Rusty Fischer

“Some sample lyrics I think I catch: "My engine races up to seventh gear; wrap your legs around my engine, dear . . . . The tunnel's dark, but the ground is wet; I lubricate it with my dripping sweat!"Or, something vaguely disturbing and gross like that; it's hard to tell with the wailing guitars and the front man screaming through his ravaged vocal chords.”

“If I've got a Dad, and his name is Wormwood Rot, and he's in some heavy metal rock band called Grave Dirt . . . then I'm definitely meeting him!She stares at me awkwardly, and I'm about to ask again—maybe even insist—when she says, "Honey, why do you think he's on the news? Wormwood, I mean . . . your father? Becca, he's . . . dead.”

“He's reading a book called Great Warlocks of the 18th Century, and to get this ball rolling before Dean Devlin shows up and rains on our private parade, I snort and ask, "Good book?"I forget I'm pretending to be sitting behind my two-thousand-ninety-eight-page Highlights of Modern Chemistry book, so he snorts back. "Better than yours.”

“Just try it,” he murmurs, reaching over to cover my hand gently.And I think, Whoa, that’s never happened before!Then: Is he just doing that because he thinks Wyatt is interested?And, finally, this: Who the hell cares?!”

“So why are you so mad at me for kissing you?”“Because you took too long. If you'd done that, say, three years ago, we wouldn't have only had one kiss before we both get horribly mutilated.”

“If you had watched any of those three wonderful films, you would have caught Vampire Gym Teacher # 2: Back to Cruel, where the vampire hunter ties a vampire chick to the shower and tortures her by turning on the water. They can‟t stand water, even if it‟s not holy water.”

“Why don't you check out those teenagers in the middle row? They've been going at it like dogs in heat ever since the previews. They're probably both werewolves. And even if they aren't, you should throw them out on principle alone.”

“I look at her and ask, flat out, "What's up?" Girl talk, of course, for, Back off my man, biotch.”

“What is this?" I ask, trying to sound brave and flip, and I'm sure, merely coming off as too loud and annoying. "Strip grocery shopping? If it is, I have to tell you I've got on 16 pairs of underwear, so you're going to lose big-time--”

“The website didn't say how much brains--or even how many--I should eat, only that I should eat them in 48 hours OR ELSE. Why doesn't anyone pay attention to details anymore? Would it be so hard to add a simple line like, BTW, Maddy, 3 pounds of brains per week is plenty?Seriously, am I the first new zombie ever to ask?”

“You know, surprisingly, they don't sell a lot of brains in the local 24-hour grocery store around the corner from my house.”

“Stamp: "Fine Maddy, Whatever. Take your little punk loser to the dance. I don't need you, Maddy. I can ask two dozen, three dozen chicks right now to go with me." Maddy: "Well then," I guess you better start stocking up on corsages.”