Hi, Max," she said, pushing her shades up onto her curls. "I hope your wearing sunscreen," i said, “your gonna have hella wrinkles by the time your ten.” “Want some daiquiri?” she offered, pointing at a blender. “Is it traitor flavored?” I asked.
James Patterson (2010). “Maximum Ride: Fang: Dystopian Science Fiction”, p.251, Random House