Max, If You Survive Your Final Test,

My Style Is Colloquial Storytelling. It's The Way We Tell Stories To One Another - It's Not Writerly, It's Not Overdone.

Angel?" I Said. "baby Penguins Eat A Regurgitated Mixture Of Partially Digested Fish, Krill, And An Oily Substance Form Their Fathers' Stomachs. Are You Willing To Eat A Bunch Of Raw Fish And Krill, And Then Barf It Back Up Into A Baby Penguin's Cute, Cheeping Mouth? Like, Every Hour?" Sometimes My Crushing Logic Astounds Even Me.

Max: "fang! This Is A Huge Break! Of Course We Should Go Check It Out!" Fang: "but We're Grounded." Max And Fang: (stare At Each Other For A Second And Burst Out Laughing)

"hello, Max," He Said Quietly, Searching My Face. "how Do You Feel?" Which Was A Ten On The 'imbecilic Question' Scale Of One To Ten. "why, I Feel Fine, Jeb," I Said Brightly. "how About You?" "any Nausea? Headache?" "yep. And It's Standing Here Talking To Me."

My Choices Were To Either Give In And Let Them Kill All Of Us Or Fight Back With Everything I Had. I Chose The Second One, ’cause I’m Just Funny That Way.