“Crap. No one's ever called me dorkina before. Derivative of dork. Not good.”

“I'm tired of this 'we better lay low, or someone will figure out we're different' crap. I mean, it's not like if I win a match people are going to say, who's that kid, he's a really good wrestler, he must be an angel.”

“We could go back to the way things were before, him accusing me of stuff and me pretending like I don’t have a clue what he’s talking about.Right.I’m not that good a liar, even when I’m lying to myself.”

“I won’t be that girl who lets the guy treat her like crap and still fawns all over him.”

“Angela says that angel-bloods are supposed to be immune to cold. It helps with the flying at high altitudes, I guess." I shiver again. "I must not have gotten the memo." He smiles. "Maybe that power only applies to mature angel-bloods." "Hey, are you calling me immature?" "Oh no," he says, his smile blossoming into a full-blown grin. "I wouldn't dare." "Good. Because I'm not the one peeping into someone else's window.”

“You and I have a connection that nothing, not on heaven or earth, or even hell, could ever break. If you want to talk to me, talk to me. I’ll hear you…”

“One minute you’re a happy fourteen-yearold—good at everything you try, popular, fun—the next you’re a freak with wings”