It was a Saturday afternoon in Brooklyn, New York as time went by like a speeding bullet; cars burned rubber tires against roads, small ants zipped across streets to get their destinations, and the smell of cooked hot dogs formed clouds above 78th Haven Street, a place where people turn a blind eye to drug dealing, corrupt cops, and illegal activity in alleys.

In the midst of the chaotic street, was an apartment complex: approximately seven stories tall building, with forty-nine silver windows, twenty fire escape ladders, and a rough brick texture that makes it stand out from the rest.

Inside these forty-nine windows were forty-nine civilians; all who looks normal in the human eye, but beyond the glass surface, is a reflection of me: a sixteen-year-old, porcelain doll named Jacqueline Antoinette Cassidy, or 'Jack' for short.

Strands of hazelnut brown make up my medium length hair, but if you stare at it bit closer, you can tediously see the dark blue highlights dripping down my lustrous mane.

Last summer, I decided to do something different with my hair, because I liked expressing myself. I liked seeing a drop of paint appearing on a blank canvas, enjoy watching girls getting pixie haircuts in barbershops, and crave profanity words spray-painted on shitty billboards.

To me, putting highlights on my hair is badass, but since my dad didn't approve of my choice of expression, I dyed strips of my hair dark indigo, so my dad couldn't see the color.

And as for the rest of my appearance, I look like the type of person you would see strolling across the street: my cat pupils are in a brownish-black color, soft crimson blossomed on my slightly plump cheeks, and my lips matched the color my golden brown skin.

And also, since today is a weekend, my clothes consisted of a large, white t-shirt with a black Mickey Mouse logo on it, jeans that went down to my knobby kneecaps, and fuzzy, blue socks.

Although the outfit I am wearing was my older brother's hand-me-downs, I preferred wearing them over girly clothes, makeup, and heels.

Plus, to be honest, I wasn't into those things anyway. I hated the attention of boys wanting me for just my body. To them, boys think girls are pretty on the outside.

Ranking how hot girls are, or who made it to first base, most boys are assholes.

And while most girls find comfort in sharing their private secrets online, I spend my days swearing, drinking beer, and smoking cigarettes with my best friend, Austin Hale.

Although he has achieved puberty in the sixth grade, Austin has the height of a twelve-year-old kid; his brown hair is curly, his dark eyes sparkled, and his skin is the color of milk. Being the socially awkward elephant in the room, Austin Hale is quiet, intelligent, and the only guy in school who has two gay moms.

Today, he wears a white t-shirt, jeans, and gray socks. His black sneakers are on the blue carpet floor, right next to my brown sandals.

Other than cigarettes, Austin and I bonded over directors, filmmakers, and Marvel characters, but the one that I had eyes for, is the Asgard warrior, Thor.

To me, Thor isn't like any other guy in the world: luscious blond hair, glittery blue eyes, and a sexy accent, the moment I saw Thor in theatres, I wanted to be his wife.

"You're obsessed with Thor," Austin sighed, glancing up at the ceiling of my bedroom.

Unlike most kids my age, I have all of my things spread across on the blue carpet floor: cameras magazines, old scripts, and childhood drawings of me and Austin when we were kids.

A white, wooden desk and a chair stood across from the closet, whereas a blue bookshelf leaned against the wall, filled with my favorite novels such as Harry Potter, Maze Runner, and the Hunger Games series.

Not only was the bookcase five inches from the bathroom door, but also the bed as well, which was draped in blue satin bedsheets.

Other than old movie posters, my empty, egg blue walls are covered with pictures of Thor and the actor, Chris Hemsworth, himself. While most include his Marvel castmates, some consisted of Chris shirtless, revealing his muscular six pack to me.

"Shut up," I snorted. "He's an unbelievably gorgeous man-"

"Who is married." reminded Austin. "You're so fucking obsessed with the guy's abs."

"Because I am a girl, Austin." I scowled. "Girls love abs."

"Not all girls go gaga for abs, Jack." Austin snorted. "If you don't believe me, ask my moms."

His moms, Olivia and Kristy Hale, are free-spirited vegetarians who have worked in the LGBT community for almost twenty years. Austin tells me that they travel all around the world, appearing in colleges, marches, and parades.

"Isn't Kristy bisexual?" I inquired.

"She is bisexual," Austin corrected. 

"Although she loves Olivia, Kristy is obsessed with Ben Affleck. Hell, she even has photos of him on her bedroom walls."

"Well, he is pretty handsome," I say, picturing Ben Affleck's chiseled features. 

Austin stifled a groan.

"Ew," he replies, cringing. "You make it sound like he's Prince Charming. Anyway, do you have an idea for our new film?"

I roll my eyes and rests my head against the bed. Scott Davis is a New York director who directed horror movies like, Ghost Ship, Dracula's Son, and The Undertaker.

Two weeks ago, Scott arranges a contest where kids, ages ten and up, will make a short drama film which lasts about thirty minutes. The winners will not only get to meet Scott Davis, but their film will be premiered in the Oscars.

Eagerly, Austin was pumped to make a movie, as he wrote our names on a sign-up sheet given to Mr. Keswick, his thirty-five-year-old drama teacher.

And while he is excited to get recognized by Scott Davis, I was less enthused.

"I still don't understand why the fuck you signed us up for a film contest," I groan.

Austin scrunched his eyebrows. "Why not?"

"First of all, I don't know if our movie is good enough to win an award, let alone a film contest," I mumbled.

"And second, my dad thinks it's 'perfect' that I need to put down my camera, and make friends."

I politely take the cigarette from Austin's fingers, held it to my lips, and breathed out a mushroom-shaped cloud which disintegrated into the air.

My dad is Joseph Cassidy, a proud police officer and pain in my ass; he had strict rules on how to behave and dress, he didn't approve of my smoking, and he couldn't stand Austin being around me.

I didn't know why that is, Austin is polite, a good kid, and he's a dog person. And even though he smokes, Austin doesn't get addicted to them, unlike his moms who smoke E-cigarettes 24/7.

Once again, I inhaled the cigarette and blew the gray-colored smoke in the air in boredom. A nice cool fan breeze dusted gray ash from the tip and fell on my Mickey Mouse shirt.

Cursing, I wipe the ash from my shirt, leaving a huge smudge on Mickey Mouse's face.

"Ugh," I moaned. "Seriously?"

Austin laughed, "that'll get you to stop smoking."

In response, I punch him on the shoulder.

"Ow!" he cried. "What did I do?"

I playfully shrug my shoulders. "I don't know, I think it's your sarcasm."

"Fuck you," Austin snorted.

He takes the cigarette away from me and tosses it in a nearby small, blue trash can underneath my desk.

Just then, Joseph Cassidy barged into my room, wearing a crisp, navy blue NYPD police uniform. He has slick grayish brown hair, a thick mustache, tanned, but wrinkled skin, and tired blue eyes.

His expression appears to be grim, as he carefully steps into my bedroom and shuts the door behind him. His posture was straight, his skin sagged, but his eyes focused only on me.

"Hey Jacqueline," he said wearily.

"Joseph," I snort.

"Hi, Mr. Cassidy," Austin says politely, only to be ignored by Joseph.

"Aren't you supposed to be studying?"

"We're finished studying," I replied scornfully. "we did our homework at the school library."

Joseph lifts his right eyebrow in curiosity.

"Really?" he asked.

When I nodded, Joseph snorts, "are you sure you weren't making out with your boyfriend?"

Austin blushed, while I rolled his eyes.

"Dad, we didn't have sex-"

"I bet you two were talking about producing films and shit."

"Really, Dad?"

Nervous, Austin tries to reassure the angry parent, telling him there was nothing to worry, but I angrily shot back at Joseph.

"We weren't discussing films," I snarled defensively. "Just paranoid fathers."

Angry, Joseph opens his mouth to retort, when he sees Austin watching him and me in terror.

His brown eyes were tense with fear, his face is pale, and he looked like he was about to wet himself.

Not wanting to scare the boy, Joseph says, "do your homework, get rid of the cigarette stench in your room, and stop giving me attitude."

"No promises," I retort. "and next time, please knock."

"No promises," Joseph repeats sternly, as he departs from my bedroom and closes the door behind him. Seconds after he left, I lock the door and turns to Austin, who looks at me strangely.

"Do you think it's a good idea?" he asked. "Because I don't want him to think that we are having sex."

"So let him." I scoffed. "Besides, I already told him that we're friends."

"Wow," Austin says, nodding his head slowly. "That's going to convince him."

I ignored him. "Let's hatch some ideas for our film."

"Really?" he asked. "Five minutes ago, you didn't want to."

"Well, I do now," I said grinning. "Let's get started shall we?"