“Jael returned the lazy smile. "You're not my type.""Well, you're not anybody's type," said Hazael. "No, wait. I take it back. My sword says she'd like to know you better.”

“Even though you're not my type, gender wise, you're certainly my type, person-wise.”

“Don't even think about it, Travis. She's like my sister," America warned."Baby," Shepley said, "you just told him no. He's never gonna stop, now.""You're not her type," she hedged. Travis feigned offense. "I'm everyone's type!"I peeked over at him and smiled. "Ah! A smile. I'm not a rotten bastard after all.”

“You're not my type for long-term imprisonment.”

“Oh my God, I can totally see it," says Britt. She scrunches her face into a frown and glares at herself in the mirror. "Jael ... ," she says, in a pretty good imitation of Jael's father's flat, gruff voice. "Jael, money is tight. Do you really need these things?""No, you're right, Dad," says Jael in a chipper, squeaky voice. "It's actually really convenient that I can store all my pens and pencils in my hair. In fact, you know what? I'll just grow my hair a little longer so you don't even have to get me folders this year!”

“I like the sun.""Do you really? I didn't think you'd go in for simple things like sun. You're the neon type, aren't you?""If you say so.”