A few hours later, I'm watching the news about the whole "an eight-year-old boy, a teacher in her thirties, and a ten-year-old girl passed out on school grounds!" thing. I was in my PJs and alone because the school day had to end early. I also had to walk home since my mom wasn't answering any of my calls. ( Yes, I do have a phone because my mom is so irresponsible) Probably since she was having fun with her friends and forgot to call me back.

"The ten-year-old girl, known as Farrah Miller, was also found with hives covering her whole arms without any reason. We are still awaiting info about the trio, so stay tuned—"

I sighed and turned off the TV, staring out the window. It was storming out there with lightning and rain. I grabbed my headphones and a notebook and a pencil. I started writing some silly stories about drama and school life while drowning reality with music. My favorite song is Girl On Fire, mostly because I'm a sucker for R&B songs. Then I heard the doorbell ring. That sent chills down my spine, and the doorbell rang again with some harsh knocking too. I scrambled off the couch and to my feet. I slowly walked to the kitchen drawers while staring at the door.

I opened the second drawer and grabbed a kitchen knife. Come on, don't blame me! I mean, who even goes knocking on doors in this kind of weather?! I walked closer to the door and almost dropped the knife on my foot since I was so nervous. I really do not want to slice off my big toe.

"Hello? Who is this at the door?" I whispered and gripped the knife for dear life. Oh my gosh, should I be doing this? Nope, I shouldn't and here I am, doing it. Oh good lord.

"Amaraaa! C'mon, let's play a game!" a voice giggled. It sounded like my mom's voice but mellowed.

"Amara? Come outside so we can talk, or inside. It's pouring rain out here. Amara, are you still there?" a deeper voice asked, I gasped. I took a deep breath and quickly opened the door, raising my kitchen knife.

"Who are you and why is my mom with you?!" I snapped and pointed the knife at a man with brown hair and tanned skin.

" Whoa, whoa! No need to pull that out so fast! Can we talk inside?"

"Meet Logan, so nice, right?" my mom said while laughing. I lowered the knife but glared at Logan.

"Okay, you may enter?" I said and led them inside the living room. I threw down the knife on the table and pushed up my glasses.

"So, you met my mom at a party, I guess?" I asked and scratched my head. This feels a bit weird and my mom is probably still drunk.

"No, actually, I'm her co-worker and we went to the party but—"

"My mom got too drunk and you took pity on her," I sighed as my mom fainted on the couch. Not again with this passing-out thing!

"Don't worry, that happened at the party. She got way too drunk and I decided to give her a lift since she could have been pulled over for DWI. Sorry, I couldn't drive her home faster, we had to make a few stops for her to vomit," Logan said sheepishly, I stared at my mom. Unfortunately, this is not the first time this happened. My mom really is irresponsible, wow.

"Well, thanks for driving her home, bye now," I said and shooed him away to the door.

"Uhm, okay? Bye for now," Logan said and walked to the front door. I waved goodbye. Well, this is getting awkward.

"I'll see your mom at work later, you know, like tomorrow," he prompted and I nodded awkwardly. Can this guy leave yet—or do I have to ask?

"Uh, okay? Bye, Logan," I said, and after five minutes of silence, he finally left. Thank god.

I went back to the living room to find my mom snoring on the couch. I did not want her to throw up all over the floor, I'd much rather have her throw up in her own bedroom. I didn't want to drag her upstairs so I pinched her to wake her up.

"Ouch! What was that for, Amaraaa?" she groaned and held her head high, ruffling her strawberry blond hair. I rolled my eyes and pulled her to stand up. My mom's lightish blue eyes were super droopy and she was super mellowed out. Oof, this is going to be hard.

"Quit being annoying and go upstairs to sleep," I ordered and pointed my finger at her.

"Ughhh! You were so nagging from the moment you were born! No wonder why he left you!" my mom screeched and gave a fit. My throat grew dry and speechless. My mom was talking about my dad, he left when I was born. And my mom hates talking about him but always finds a way to slip up anyway. I always hate when she blames me for it, like WHAT THE HECK?! How is it my fault he left?! I wouldn't be surprised at all if I'm wasting away at parties! I tried to hold myself back, but I truly snapped.

"STOP BLAMING ME, YOU'RE THE ONE WHO DAD LEFT," I screamed back and stomped my foot. It feels babyish but I was in a rage.

"Don't call him dad, he's a loser," my mom snarled as the lights flickered. Ugh, the storm must be messing with the power.

"Leave me alone!" I cried and tears streamed down my cheeks. Stop crying, don't show her that I'm truly just weak. Because I'm not strong even though I try to act like it.

"I can't deal with you right now! I had to leave college because of you, Amara. So shut up and listen to your mother as most kids do!!!"

I wanted to yell back, saying, well, maybe I'm not like most kids, mom! but I felt tired. I was too tired to fight and shout back at her.

"I'm going to my room," I grumbled and turned to the stairs when she pulled on my wrist tightly.

"LOOK AT ME WHEN YOU ARE SPEAKING, AMARA SHINE!"

"Let go, it hurts! You're not in your right mind!" I hollered and struggled. My heart was racing and I felt terrified and anxious. I needed to protect myself. I pushed my mom back with my fist and she jumped back, hitting her head on the window. I gasped and turned back to face her.

"Are you okay? I'm so sorry!"

Then something happened, and not in a million years did I think this day would come. My mom yelled in anger and grabbed the vase on the table. I knew what was coming next. She threw it at me and I closed my eyes. No, please, please just be a dream. I leaped away and landed on the floor. THUD. I wanted to close my eyes forever and never wake up, but I had to. I opened my eyes slowly and saw pieces of the vase, BROKEN, scattered across the floor. Then I saw something red on my left hand. It was blood. I gasped in shock and glanced at my mom.

She looked terrified and dashed to the closest bathroom, locking herself in. I huffed in pain and tried to find a bandage to wrap my left hand. No luck, my mom forgot to buy them. I rinsed the cut with soap and water to make sure it wouldn't get infected. That's like my worst fear or something. I stared at the area where the vase got thrown and imagined what would have happened to me if I hadn't jumped away. At least the cut wasn't significant and it stopped bleeding. I groaned and grabbed a broom that was leaning on the kitchen counter. Someone needs to clean the mess anyway. As I was sweeping and trying not to slice my pinkie toe, I heard my mom crying in the bathroom. Oof. I stopped to turn to the bathroom door and listened to my mom's cries. Part of me wanted to burst in there and say hey, I'm sorry, now let's go to bed without any dinner or taking a shower, but a part didn't want to say anything.

We've been through A LOT but compared to what just happened. I even wanted to say I hated her for hurting me, and that she should be taking care of me instead of me having to take care of her. I had a lot of mixed feelings so I said nothing and finished sweeping and throwing the vase pieces in the trash. I stared at the empty living, remembering when I was younger. Nothing came other than me eating bread in my crib when I was little. I squinted my eyes to remember. I saw my dad, but his face was a blur. I can't remember him too well. He handed me a piece of bread and I could see him getting something out of his pockets. It was the silver coin I still have to this day. He tucked it in my blankie and got up.

"I'll come back," he whispered, and then he walked away from the living and to the front door. I opened my eyes and exhaled a deep breath. Well, he lied, he is not coming back. Some things never work sometimes.

I was about to head upstairs and call it a day when the phone rang. REALLY, RIGHT NOW?! I groaned and stormed to the phone. I picked up the phone with my right hand(my left hand still hurts!) and saw no caller ID. It was an unknown phone caller. Thinking it was just a prank call or someone from mom's workplace, I answered it.

"Hello?" I asked. It was Miss. M's voice. Oops, this is awkward for both of us.

"Amara, is this your number?"

"Miss. M?! How did you even get this number?" I cried and I could hear Miss. M chuckled sweetly over the phone.

"I'm a teacher, Amara. I found it from the school files, tell me, are you in any sort of trouble or danger right now?" she asked gently, and I froze. I turned back to face the bathroom with my drunk mom in it. This happened before...and my mom—well, frankly isn't very caring.

"Amara, hello?"

"No," I lied blissfully, sighing. I'm not selling my own mother out, we'll have to stick together for now. And only a small amount(more like a huge amount) of regret and pity was in me.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, u-um, good night," I said and was going to hang up.

"Wait!" she cried over the phone in a desperate tone. I got startled, and I think my heart skipped a beat.

"Y-yeah?" I stammered, God I was so nervous.

"Have you heard about Farrah? Anything? Uh, the school is asking questions about if anyone saw anything,"

"No, I didn't really see anything," I said and hung up on her. Okay, enough with this, I'm going to bed early. I slumped upstairs and locked myself in my room. Sigh, this feels like a letdown. I looked at the clock, it was only eight O'clock. Pretty early to fall asleep for me but I didn't feel like doing anything. I walked to my bunk bed and climbed up the ladder. But the bottom bunk didn't have a bed, just a table and stuff shoved inside. You know the bunk beds, but there's only a bed on the higher bunk and the bottom just has a table to do stuff? You know if that makes any sense to you guys.

I lay on my bed and turned off the light. Although it's not that dark, the storm is still going but much slower. I could hear water dripping on the window as I gazed at the ceiling. This might take a while for me to fall asleep. I took another look at my hand. It wasn't bleeding anymore but had this mark on it. That's going to leave a small scar. Okay, back to trying to fall asleep. I tossed and turned, and wondered if other people could just fall asleep in a minute. Sorry, I ask dumb questions sometimes, that's why Farrah thinks I'm funny. But I'm not funny, or am I? Okay, sorry for asking another dumb question. I'll go to bed now...until tomorrow. Little did I know, the next day, my life was about to change. Literally.