Freaky Quotes

I hate you and your freaky alien powers.

Then there was Nico di Angelo. Dang, that kid gave Leo the freaky-deakies. He sat back in his leather aviator jacket, his black T-shirt and jeans, that wicked silver skull ring on his finger, and the Stygian sword at his side. His tufts of black hair struck up in curls like baby bat wings. His eyes were sad and kind of empty, as if he’d stared into the depths of Tartarus—which he had.

It’s not great. What kind of connection is this? A one-way hotline to Pervyville?” I took a step forward, on a roll now. “It’s disgusting. Freaky—stop laughing, Seth!

Where am I and doing what? You might well ask. Freaky chick, you say? You can't imagine. I am priestess of a sandcastle in a land of dust and starlight.

This isn't going to be some freaky pagan sex thing, is it?

Gods were like possums. You could go your whole life without seeing one, but once you found one of them, you found the whole freaky family.

You're some freaky shit, my brother. You really are

Screw the Silent Brothers." "No thanks. There's strong and silent, and then there's just freaky." "Isabelle!

...the freaky kid was now staring at me with those purple eyes. Man, I did not like freaky kids.

Go 'head." Those freaky-ass black eyes had stared at Butch with the intensity of a shark. "Crack open that door. Run your little heart out. Run fast, run smart, call for help. Just know that I'll come after you. Like a hearse." - Zsadist

Yo, beautiful. Come pop this collar off me.” Natalya hissed, “Are you mad?” “What’s she gonna do? Vivisect me? Imprison me? We’ve got a pact to fulfill,remember?” To Dorada, she cried, “Seriously, sweetheart, shake that mummified ass over here.” Regin kicked the glass. “Lemme the fuck out—” La Dorada swung her head around,peering at Regin with her one eye. “Okay. That’s freaky. Lookit, Gollum, if you spring me, I’ll help you find your Precious.

Mike drank straight from the carton, wiped his mouth, and stared at her. "You've been acting freaky. Are you high? Can I have some if you are?

Ewwww-eee-wwww. Hey Ash, you vant to suck my blud? (Fang) No, thanks. The last thing I want is to catch parvo from you, or some other freaky dog disease that makes me lift my leg around hydrants. (Acheron)

Freaky monsters were trying to kill us," Sabrina said. "Should I have just died out there so you could keep your clubhouse secret?" "Absolutely!" the prince said.

Many of the male faeries had their shirts unbuttoned and chests bare. (How’s this for freaky: no nipples or belly buttons.)

Seconds passed, then ... La Dorada skulked into view. She was half-mummified, but sodden. Gooey. Regin let out a low whistle. "The Mummy Returns meets Dingoes Ate My Face."-- --La Dorada swung her head around, peering at Regin with her one eye. "Okay. That's freaky. Lookit, Gollum, if you spring me, I'll help you find your precious.

He's not in a very good mood," said Luke, pausing in front of a closed door. "I shut him up in Freaky Pete's office after he nearly killed half my pack with his bare hands. He wouldn't talk to me, so"—Luke shrugged—"I thought of you." He looked from Clary's baffled face to Simon's. "What?" "I can't believe he came here," Clary said. "I can't believe you know someone named Freaky Pete," said Simon. "I know a lot of people," said Luke. "Not that Freaky Pete is strictly people, but I'm hardly one to talk.

Now I just have these reddish scars there. I guess I always will, although Goody says they’ll fade over time. I don’t know if I want them to fade. That probably sounds totally freaky, but part of me doesn’t want to forget what it felt like, even though it hurt. If I forget about the pain, I might also forget that it was a really stupid idea to do it in the first place.

I can't believe you know someone named Freaky Pete," said Simon. "I know alot of people," said Luke. "Not that Freaky Pete is strictly people, but I'm hardly one to talk.

She shrugged and flipped her glossy hair behind her shoulders. "What else do you have to do with your time besides think about stuff like this? It's not like you're real heavy into extracurriculars. Besides, you're all, like, goth and into the dead, right?" Alona Dare, queen of the insult-compliment. "Wow. Thanks. Anyone ever tell you you're good with people?" She frowned. "No." "Good. I'm not goth." "Your hair is black, you have piercings, you wear black all the time and act all freaky-" "My hair is naturally this color. I have three earings in one ear, that's it. This shirt" -I tugged at the fabric across my chest- "is navy blue, and if I act weird all the time, it's because of ghosts like you.

Mother Nature is a freaky lady who probably created pot so she could spend all her time smoking it.

That is the freakiest thing that ever happened to me.” I nodded toward the mess. “And if you knew my life, you’d realize just how freaky that is.

It doesn't have to make sense, it just has to sound like it does.

I figured it is always better to be unpopular by your own choice.

Touch is a freaky thing when you're not used to it. It makes you feel all kinds of things.

Right when my fingers started to slip inside my underwear, I opened my eyes and screamed.     "HOLY SHIT!"     My son stood there next to the bed just staring at me. Seriously, two inches from my face just staring at me like those creepy twins in "The Shining." I waited for him to start saying, "Come play with us" in their freaky twin voices while I tried not to have a heart attack.     "Gavin, seriously. You can't just stand here and stare at mommy. It's weird," I grumbled as I put my hand to my aching head and tried to calm my pounding heart.       Sweet Jesus, who kicked me in the head and shit in my mouth last night?     "You said a bad word, Mommy,

I think you’re freaked about what happened at Cambridge. I think it scared you." “I’ve been through worse, Bex,” I said, joining her on the lower stairs. “Way worse.” “Oh, not the attack.” Bex raised her finger in contradiction. “What happened before the attack. I think you saw the future. Which is kind of freaky when - two months ago - you didn’t think you were going to have one.

I wondered what the FML post would look like. "Today, when my father tried to shoot me, I found out he was an assassin monger who's been keeping my mom locked away in a secret facility for freaky killers. FML." Seriously. F.M.L.

Were-Hunters are different from humans. (Ravyn) You mean other than the fact that you live for several hundred years, can turn into animals, time travel, and wave your hand to make freaky stuff happen? (Susan)

Professor Langdon,' called a young man with curly hair in the back row, 'if Masonry is not a secret society, not a corporation, and not a religion, then what is it?' 'Well, if you were to ask a Mason, he would offer the following definition: Masonry is a system of morality, veiled in allegory and illustrated by symbols.' 'Sounds to me like a euphemism for "freaky cult." ' 'Freaky, you say?' 'Hell yes!' the kid said, standing up. 'I heard what they do inside those secret buildings! Weird candlelight rituals with coffins, and nooses, and drinking wine out of skulls. Now that's freaky!' Langdon scanned the class. 'Does that sound freaky to anyone else?' 'Yes!' they all chimed in. Langdon feigned a sad sigh. 'Too bad. If that's too freaky for you, then I know you'll never want to join my cult.' Silence settled over the room. The student from the Women's Center looked uneasy. 'You're in a cult?' Langdon nodded and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. 'Don't tell anyone, but on the pagan day of the sun god Ra, I kneel at the foot of an ancient instrument of torture and consume ritualistic symbols of blood and flesh.' The class looked horrified. Langdon shrugged. 'And if any of you care to join me, come to the Harvard chapel on Sunday, kneel beneath the crucifix, and take Holy Communion.' The classroom remained silent. Langdon winked. 'Open your minds, my friends. We all fear what we do not understand.

All I wanted was sex. Just a little freaky sex, every now and then. When the fuck did it get so complicated?” he grumbled.

Maggots are freaky hideous,’ I say, getting up. I try to salvage some dignity, but I can’t help but shiver and shake my hands in the air. It’s an instinctive impulse, one I’m not up for resisting right now. ‘You’ve fought off a gang of men twice your size, killed an angel warrior, stood up to an archangel, and wielded an angel sword.’ Raffe cocks his head. ‘But you scream like a little girl when you see a maggot?’ ‘It’s not just a maggot,’ I say. ‘A hand burst out of the ground and grabbed my ankle. And maggots crawled out of it and tried to burrow into me. You would scream like a little girl too if that happened to you.’ ‘They didn’t try to burrow into you. They were just crawling. It’s what maggots do. They crawl.’ ‘You don’t know anything.

She suddenly understood why she had let him kiss her in the diner, why she had wanted him at all. She wanted to control him. He was every arrogant boyfriend that had treated her mother badly. He was every boy that told her she was too freaky, who had laughed at her, or just wanted her to shut up and make out. He was a thousand times less real than Roiben.

Do vampyres play chess? Were there vampyre dorks? How about Barbie-like vampyre cheerleaders? Did any vampyres play in the band? Were there vampyre Emos with their guy-wearing-girl’s-pants weirdness and those awful bangs that cover half their faces? Or were they all those freaky Goth kids who didn’t like to bathe much? Was I going to turn into a Goth kid? Or worse, an Emo? I didn’t particularly like wearing black, at least not exclusively, and I wasn’t feeling a sudden and unfortunate aversion to soap and water, nor did I have an obsessive desire to change my hairstyle and wear too much eyeliner.

You're Nephilim," he said. "The Clave owes us protection in these circumstances." ... "I dont see anything you need protecting from here," said the boy. "Except some bad décor and a possible mold problem. But you can usually clear that up with bleach." "There's a dead body outside this bar's front door," said Bat, enunciating carefully. "Dont you think-" "I think it's a little too late for him to need protection," said the boy, "if he's already dead." -Freaky Pete, Jace, & Bat, pg.35 & 36-

No offense, but I’m getting stir-crazy. Can we please go downstairs and hang in the bar or do anything that keeps me from sitting here bored out of my mind while the three of you watch me grow eyebrow hair? I mean really, I am fine. I’m not going to spontaneously combust or do anything else freaky. Promise. (Tory)

That kid gave Leo the freakie-deakies.

It was freaky how once you realized you loved someone, and they felt the same way about you, they could look different, yet the same; how they felt familiar, but not.

This is exactly why Patrick and I chose not to have children." he muttered. "So we would never have to have conversations like this. Andy yet...here I am?""If you could answer the question," I said as politely as I could, "that would be great. I really don't want to have a freaky demon baby, and I can't imagine John wants one, either

Hello, freaky peoples!

All the freaky people make the beauty of the world.

Newtonian physics runs into problems at the subatomic level. Down there--in the land of hadrons, quarks, and Schrödinger's cat--things gent freaky. The cool rationality of Isaac Newton gives way to the bizarre unpredictability of Lewis Carroll.

I have never been a nag. I have always been rather proud of my un-nagginess. So it pisses me off, that Nick is forcing me to nag. I am willing to live with a certain amount of sloppiness, of laziness, of the lackadaisical life. I realize I am more type A than Nick, and I try not to inflict my neat-freaky, to-do-list nature on him. Nick is not the kind of guy who is going to think to vacuum or clean out the fridge. He truly doesn't see that kind of stuff. Fine. Really. But I do like a certain standard of living - I think it's fair to say the garbage shouldn't literally overflow, the plates shouldn't sit in the sink for a week with smears of bean burrito dried on them. That is just being a good grown-up roommate. And Nick's doing anything anymore, so I nag, and it pisses me off: You are turning me into what I never have been and never wanted to be, a nag because you are not living up to your end of a very basic compact. Don't do that, It's not ok to do.

I’m pretty healthy and I don’t mind the idea of dying, but I also don’t want to get mowed down by some freaky high school kid in a trench coat who’s high on Zoloft and has traded in his Xbox for a semiautomatic.

Should I bring my own chains this time? Or do you have bigger plans, and this is some sort of freaky murder foreplay”—why did the word foreplay just come out of my mouth?—“and I’ll end up cut up into small pieces inside some freezer at the end? I can just spray myself with mace and shoot myself in the head now and save you the trouble.

I realized I needed to look at evil in an entirely new light. Most bad guys weren’t running around with eyes bugged out. Most bad guys didn’t come across freaky and frightening…Most bad guys were normal, everyday guys moving through life like anyone else… They were hard to spot and that’s what made them so good at being bad… They could get away with it, and they knew it.

So I was officially sixteen. For my present, I got cornered by Uncle Freaky, who announced that I was marked for assassination.

He likes you. You like him, you're just scared. Well," she glanced over her shoulder and dropped her voice, "unless you tell me he's some freaky psycho-killer..." I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "Then I'm not letting you mess this up for yourself. Your creepy hermit status is officially over.

A no-hitter is a freaky thing,' Tweet said. 'Most of the greatest pitchers never pitched one. It's a combination of a lot of little accidents.

There is tremendous trauma in the betrayal caused by a perpetual liar as they repeatedly commit psychological abuse.

Grandma, I think you might be a little freaky.

New Rule #1 – Don't date women who paint. Arty-farty doesn't just equal freaky in the sack, it also equals nasty genius revenge. I don't like genius when it's happening to me.

I've heard some strange noises every once in a while late at night and always wondered if the house is haunted. I bet it is. I bet that freaky little fucker wants to watch us have sex. Fine with me, buddy, enjoy the show. Just don't touch my ass at all during the event or I will call the Winchester brothers from Supernatural. Dean and Sam will fuck you up! I had a strange hand touch my ass one time in college during a threesome, and that's just something you don't get over. Random ass touching scares me more than spiders.

Simi, why did Acheron send you here? (Astrid) To protect you from Thanatos so that your sisters don’t get all freaky and destroy the world. Or something like that. I don’t know why all of you fear the end of the world. It’s not so bad, really. At least then akri’s mama be free. Then she wouldn’t be so cranky at the Simi all the time. (Simi) Ash’s mother is still alive? (Zarek) Oh, akri get mad whenever I tell that. Bad Simi. I not talk anymore. I need food. (Simi)

I don’t get involved with people because quite frankly most people aren’t worth getting involved with. I don’t need somebody to complete me, be the other half of me or any of that freaky shit.

You once told me you could stand many things.” My voice was raspy from all the emotions battering against those well-honed inner defenses. “So can I. I can stand whatever Apollyon dishes out, can take the bigotry from others over what I am, the freaky ghost juju from Marie, all the craziness my mother can throw at me, and even the pain of my uncle dying. But the one thing that I would never, ever recover from would be losing you. You made me promise before to go on if that happened, but Bones”—here my words broke and tears spilled down my cheeks—“I wouldn’t want to.” He’d been near the side of the bed when I started talking, but was in my arms before the first tear fell. Very softly, his lips brushed over those wet streaks, coming back pink from the drops still shimmering on them. “No matter what happens, you will never lose me,” he whispered. “I am forever yours, Kitten, in this life or the next.

Liars are highly unlikely to admit their lies, never mind apologize for the hurt they’ve caused. Liars don’t genuinely apologize. Deceit has become their full-out lifestyle. They are centered on themselves with no thoughts of the consequences of their lies. In cowardly style, they tell more lies to try and cover their tracks. They are not good at admitting they actually have shortcomings.

Russell?” “Yeah! You got my back now?” Russell asks in a sour tone, looking over the railing from the tower above. “’Cuz one of them freaky demon things almost ate me after y’all left!” “A Riser nearly ate you?” Reed asks with humor in his tone “Yeah, whatever—it’s not funny!” he calls down, sounding irritated. “Next time, I want Zee for my wingman.” “That is because I am the ultimate assassin,” Zephyr replies from behind Reed.

You know, my main goal in life is trying not to end up in a straightjacket.

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)

You goddamn, freaky bitch," Grace said, because, hells bells, it had been a righteous day, and all of a sudden, pow, her temper was done lost and gone.

Someone says 'inauguration' in my line of work, and you can just bet there'll be freaky shit. It's like quests. You get told to 'go forth and seek the travelcard of destiny' and you know, I mean, you seriously know that it won't have just been left down the back of the sofa.

So you’re dating Mr. Freaky Vanderperv, at least you’re not dating a guy with no skills and no interest in you sexually! Treat his kinks with respect and he will be an honest man with you always.

I groaned. "All the time. I thought I was going crazy." "Duude," he said in agreement. "And before the Flash, all kinds of freaky shit was happening to me. I started speaking this wierd Language. And stuff started transforming- but only in front of me. I saw my cat walking on the ceiling, saw lava coming out of a faucet. The worst? I was doing this girl, and suddenly she looked like my gym teacher!

Librarians are notorious snitches—don’t let anybody convince you otherwise.

I have never been reduced to begging somebody to leave me alone, but in your case I’ll make an exception.

You never know what somebody might tell you,' Chris said, 'when they think you're somebody else.

You’ve been acting freaky. Are you high? Can I have some if you are?

Her parents had no idea that you could meet people outside of school and it wasn’t freaky and the internet was the way of finding your people.

Apparently I couldn’t even pretend to be normal.

Some people are born to weirdness,” Jerry said, “and others have weirdness thrust upon them.

Kyle took in a breath. “While you were doing freaky stuff with Adam—as fine as he is—did you figure out where he is?” I shook my head, and he sighed. “That’s good.” I raised my eyebrow. He grinned, tiredly. “That would have been useful, Mercy. And having something freaky and useful would have been too good and sent the spirits of evil gods on our tail.” I stared at him.

If someone yells at me, they are not expressing love. They may be threatening me. They may be expressing great frustration with me. They may simply be trying to control my behavior. However, they are not communicating love.

Aye. Freaky iffen you ask me. But guessing that what Terrible like, aye. What he deserve sneaking off into the bathroom with some rigmutton cunt, leaving me on my alones in the bar, and other men talking to me and saying I got me a date there and he fucking some whore while everyone outside the bathroom hearing them.

Some people believe that if they yell and scream, others will get the point of just how serious they are. For me, all I get is the point of just how out of control that someone is.

I'm not going to say I can at least collect DNA samples," he muttered, "because every time I open my mouth, the evidence disappears." With a little sigh, he watched te droplets of blood absorb into the wood and the window reform. "I have to tell you, I've seen some freaky shit around you girls, but nothing like this. I have just one question. Have you told your fiancées about this? Because quiet frankly it scares the hell out of me." "You never have to be afraid, Jonas," Hannah assured. "The house judges intent." "Hannah. Honey. Half the time my intent is to strangle you. And I don't doubt whoever ends up with Joley or Elle will want to do worse than that.

At first you might wonder what you did to deserve such treatment. Nothing, probably, so that doesn't matter. What matters is that, eventually, the abuse becomes the status quo. It's no longer about the whats and whys (“what did I do?” “why are they doing this?”) but the whens and hows (“when are they going to do it?” “how are they going to get me?”). Persecution becomes inevitable, inescapable. And once you get into the victim mindset, you're fucked. The bullies don't even need to hurt you now; your poor, warped, pathetic brain is doing half the work for them.

Direct lies, small lies, huge lies, and lies of omission… these are all self-serving and sources of self-destruction.

Wouldn’t it be freaky if the two of us exchanged places? You’d have to go home to my house and make out with Duncan. (Mary) Ah, gah! Eye bleach. Don’t put that shit in my head. You’re my sister, for Pete’s sake. Now I’m going to have to beat your husband the next time I see him for defiling you. (Zeke) Oh, pooh. You always overreact to everything. (Mary)

This is your fault, you know.” “My fault?” His brows lift, but he doesn’t look away from his magazine. “How on earth did you come to that conclusion?” “Your freaky good looks made her blind to all but you, sunshine.” His expression is blank, though his lips twitch. “If only I could strike women speechless.

Apologies require taking full responsibility. No half-truths, no partial admissions, no rationalizations, no finger pointing, and no justifications belong in any apology.

They offered to sedate you? Jak’ri asked. Yes. I refused, she said. No way am I waking up with some freaky lizard baby in my belly. He stared at his brother. What kind of experiments do you think they’re performing, Ava? I don’t know. But a hell of a lot of alien abduction stories told on Earth seem to revolve around aliens impregnating our women and probing men’s butts. Ziv’ri gaped. What the srul kind of aliens have been visiting your planet?

You know what's really freaky? Wes segues. "The fact that the psycho in question was the same guy who was after Debbie Marcus." The whole fiasco with Debbie Marcus had happened at around the same time that I was getting stalked. But instead of taking her seriously, people chalked her stories up to pranks and practical jokes, concluding that Debbie had gotten paranoid as a result. But there was obviously a lot more to it. "Actually, its not nearly as freaky as the fact that Camelia decided to go to the psycho's house without even calling us first," Kimmie says. "I already told you guys, I didn't have my phone." "And you've obviously never heard of a collect call," Wes says. "Nor have you heard of nine-one-one." Kimmie's barbell-pierced eyebrow rises high. "Because I hear that's free as well.

Screaming and repeating lies makes them neither true nor more believable.

A guy can’t be friends with a woman he’s actively attracted to. Not really. Because at some point his dick will take over. It’ll walk like him and talk like him, but—like one of the poor schmucks infected by those freaky face-sucking things in Alien—it won’t be him. And from that point on, every move, every gesture will be geared toward accomplishing the dick’s goal. Which sure as shit won’t have anything to do with friendship.

Most of Arbus's work lies within the Warhol aesthetic, that is, defines itself in relation to the twin poles of boringness and freakishness; but it doesn't have the Warhol style. Arbus had neither Warhol's narcissism and genius for publicity nor the self-protective blandness with which he insulates himself from the freaky nor his sentimentality. It is unlikey that Warhol, who comes from a working-class family, ever felt any ambivalence toward success which afflicted the children of the Jewish upper middle classes in the 1960s. To someone raised as a Catholic, like Warhol (and virtually everyone in his gang), a fascination with evil comes much more genuinely than it does to someone from a Jewish background. Compared with Warhol, Arbus seems strikingly vulnerable, innocent--and certainly more pessimistic. Her Dantesque vision of the city (and the suburbs) has no reserves of irony. Although much of Arbus's material is the same as that depicted in, say, Warhol's Chelsea Girls (1966)...For Arbus, both freaks and Middle America were equally exotic: a boy marching in a pro-war parade and a Levittown housewife were as alien as a dwarf or a transvestite; lower-middle-class suburbia was as remote as Times Square, lunatic asylums, and gay bars. Arbus's work expressed her turn against what was public (as she experienced it), conventional, safe, reassuring--and boring--in favor of what was private, hidden, ugly, dangerous, and fascinating. These contrasts, now, seem almost quaint. What is safe no long monopolizes public imagery. The freakish is no longer a private zone, difficult of access. People who are bizarre, in sexual disgrace, emotionally vacant are seen daily on the newsstands, on TV, in the subways. Hobbesian man roams the streets, quite visible, with glitter in his hair.

What if she stepped on a needle and it went right into her foot and Roberta would not feel it and the needle would rise and rise and rise through the veins leading up to the heart and then the needle would STAB HER IN THE HEART and Roberta would DIE and it would be VERY PAINFUL this according to nurse mother a medical expert on Freaky Ways to Croak... The mother shouted that she knew several people who died from the Rising Stab of the Unfelt Needle or RSUN she has seen cases of it many times and not ONE PERSON HAS SURVIVED IT.

It’s amazing how many cheaters and liars believe they won’t be caught. News Flash: In today’s age of technology, there won’t just be a paper trail. There will be multiple electronic and digital trails, as well.

Why? Why are you asking me out?" His expression was equal parts amusement and confusion. "Because if I don't ask ya the chance of ya actually showin' up on the date in highly unlikely, isn't it?" An abrupt--and incredibly loud--laugh erupted out of me. "True. But why? Why would you ask out the freaky purring girl?" "Yar laugh is amazin'." He grinned. Another wave of heat rushed through me. "And because from the moment I laid eyes on ya I knew there was somethin' different about ya. The purrin' just supported the theory. So, would ya like to go out with me?" "Yes, I'd like to. Go on a date. With you. Please." Smooth, huh?

I gave her a look. “Rachel.” “Grace, you have to admit this is pretty weird. Say it. You disappearing from the hospital and Olivia is — and Sam suddenly shows up with you and, well, the freaky hallucinogenic mushrooms are looking more and more realistic, especially when you start talking about wolves. Because next step is for Isabel Culpeper to show up saying that everybody’s going to be abducted by aliens and I have to tell you,I can’t take that in my fragile emotional state. I think that —” I sighed. “Rachel.” “Fine,” she said. She threw her bag in the backseat and climbed in after.

What a joke, coming from a woman who worked for the fashion industry. Really. Starving yourself to fit into a size zero — why did that size even exist? Zero referred to the absence of something, but what did it mean in terms of a model's measurements? Her fat? Or her presence? How much could you cut away before the person herself vanished? It was hypocritical, that's what it was. I said as much, adding, “If you're so keen on me being healthy then you should have no problem accepting me for the way I am. That's what's healthy, Mom. Not being focused on all this freaky weight-loss stuff.

Contemplations on the belly When pregnant with our first, Dean and I attended a child birth class. There were about 15 other couples, all 6-8 months pregnant, just like us. As an introduction, the teacher asked us to each share what had been our favorite part of pregnancy and least favorite part. I was surprised by how many of the men and women there couldn't name a favorite part. When it was my turn, I said, "My least favorite has been the nausea, and my favorite is the belly." We were sitting in the back of the room, so it was noticeable when several heads turned to get a look at me. Dean then spoke. "Yeah, my least favorite is that she was sick, and my favorite is the belly too." Now nearly every head turned to gander incredulously at the freaky couple who actually liked the belly. Dean and I laughed about it later, but we were sincere. The belly is cool. It is one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World, an unmistakable sign of what's going on inside, the wigwam for our little squirmer, the mark of my undeniable superpower of baby-making. I loved the belly and its freaky awesomeness, and especially the flutters, kicks, and bumps from within. Twins belly is a whole new species. I marvel at the amazing uterus within and skin without with their unceasing ability to stretch (Reed Richards would be impressed). I still have great admiration for the belly, but I also fear it. Sometimes I wonder if I should build a shrine to it, light some incense, offer up gifts in an attempt both to honor it and avoid its wrath. It does seem more like a mythic monstrosity you'd be wise not to awaken than a bulbous appendage. It had NEEDS. It has DEMANDS. It will not be taken lightly (believe me, there's nothing light about it). I must give it its own throne, lying sideways atop a cushion, or it will CRUSH MY ORGANS. This belly is its own creature, is subject to different laws of growth and gravity. No, it's not a cute belly, not a benevolent belly. It would have tea with Fin Fang Foom; it would shake hands with Cthulhu. It's no wonder I'm so restless at night, having to sleep with one eye open. Nevertheless, I honor you, belly, and the work you do to protect and grow my two precious daughters inside. Truly, they must be even more powerful than you to keep you enslaved to their needs. It's quite clear that out of all of us, I'm certainly not the one in control. I am here to do your bidding, belly and babies. I am your humble servant.

My son, there is no reason to be distraught. The leeches will cleanse your wound." The friar scratched one of his enormous ears with the tweezers. "My insurance doesn't cover freaky friars or leeches." Troy sat up and swung his legs over the cot. A strip of cloth was wrapped around his gray tights, just above his left knee. A dark red stain had spread across the strip. "When my agent finds out you've kept me here, instead of taking me to a hospital, he'll cram a lawsuit up your butt so fast you'll be the one who's...distraught.

He slouches,' DeeDee contributes. 'True--he needs to work on his posture,' Thelma says. 'You guys,' I say. 'I'm serious,' Thelma says. 'What if you get married? Don't you want to go to fancy dinners with him and be proud?' 'You guys. We are not getting married!' 'I love his eyes,' Jolene says. 'If your kids get his blue eyes and your dark hair--wouldn't that be fabulous?' 'The thing is,' Thelma says, 'and yes, I know, this is the tricky part--but I'm thinking Bliss has to actually talk to him. Am I right? Before they have their brood of brown-haired, blue-eyed children?' I swat her. "I'm not having Mitchell's children!' 'I'm sorry--what?' Thelma says. Jolene is shaking her head and pressing back laughter. Her expressing says, Shhh, you crazy girl! But I don't care. If they're going to embarrass me, then I'll embarrass them right back. 'I said'--I raise my voice--'I am not having Mitchell Truman's children!' Jolene turns beet red, and she and DeeDee dissolve into mad giggles. 'Um, Bliss?' Thelma says. Her gaze travels upward to someone behind me. The way she sucks on her lip makes me nervous. 'Okaaay, I think maybe I won't turn around,' I announce. A person of the male persuasion clears his throat. 'Definitely not turning around,' I say. My cheeks are burning. It's freaky and alarming how much heat is radiating from one little me. 'If you change your mind, we might be able to work something out,' the person of the male persuasion says. 'About the children?' DeeDee asks. 'Or the turning around?' 'DeeDee!' Jolene says. 'Both,' says the male-persuasion person. I shrink in my chair, but I raise my hand over my head and wave. 'Um, hi,' I say to the person behind me whom I'm still not looking at. 'I'm Bliss.' Warm fingers clasp my own. 'Pleased to meet you,' says the male-persuasion person. 'I'm Mitchell.' 'Hi, Mitchell.' I try to pull my hand from his grasp, but he won't let go. 'Um, bye now!' I tug harder. No luck. Thelma, DeeDee, and Jolene are close to peeing their pants. Fine. I twist around and give Mitchell the quickest of glances. His expressions is amused, and I grow even hotter. He squeezes my hand, then lets go. 'Just keep me in the loop if you do decide to bear my children. I'm happy to help out.' With that, he stride jauntily to the food line. Once he's gone, we lost it. Peals of laughter resound from our table, and the others in the cafeteria look at us funny. We laugh harder. 'Did you see!' Thelma gasps. 'Did you see how proud he was?' 'You improve his posture!' Jolene says. 'I'm so glad, since that was my deepest desire,' I say. 'Oh my God, I'm going to have to quit school and become a nun.' 'I can't believe you waved at him,' DeeDee says. 'Your hand was like a little periscope,' Jolene says. 'Or, no--like a white surrender flag.' 'It was a surrender flag. I was surrendering myself to abject humiliation.' 'Oh, please,' Thelma says, pulling me into a sideways hug. 'Think of it this way: Now you've officially talked to him.

I used to cry to the stars in the sky and begged them to have mercy on me cause I longed for the moment when the amount of pain I felt would be unbearable and I would simply go numb. Numb. The very taste of that word was a sweet symphony to me. A relief. An alleviation in my unendurable existence. A cure. I ached because of more reasons than I could contain. My mother's cancer, my unrequited love, my worn body. The absence of my dignity and innocence. The utter feeling of abandonment. My yearning for love and family. My beloved father who left me. My freakiness and lack of belonging somewhere. My bisexuality and faith deprivation. My poverty, being insolvent most of my life, having no money to my name since forever. My shack of a house, cold and loathed from the very first days. My sorrow and grief caused by my weaknesses and deficiencies...

My cell phone rang on the table. I never went far without it, even in the house. I picked it up. An unlisted number. Oh goodie. “Nevada Baylor.” “I need to talk to you,” Mad Rogan said into the phone. “Meet me for lunch.” My pulse jumped, my body snapped to attention, and my brain shut down for a second to come to terms with the impact of his voice. I’d slap myself except my mother and grandmother already thought I was nuts, and hurting myself would get me committed for sure. “Sure, let me get right on that.” Hey, my voice still worked. “Should I bring my own chains this time? Or do you have bigger plans, and this is some freaky murder foreplay”—why did the word foreplay just come out of my mouth?—“and I’ll end up cut up into small pieces inside some freezer at the end? I can just spray myself with mace and shoot myself in the head now and save you some trouble?” “Are you done?” he asked. “Just getting started.” I was so brave over the phone. “Lunch, Ms. Baylor. Concentrate. Pick a place.” “You seem to be under the impression that I work for you and you can give me orders. Let me fix that.” I hung up. Grandma looked at my mom. “Did she just hang up on Mad Rogan?” “Yes, she did.

Unbelievable,” Audrey’s voice squeaked as I pushed past her. “Here we are, talking to you about your freaky little-boy encounter back in Breaux Bridge and how your caramel macchiato tasted like cardboard, and boom! You just zone out like one of the kids from Children of the Corn.” “Um, Aud, babe … I don’t think those kids zone out. They’re just freaky twenty-four-seven. It’s a year-round thing.” Gabe’s response drew a half-hearted laugh from me, but it was quickly reined in when I reached the Book of the Ancients. “Whatever, Gabriel,” Audrey said to him. “My point is, it’s freaky, okay? She gets this glazed-over look in her eyes, like she’s gonna whip out a butcher knife and go all Michael Myers on us or something.” I glanced over my shoulder to cock an eyebrow at her. “Oh, now you pay attention.” She cocked an eyebrow back. “What is it with you and the cheesy horror-movie references?” Gabe muttered. “Hey, now. Halloween is a classic,” Gavin scolded him. “Don’t go hating on the classics.

For a moment, there was silnece, and then at Brooke's nod, the rest of the Squad, minus me, chimed in. "Yes, sir." I said nothing. For one thing, I wasn't exactly keen on speaking in unison, and for another, I wasn't about to make any promises I couldn't keep. "Toby." I jumped in my seat. The Voice actually knew my name. And somehow, he had the freaky ability to ascertain that of all of us, I was the one who hadn't responded. "Do you understand?" I contemplated telling him what I didn't understand was his familial relationshiops, but stayed momentarily silent, causing everyone within a three-foot radius to kick me under the table at once. "Ow!" I cleared my throat. "I mean, yes." I didn't throw the sir on the end, but apparently, that was good enough for the Voice. "Excellent. Report in tonight, and we'll have more information for you all tomorrow. And girl?" "Yes?" "Congratulations on the homecoming nominations. We're all very proud.

If the whole world seems like it's against you, it helps to know that you've still got home. A safe place. It just takes one person—a teacher, a friend, a parent. If I didn't have you and Dad, if you hadn't made it so clear you loved me as much as you did, or if you'd said, 'yeah, why don't you do it, and put yourself out of our misery, just shut up,' I would have killed myself. I really would have. I spent most of those days wishing I were dead anyway, and what always stopped me was the fact that doing so would destroy the lives of the only people who ever cared about me.

She means," Nate said, turning away from the books, "That David has gone full weird." "He was always that way<' Janelle said in a low voice. "Yeah, but now he's completed his journey. Our little caterpillar has turned into a freaky butterfly." "Tell her about the screaming," Janelle said. "Because I can't." "The screaming? Stevie repeated. "The other morning he started something called 'screaming meditation'," Nate said. "Guess what happens in screaming meditation? Did you guess screaming? For fifteen minutes? Because that's what happens in screaming meditation. Fifteen. Minutes. Outside. At five in the morning. Do you know what happens when someone screams outside for fifteen minutes at five in the morning at a remote location in the mountains, especially after a . . ." The implied dot dot dot was "student dies in a terrible accident or maybe murder and another one goes missing." "When security got to him he claimed it was his new religion and that it is something he needs to do every morning now as a way to talk to the sun." So this is what Edward King had been referring to. "Sometimes," Nate went on, tapping the books into place so that the spines lined up perfectly, "he sleeps on the roof. Or somewhere else. Sometimes the green." "Naked," Janelle added. "He sleeps on the green naked." "Or in classrooms," Nate said. "Someone said they went into differential equations and he was asleep in the corner of the room under a Pokémon comforter." "Your boy has not been well," Janelle said.