“Do not even suggest jazz. I saw Newsies and was traumatized for, like, five years.”

“I get in that kind of situation all the time, Comrade. It's not a big deal." Anger replaced my fear. I didn't like being treated like a child. "Stop calling me that. You don't even know what you're talking about." "Sure I do. I had to do a report on the R.S.S.R. last year.”

“What am I supposed to do with a wool coat? Especially here in Palm Springs?”“Sleep with it,” he suggested. “Think of me.”

“When I talked to him earlier, he said he had to work tonight,” Peter explained, “but that we should go ahead and draw for him.” “Draw?” I asked uneasily. “Oh Lord. Tell me it’s not Pictionary night too.”Peter sighed wearily. “Draw for secret Santas. Do you even read the e-mails I send?”“Secret Santas? Seems like we just did that,” I said.“Yeah, a year ago,” said Peter. “Just like we do very Christmas.”

“I saw something in his pretty green eyes that I had never seen before: Anger. They were like emerald fire”

“Maybe you're graduating from fireballs to lightning bolts," Adrian suggested. "I bet it'd be a lot like throwing ninja stars. Except, well, you could incinerate people.”

“Doing that...pertecting her like that-it was very brave." He paused. "Stupid, but still brave. Why did you even try it?”