Quotes from James Preller

Middle School," Griffin repeated. "Where did they come up with that, anyway? We're in the middle of what, exactly? too old for elementary school, but not big enough for high school. So they shove us here. Look around. There's not an interesting person in sight, just a bunch of clones who want to be like everyone else.

Through it all, Eric didn't say a word. He was innocent, Eric reminded himself, he never participated in the pranks. He never lifted a finger to harm David Hallenback. He didn't think it was funny, so he usually walked away, pretending not to see. But Eric did see. Just like all the other kids in the halls. And he slowly began to recognize it for what it was.

Yeah, but at least a guy will punch you in the face, you know what I mean? They do it and then it's over. But with girls, we slice you up piece by piece. It's like death by a thousand cuts.

You get one life and it rolls out like a long hallway carpet. It begins on the day you are born and keeps on rolling until you drop. There's no refresh button, no start-over option.

Maybe that's all she saw, the end of her suffering, the black, blank silence of the departed. No more bells, no more noises, no more voices and their terrible, disapproving faces. No past, no future, no more sad todays. No tomorrows.

Here's the thing about digging in January: it's a lousy idea. The ground was as hard as a surprise math quiz. But not quite as much fun.

It was hard to stay miserable with Mike around. But I'd try.

No thief was going to try any funny stuff with a top detective hanging around. I decided to go undercover. And I didn't mean climbing into bed.

Ms. Gleason kept us hopping on Tuesday. No, she didn't give us pogo sticks. But I learned so much that my head grew two hat sizes.

It didn't look like a meeting of Boy Scout Troop #67, if you know what I mean. Yeesh, teenagers.

I looked him up and down. There was a lot of "up" to look at. This kid was tall, all right.

But all I had to show for the week was a blank sheet of paper. Maybe I could tell Ms. Gleason I had come up with a new kind of poem--the invisible kind.

Oh, I didn't look under the sheet!" he said quickly. "Ms. Gleason told us not to, remember?" I nodded. I remembered. It was starting to seem like I was the only one who did.

Red Cap gave my shoulder a squeeze . I felt like an orange. "If you're trying to get juice out of me," I said, "it's not going to work.

When I came back out five minutes later, even my pet parakeet wouldn't have recognized me. Of course, I didn't have a pet parakeet. But never mind that.

Mila was right. This case was fishy. In fact, it smelled like Sea World.

I didn't argue. "What time was it when you saw them?" Mike glanced at Bobby. "About, um, eight-thirty." "You must be part owl," I said. "Because it's hard to see in the dark.

I ran my fingers through my hair. We'd been together for nearly twenty minutes, and I still didn't know what he was talking about. "Sit here," I told Bigs. "And don't chew on the furniture while I'm gone.

Bigs put his hands on his hips and growled. I half expected hot lava to pour from his ears. Bigs stomped around in circles. He packed a fat snowball. Then Bigs whirled and fired. The sun had to duck to get out of the way.

We caught up with Bigs at the base of the hill. He was watching the sledders race down the slope. His eyes looked moist. I was worried the big lug might burst into tears. Either that, or rip a tree out of the ground.

I drew a picture of Bigs Maloney. It came out looking like Frankenstein on a bad hair day. In other words, it looked just like Bigs.

I thought about the type of person who would steal a sled from Bigs Maloney. The thief would have to be brave, big, and tough. And more than a little crazy. Only a nut would mess with Bigs Maloney. It was my job to find the thief. And then, if I could, to stop Bigs from ripping off the poor guy's arms and legs.

Yeesh. I didn't exactly love the idea of racing against Bigs Maloney. I'd rather go swimming with Orca the Killer Whale.

He wiped his nose with his sleeve. Gross me out the door.