“If I weren’t already dead, I’d be alive with joy,”

“He couldn’t be serious. He was not accusing Marc of wanting me dead! If that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black, I’d…I’d…pound the shit out of the pot myself!”

“Emma and I had both died twice, and for me, that second one actually stuck. Now I was a "resurrected American," better known, in colloquial terms, as life-challenged. Or undead. Or the living dead. But I'm not a zombie. I'm just a little less alive than your average high school junior.”

“My aunt and overprivileged cousin only recognize two states of being: glitter and grunge. And if you weren’t glitter, well, that only left one other option.”

“Should I assume the lure is a certain attractive young dead man?”

“I’d learned that my mother was a badass in disguise. She was Van Helsing in an apron and heels, and—at least for the time being—I couldn’t think of a single thing cooler than that.”

“I groaned my good humor beginning to fade. Nothing good could come from such a wager. If I lost I’d have to drive for the entire five-and-a-half-hour trip home. But if I won Marc would drive which was much much worse. With him in the driver’s seat I’d be afraid to blink much less sleep. Marc’s favourite travel game was highway tag which he played by getting just close enough to passing semi trucks to reach out his window and touch their rear bumpers. Seriously. The man thought the inevitability of death didn’t apply to him simply because it hadn’t happened yet. Marc laughed at my horrified expression and sank his shovel into the earth at the end of the black plastic cocoon. With a sigh I joined him trying to decide whether I’d rather risk falling asleep at the wheel or falling asleep with Marc at the wheel. It was a tough call. Thankfully I had three solid hours of digging during which to decide. Lucky me.”