“Had your eyes tested?” “Yeah. My vision’s fine. They’ve done brain scans, too.” “Did they find anything?” “Nothing.” “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“So how did you get this job, anyway?' I asked.'My science teacher.''Why'd he pick you?''For my brains and good looks, obviously.''Yeah, right. My social studies teacher picked me, but I can't really figure out why."'For your brains and good looks, obviously.''Um, thanks.' Had Aaron just complimented me? Wow.”

“My face seems too square and my eyes too big, like I'm perpetually surprised, but there's nothing wrong with me that I can fix.”

“See what? I didn’t see anything. There were no scary people there. Nothing freaky. I’m going home now and tomorrow I’m going to have the doctors check for a brain tumor. Full battery of tests. Whole nine yard. Whatever’s wrong with me, we’ll find it and deal with it. At this point, my vote is either tumor or space alien testing. Either one works for me. (Geary)”

“And I was thinking with a part of myanatomy that has nothing to do with my brain." Veronica had to laugh at that. "Oh, really?" "Yeah," Joe said. His smile grew softer, his eyes gentler. "My heart."And then he kissed her.”

“I write for the kid in me. . . . Often when I’m working on a story, I’ll find myself laughing at something my characters have done, or even being surprised at where they’ve taken the story. It’s as if they have a life all their own. What I do is create them and then let them go on to entertain me. . . .”