, but we all know reapers can." "Careful, pot," Tod said. "Someone might notice your resemblance to the kettle."

But I'll be fine. I'll be with Tod. He's a good guy, you know." He just hides it under all the sarcasm and curls.

Not that I don't appreciate the rescue," Holt said. "But I'm forced to ask, in the interest of self-preservation ... exactly how well armed are you right now?