“Get me outa here. F*ckin' creepy cheerleaders.”

“Come on, Cabel," Carrie says. "Let me give you a ride, at least. Unless you want Shay to- hey, here she comes now." Carrie titters, her eyes dancing.Cabel's eyes grow wide. He slips into the backseat of Carrie's car without a word. "Get me outta here. Fuckin' creepy cheerleaders.”

“You so f*ckin pretty, you got that?” The hand moved lower. “So pretty everywhere.”She swallowed. Her mouth had gone so dry it was hard to talk. “To you, maybe.”“Aye.” His lips moved further up her neck until he pulled away enough for their eyes to meet. “Aye, to me.”

“If you plug in a number and the math starts getting creepy (anything involving fractions or negative numbers is creepy)...”

“Best hurry, he thought. Best get outa this weather. He wanted to die but he really didn't want to catch a cold to do it.”

“I don't want to hear another negative word about cheerleaders. If it weren't for cheerleaders, who would tell us when and how to be happy during athletic events? If it weren't for cheerleaders, how would America's prettiest girls get the exercise that's so vital to a healthy life?”