Bloodthirsty

I'm not copying you!" Luke said. "A werewolf is totally different than a vampire! You're creepy all the time. Mine is just, like, a monthly thing...." "Like PMS?" I suggested. "Shut up!

Whoever taught my mother the phrase stud muffin should be prosecuted

I mean, I've had the name Finbar for sixteen years, and I've only been punched in the face once.

I did remember. The librarian had picked me up and held me to her chest as we evacuated beneath the flashing fire alarm. I'd felt so safe and nonflammable between her breasts. "So what's that got to do with you?" I asked. "I knew you liked her," Luke said. "So I set that up." "You pulled the alarm?" I asked, shocked. "No!" Luke protested. Then he grinned. "I set the fire.

And once, a sophomore English teacher, Mr. Watts, found out that one of his students had spent the past eight class periods carving an elaborate design into his desk. The "artwork" read: "Mr. Watts and Dickens sucks dick." Mr. Watts confronted the carver, telling him, "That's wrong!" Then Mr. Watts took the knife and crossed out the last s in sucks. "This sentence has two objects," he explained. "You need to conjugate the verb differently." And he handed the knife back.

Swanstein seriously had tears coming down his face! I watched in amazement. Seeing girls cry makes me very uncomfortable, but a fellow male in tears, in public, was pure fascination. I wanted to get a front-row seat and put on some 3-D glasses for the show.

You all right?" he asked. I felt dizzy. "Yeah. Lots of blood, though..." "The head always bleeds a lot," Luke told me. "Remember when I fell from the chandelier?" I smiled through my nausea. "Yeah." "And from that third-story window?" "Yeah." "And from the flagpole of our Montessori school?" "I remember." I managed a small laugh. "But I'm surprised you do.

Our neighbors were so excited when a black family moved in that they got them a welcome basket with the first three seasons of The Cosby Show on DVD.