Reese: Okay, let's see what you've got here. These aren't even letters. Why did I think a zombie could write an essay on Johnny Tremain? Come on, we might as well go to bed.
Hal: [sleep talking] No, don't! Wait! Have to get an answer!
Reese: Dad, I'm not gonna be able to help you with an idea for mom. And the other ideas I have for you are just gonna land us in jail.
Hal: You can help! You're the one I can talk to. You're my guy!
Reese: Really? I thought Malcolm was your favorite.
Hal: Smart one scares me. You're normal, like me.
Reese: Is that why you grab me?
Hal: You're my guy.