“Plus her mom was so awesome. She was strict about some things—don’t leave your socks lying around—but so not strict about other things, like calling the cops about my bullet wound.”

“I want to know about my mom. And other stuff. I want to know the whole story, good or bad.”“Me, too,” said Gazzy. “I want to find my parents so I can tell’m what total scuzzes they are. Like, ‘Hi, mom and dad, you’re such scum!”

“You know, I guess I just don't like to talk a lot about sad things. Now you know my flaw. What good does it do to talk about sad things in the past?”

“Was this normalcy-predictable patterns, the certainty of doing the same thing everyday? Because if so, normalcy was about to make me freak out and start screaming.”

“You know how some kids get excited about the first day of school and have an outfit all picked out and a new lunch box and stuff? Well, they're bleeping idiots.Can we play hooky?" Iggy muttered as he scrambled eggs.Somehow I suspect they're picky about that," I said, dropping more bread into the toaster. "I bet they'd call Anne."I look like prep school Barbie," Nudge complained, as she entered the kitchen. She caught sight of me in my uniform and looked mollified. "Actually, you look like prep school Barbie. I'm just Barbie's friend."I narrowed my eyes at her.”

“You see, one of the best things about reading is that you'll always have something to think about when you're not reading.”

“So, Angel?" I said, looking over at her. She was gliding through the night, her eight-foot wings looking like a dove's. "Have you picked up anything from Anne, about anything? Anything off?"Not really." Angel thought. "From what I can tell, she does work for the FBI. She does care about us and wants us to be happy. She thinks the boys are slobs. I'm blind," Iggy said irritably. "How am I supposed to make everything all tidy?"Yeah, because you're so handicapped," I said sarcastically. "Like- you can't build bombs or cook or win at Monopoly. You can't tell us apart by the feel of our skin or feathers.”