Favorite Lines
~ �My mom isn�t particularly fond of my leather jacket, but I swear I didn�t wear it to make her mad or anything. I�m not resentful of the fact that she decided to marry a guy who lives three thousand miles away, forcing me to leave school in the middle of my sophomore year; abandon the best � and pretty much only � friend I�ve had since kindergarten; leave the city I�ve been living in for all of my sixteen years. Oh, no. I�m not a bit resentful� (p. 2).
~ �Doc, Andy�s youngest kid, is twelve, but he�s going on forty. He spent almost the entire wedding reception telling me about alien mutilation, and how Area 51 is just this big cover-up by the American government, which doesn�t want us to know that We Are Not Alone� (p. 4).
~ �My mom had his body cremated, and she put his ashes in an antique German beer tankard. You know, that kind with the lid. My dad had always really liked beer� (p. 26).
~ �It isn�t often I gun into a ghost who also happens to be a hottie, but this guy�boy, he must have been something back when he was live because here he was dead and I was already trying to catch a peek at what was going on beneath the white shirt he was wearing very much open at the throat, exposing quite a bit of chest, and some of his stomach, too. Do ghosts have six-packs? This was not something I had ever had occasion � or a desire � to explore before� (p. 35).
~ �He had turned a little and put a boot up onto the pale blue cushion that covered the window seat, and I had seen definitive proof that yes, ghosts could indeed have six-packs. His abdominal muscles were deeply ridged, and covered with a light dusting of black hair. I swallowed. Hard� (p. 36).
~ �It was probably the first time he�d been touched by anyone in a century and a half. That kind of thing can blow a guy�s mind. Especially a dead guy� (p. 41).
~ �They don�t have malls in New York City, but Gina used to love to take the PATH train to this one in New Jersey. Usually after about an hour, I�d develop sensory overload, and have to sit down in the This Can�t Be Yogurt and sip and herbal tea until I calmed down� (p. 46).
~ �My poor mom. She always wanted a nice, normal teenage daughter. Instead, she got me� (p. 49).
~ �Carmel might not have had a Bagel Bob�s, but Manhattan sure didn�t have no beach� (p. 57).
~ �Hello? Were you out there just now? You think I was just supposed to stand there and talk that beam into not crushing that guy�s skull?� (p. 89).
~ �Are you�are you stalking me?� (p. 107).
~ �Try and stop me, cadaver breath� (p. 108).
~ �It was Mr. Walden�s classroom. With the moonlight flooding into it, I could see his handwriting on the chalkboard, and the big poster of Bob Dylan, his favorite poet, on the wall� (p. 114).
~ �Geesh. It was a good thing Father Serra was good and dead. I had a feeling that statue would have completely embarrassed him� (p. 116).
~ �I don�t like being touched under normal circumstances, and I especially don�t like being touched by ghosts. And I especially don�t like being touched by ghosts who have hands as big and tendony and strong-looking as Jesse�s� (p. 131).
~ �Why should I care what some dead cowboy thought of me? But I wasn�t about to admit to him that I�d never had a boyfriend. You just don�t go around saying things like that to totally hot guys, even if they�re dead� (p. 139).
~ �Had Jesse died not in a gunfight, as I�d originally assumed, but in some sort of lovers� quarrel� I don�t know why the thought disturbed me so much, but it did. It kept me awake for about three whole minutes� (p. 145).
~ �I ran so fast that later, Sister Mary Claire, the track coach, asked me if I�d like to try out for the team� (p. 158).
~ �Adam stood by the door, holding it open for me. �You�re the new girl. The new girl gets to sit in the front.� �Yeah,� Cee Cee said from the depths of the backseat, �until you refuse to sleep with him. Then he�ll relegate you to the backseat, too�� (p. 169).
~ �I�m pretty good at figuring out what dead people are thinking, but I haven�t quite gotten the hang of the living yet� (p. 178).
~ �So I committed what I�m sure must be some kind of mortal sin. I lied to a priest. Good thing I�m not Catholic� (p. 186).
~ �Back in New York, we used to sit in the park and watch the undercover cops arrest drug dealers. But that wasn�t anywhere near as nice as this, singing happily on a beach as the sun went down� (p. 192).
~ �I actually believed, just then, that everything was going to be all right. Boy, was I ever in denial� (p. 193).
~ �He slapped my hand away. �Yeah?� he said. �Well at least nobody�ll be callin� me a fag hag tomorrow.� �Oh, sweetie,� I said. I reached out and tweaked the cheek I�d just patted. �You�ll never have to worry about people calling you that. They call you much worse things�� (p. 195).
~ �How is it that I�d nearly been smothered to death, and yet I could sit there an notice things like my stepbrother�s abdominal muscles a few minutes later?� (p. 217).
~ �The whole way home, my new big brother Jake lectured me. Apparently, he thought I�d been at the school in the middle of the night as part of some sort of gang initiation. I did you not. He was really very indignant about the whole thing. He wanted to know what kind of friends I thought these people were, leaving me to die under a pile of roofing tiles. He suggested that if I were bored or in need of a thrill, I should take up surfing because, and I quote, �If you�re gonna have your head split open, it might as well be while you�re riding a wave, dude�� (p. 218).
~ �I hung up the phone feeling a little over-whelmed. It isn�t every day a girl gets elected vice president of a class she�s been in for less than a week� (p. 235).
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