“Hannah leaned against the wall. 'Mind if I call shotgun?''Since you're carrying one? Feel free.”

“a pockmarked boy with a scraggy ponytail and four tiny rings in his right ear leaned against the wall of the armory, holding his dog on a leash, a sign hanging from his neck: PLEASE FEEL FREE TO PET MY DOG. IT MAY MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER.”

“In a village of La Mancha, the name of which I have no desire to call to mind, there lived not long since one of those gentlemen that keep a lance in the lance-rack, an old buckler, a lean hack, and a greyhound for coursing.”

“Hey!" Claire called after him, as she leaned her backpack against the wall."No onions!""Your loss!""I meant for YOU! Not if you want to get kissed tonight!""Damn, girl. Harsh.”

“Just when you think you're in the cat-bird's seat, the Angel of Death calls "dibs" on shotgun.”

“Janie blinks and leans against the wall, just in case.But it's no one's dream.It's just the end of some things.And the beginning of others.”