"Now, girls," Eisenhower said. "We can't go flinging people at the funeral. This is a happy occasion!"

The whole Holt family was way too buff. They had meaty hands and thick necks and faces that looked like G.I. Joe figures. Even the mom looked like she should be shaving and chewing on a cigar.

Dan thought it was kind of stupid they'd hired a hearse to carry Grace a hundred yards down the driveway. They could've put wheels on the coffin like they have on suitcases and that would've worked just as well.

Dan liked her because she made amazing waffles and she usually cranked her iPod up to brain-damage level. She didn't even hear when Dan's bottle rocket collection went off and strafed the building across the alley. Dan would miss Nellie when she got fired.

"Hmph! This Nellie almost let you burn down the neighbor's apartment building!"

"Nellie's nice!" Dan protested.

"What are you reading this time?" he asked. "Medieval European Doorknobs? Bath Towels Through the Ages?"

Amy was three years older and six inches taller than Dan, and she never let him forget it – like being fourteen was such a big deal. Dan hoped her outfit was as uncomfortable as his stupid suit and tie. Aunt Beatrice had thrown a fit when he tried to go to the funeral in his ninja clothes.

His favorite rubbing read: PRUELLA GOODE 1891-1929 I'M DEAD. LET'S HAVE A PARTY.

It all started when they went to their grandmother's funeral. Secretly, Dan was excited, because he was hoping to make a rubbing of her tombstone after anyone else was gone.