“Why would Dad call you? I mean, you have to admit that he would have been better off calling the local prison and asking them to send out one of the convicted killers to come find me. - Shella”

“Been lickin’ peanut-butter spoons? Maybe I should call you butterfingers. It has a better ring than Hella Shella. - Tran'Answer my question, Tran. Right now. Or I show you just what these fingers'--I wiggled my fingers under his nose-- 'can really do.' I took a step closer, erasing the distance between us. 'And let me tell you, emo boy, you are not going to like it. Let’s just say, that peanut butter I ate, freshly made.' I licked my lips with care. 'I’m actually quite skilled when it comes to crushing nuts.' - Shella”

“I’m sure all of that’s true. Especially the anal bit--Marshall’s always been an ass--but I don’t see how this is relevant, unless of course I’m mistaken, and you really are comparing me to a crumb that needs sweeping. - Shella”

“So what did you do, drug me, stuff me in the trunk, then dump me like a sacrificial offering into that vampire’s coffin? - Shella”

“Just shut up and talk. - Shella”

“So where did you get your information? Werewolves for Dummies? No, wait, you watched Underworld? Or maybe you were raised by wolves? Stop mewhen I’m warm.” - Shella”

“God, why do I bother trying to help you? It’s not like you appreciate it. It’s not like the word ‘thanks’ is in your vocabulary. It’s like you’re not capable of being nice to someone you decided to despise when you were six-years-old. Sure, about twelve years have passed, but what’s time compared to your rock-headed mind? - Tran”