Max, you’re the last of the hybrids who still has…a soul.’ … ‘She doesn’t have soul,’ Gazzy scoffed. ‘Have you ever seen her dance?
Who, last time I’d checked, was still on our official archenemy list. (Yes, we have to keep a list. It’s kind of sad.)
You mean other than the wings? I once ate nine snicker bars in a row without barfing. It was a record.
And you’re blind?Uh-huh, Iggy said, trying to sound bored.Were you born that way?No.How did you become blind, uh, Jeff, is it?Yeah, Jeff. Well, I looked directly at the sun, you know, the way they always tell you not to. If only I had listened.
Max, if you survive your final test, can you steal me one of those magic outfits for me? I’ll try to get one for each of us. Hey! ‘If’?
I want to do it too! (sitting motionless)Nudge: Nope, you stand out like a fart in a church.Max: (muttering) Appropriately enough.Iggy: What about me? (stands still)Max: No, you’re visible.Iggy: Am not!Max: (throws a pinecone at him) Could I do that if I wouldn’t see you?
Now, Max, I think we both know your parents aren’t missionaries.I opened my eyes wide. No? Well, for God’s sake, don’t tell them. They’d be crushed. Thinking they’re doing the Lord’s work and all.
They turned to Angel. We will call you Little One, the leader said, obviously deciding to dispense with the whole confusing name thing.Okay, said Angel agreeably. I’ll call you Guy in a White Lab Coat. He frowned.That can be his Indian name, I suggested.
Basically, I have two speeds…. Hostile or smart-aleck. Your choice.
The funny thing about facing imminent death is that it really snaps everything else into perspective.
Man, you weigh a freaking ton, he told me. What’ve you been eating, rocks? Why, is your head missing some? I croaked. His mouth almost quirked in a smile, and that’s when I knew how upset he’d been
Yes, Max, you are going to die. Just like everybody else.Thank you, Confucious.
Just because life is hard, and always ends in a bad way, doesn’t mean that all stories have to, even if that’s what they tell us in school and in the New York Times Review. In fact, it’s a good thing that stories are as different as we are, one from another.
A friend of mine once defined love as finding someone you can talk to late into the night
James Patterson