Hanna Marin

Because he's angry. He's angry, Isabel's angry.

There's plenty of that to go around.

...the smoke alarms go off.

Oh, God, I look like a demented creamsicle.

It's latitude/longitude coordinates.

I'm the weakest link. And the weakest link wants some payback.

I'm tired of making allowances for you.

- Any sense of boobs? - Hanna.

It's the last event, last heat.

- At least try to be civil to her. - I am civil.

Miss me?

Dad, how could you do that to me?

That doesn't really exist.

- Is she going to school here? TOM: Yes, she is.

...in an orange jumpsuit picking up beer cans?

It's none of ours.

Surprisingly well.

That's something we're gonna deal with, and we're gonna deal with it as a family.

- What did he ever see in her, anyway? - I have no idea.

- Hey. I found another one. - Oh, no.

I know.

- I do not look pretty in these pictures. - You do.

He still seems mad when he talks to me.

Sort of. In a postapocalyptic, rag-tag-band-of-survivors kind of way.

Okay, I had to stop it.