You...are...a...frige...with...wings...we...are...freaking...ballet...dancers!

Please, Sit Down," Sharon Said With Another Hair Toss. I Made A Mental Note To Practice Doing That In A Mirror The Next Time I Saw One. It Seemed A Useful Skill, Right Up There With Roundhouse Kicks.

Tears Were Dripping Onto My Dress, But I Wasn't Making Any Sound. There Was No Sound To Express Thid Kind Of Pain. I Didn't Want To Move, Didn't Want To Do Anything. Fang Was Not Waiting For Me Out In The Living Room. Tomorrow Morning, When I Woke Up, Fang Would Still Be Gone.

Not Saving You From This Storm, Mutant,” He Said. “saving You For Your Later Fate, We Are.” His Voice Was Weirdly Inflected And Metallic, Like An Automated Answering Machine. “oh, Good. Yoda Captured Us,” Fang Whispered.

Every Other Person In The World Would Have Looked At It And Thought, Max Would Hate This. It Was Girly. It Was Beautiful. It Wasn't Made Of Titanium And Black Leather With Spikes On It. But It Seemed Exactly Right, In A Weird, Heart-fluttery Kind Of Way. And I Really Loved It.

Sitting Tight? Holing Up? Waiting For Answers? Those Are Things I'm Not Good At. Planning A Massive Attack Against Mechanical Geeky-like Things When I Was Already Furious And Itching To Kill Something? Piece O'cake