Eastlake High makes Buffy's hellmouth look like a crack in the sidewalk.

Tod's pale brows arched halfway up his forehead, and he looked suddenly, achingly wistful. "She knows not what she says..."

Maybe not. But I was starting to get a pretty good idea...

She'd done it again... killed another monster with his own sins.

The voice blurs and fades, like a faint cry riding on the tails of the wind. I yawn and stretch, rolling over. I fold my pillow under my head and wait for the voice to return. When I hear nothing but the sound of my own breathing I allow myself to drift back into a dreamless slumber.

Shoving aside fear and self-doubt, I met his eyes, aiming for absolute confidence in both my stance and my voice. “My father taught me to disarm my opponent at all costs—regardless of his choice of weapon,” I said, glancing pointedly at his groin.
“Are you threatening me?”
“Damn right. Lay one hand on me and you’ll never stand to pee again.”
His eyes darkened, and his laugh sounded forced. “You’re very funny, gatita.”
“I’m glad you think so. I’ve always considered my sense of humor to be largely under-appreciated, so it’s nice to finally meet a fan.

Ask for the impossible, then settle instead for what you really wanted in the first place.