Massie looked with disgust at the beautiful small house in front of her.
"Ehmagod, it's, like, so gross. Like, my horses' closet is bigger than this. Ewwwwwwww."
"Massie, be nice," Massie's mom, Kendra, said. "Wilfred built this house all by himself out of logs! Isn't that exciting?"
"Forks is the logging capital of the world, you know," her father, William, bragged.
"Where are, like, my, like, horses, like, supposed to go?" Massie asked obnoxiously.
"Massie, if you had let us sell your horses (or your clothes, or your cell phones, or your computer) we could have stayed in Westchester instead of moving here. A few racing horses would have paid for a smaller house there. But because you're such a brat, when our house gets foreclosed, we can't rely on you for anything. Thanks dear."
"But daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad, I neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed all those things! They're, like, my entire life! I have no life without them."
"You already have no life," William muttered under his breath.
"Why didn't you wear a provalactic dear?" her mother Kendra inquired.
"I forgot," William mumbled and hung his head in shame.