For once, I'd never felt any butterfly feeling when I stared at him. I mean, how does it even feel?
Nathalie walks away, heading back to her group of friends. I see Bucky watching her approaching, his lips move as if he says something to her.
I turn to Aaliyah and Lenore. Their eyes bulge as if they'd found me scary. “You knew her?”
I shake my head, creasing my eyebrows. If I'd known her, I wouldn't have asked who she was.
“Is it true that you stared at Bucky Jameson?” Lenore asks.
“No.” I grab my food tray, and walk away saying, "I don't even know who that is."
The next thing I hate to do the most after school is going home. I may be done with the stressful boredom for the day, but the fact that it happens again the next day and then the other, is quite not done yet. Going home is a challenge for me. My parents are… the challengers. Every time I'm around, all I hear from them are scolding and sermons as if I've done nothing better. But when I leave the house, it's like they're also not inside anymore.
As I walk home, I see a pervert touching a weak, tiny girl, voiceless as she tries to call for help. I would run to her, but having the heavy thought about home fills my head with rumbling thunder that makes me not care about anything or anyone.
I shrug and continue walking.
I’m finally at my doorstep, and my dogs and my cat are waiting for me. I open the door, and they surprise me with strong tail wags and licks in my face. My pets always keep up my spirit, and it doesn’t take long for my parents to ruin it. My mom is preparing dinner, and my dad is reading the newspaper. My dad's old-fashioned, and he hates the way people are living now in dependence on technology. He thinks that technology is made to brainwash people and should be disintegrated. And he uses that word whenever he’s in the mood to mock the modern world. He hates people to the point he also hates technology. He’s the reason I keep my face on the screen whenever he says anything that can offend someone, especially me. Basically, not to listen to him. He doesn’t even have something to say that I can learn from or something. All he does is demand and complain. As if he’s done so much to keep the walls of our house standing.
My mom, on the other hand, isn’t like him but she’s almost there. She may not yell at me or let me help her, but the fact that she hates to see me crying might as well ruin my personality. She hates to cry, and I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She thinks it kills a human since it hurts your chest so she taught me that. She doesn’t stand up for herself, and would do anything just to satisfy my father.
“I’m home.” I announce in a monotone voice.
No one replies, so I head to my room upstairs. My boys follow me around and I don’t even mind it. They’re gentle, loyal, and full of fun. They can do tricks people can’t. They know how to make me laugh, unlike the people around me.
 I sit on my bed and go onto my phone and instead of doing homework, I listen to music and let my eyes rest as I lay down. I imagine what the world looks like with just a bunch of dinosaurs and prehistoric animals where I could witness them. I'm not sure why I have that in mind but I'm sure I'm having fun. Not for long, I drift away and my dream changes.
It's about the girl from earlier. In this dream, I get to run to her instead. When I get closer, I can finally see her face and it turns out to be Nathalie Whitman who I met in school just today. And the guy who was harassing her turns out to be Bucky Jameson. He holds out a gun, lifting it, pointing it towards Nathalie, and a gunshot echoes. She falls on the ground and I proceed to try to wake her up by shaking her, but then blood comes out of the bullet wound, her eyes are open yet they're immobile. They seem to not react to the blinding bright light of a nearby street lamp. I look up to see Bucky who's now acting weird, making his body twitch and cock randomly as if he's gotten possessed by a ghost. My eyes blur because of the tears that come out, and I can't clearly see his face. But I know one thing that's clear in him. Blood on his mouth, his clothes are stained with mud, he lets out a snarl and launches himself into me.
I wake up in a jolt. My mom is at the doorway, watching me sleeping. 
She smiles, her hands clasped together on her stomach. "Dinner's ready, sweetie."
I get up from bed, and lazily walk downstairs with her.