“Pleasant-fuckin’-Grove,” I muttered under my breath, exhaling out a quiet yawn. “Good ol’ Pleasant Grove. Who the hell’d name a town that? Like, _man_-”

“Elena, do you _have_ to swear?” Asked my mom, from the passenger seat. I could tell the move was irritating her, stressing her out and whatnot.

“Yeah, I do,” I replied, leaning my head back against the cold window, watching the rain drops slowly fall away.

I could hear my mom sigh, mutter something to my stepdad, James, but I couldn’t hear exactly what. Probably some anxious remark about me, you know.

The bland, flat-land highway began to fade into suburbia. Elderly women crossing the street; kids, just out of school for the day, riding bikes and rushing for whatever; school buses filled with teenagers, rounding corners just about as carefully as a drunk driving towards a cliff on a dark, December night. All that bullshit.

“Fucking stupid suburbs,” I muttered, glancing sideways at my mom’s annoyed look. “Fucking stupid. This is all so _fukcing_ pointless, ya know, Mom-”

My mom turned around in her seat to glower at me with her barely controlled Mom-wrath: tight lips, wide open eyes, cheeks flushing from red to violet by the second. “Shouldn’t you be a little more grateful, young lady? You’re pretty lucky for all this, all _this_ for _you_. I think you oughta be a _lot_ more grateful, Elena.”

“I told you I didn’t wanna leave,” I replied dully, voice bland and harsh, as I lolled my head to the side. “I’d rather have stayed- I don’t give a shit. It was _your_ idea to move, ‘cause _your_ ego is too fuckin’ _massive_ to have ever-”

“Elena, stop,” James commanded as he stopped at a red light. “Stop.”

“What the fuck do you know, man!” I just about laughed, whipping my head away to look out the window. I crossed my arms, adding, “You just conveniently showed up at the right time, didn’t you? Yeah, man, _you’re_ the lucky one here, not me! How the _fuck_ am _I_ lucky?”

When they didn’t answer me, I got really pissed. “Answer me, assholes! How the fuck am I lucky?”

“We’re almost there,” said James to my mom, ignoring me.

I landed a solid kick in the back of his seat. “I said, how the _fuck_ am I _lucky_?”

“It’s a pretty nice old house, you know, Elena.” My mom told me, expression blank. “You haven’t seen it yet, have you?”

I sighed, rolled my eyes. “No, I haven’t.”

We drove down several residential streets in silence. I stared out the window, each perfect, identical house passing by, with their stupid, smooth driveways, a car or two parked in each. Green, clean-cut lawns. The occasional maple tree. Smooth, sun-heated sidewalks. Very stereotypical.

It was the kind of neighborhood that picked out anyone _lesser_ and singled them out until they had to leave, or be killed by fuming, suburban, P.A.C-volunteering, soccer moms, who would snarl and spit at you like rabid animals.

James parked the car. I stared blankly at the house, exactly the same as its neighbours, except for the one-digit difference in the address.

“Isn’t it nice!” Squealed my mother in excitement, rushing out of the car.

I got out and stood in the driveway, unmoving. I watched James and my mom begin to gather boxes from the trunk, hauling them inside.

I grabbed my suitcase, brought it into this house. My mom was already frantically unpacking pots and pans and kitchenware.

“Which room’s mine?” I asked, looking around at the empty beige walls, empty beige space, empty beige rooms.

“The master bedroom is our’s, and yours is down the hall, across from the bathroom.”

“Thanks.” I lugged my ancient suitcase down the hallway, into a dark room with two windows hidden by blinds, a slender closet, and beige carpet, and slightly different beige walls with stained, white trim.

I set my suitcase down and just stood there, thinking. Until- “Elena, come get your mattress! What are you doing-”

“Nothing.” I strode out, helped James pull my mattress and bed frame into my room.

I unpacked all my crap. No furniture besides my bed. I began tacking up my crinkled posters to the boring, sad walls. They were still boring and sad, but at least they had pictures of rockstars on them.

My mom walked right in without knocking- that was typically her style- and sighed. “Those damn posters. You shouldn’t be idolizing those junkie freaks just because they can play guitar.”

I just blinked at her. “They aren’t junkie freaks, they’re rockstars. Tell me you didn’t admire, like, Elvis or whoever, when you were my age?”

“I was your age in _1973_, Elena. And I never liked him, anyway.”

I rolled my eyes and finished sticking up my posters, flopped down on my bed. “Well, did ya like Aerosmith?” I knew the answer was no, but I found it funny anyway.

My mom leaned her hip against the door frame. “We’re gonna go out to eat tonight,” she said, ignoring the question. “I’m too tired to cook, and we don’t have any food.”

“Alright.” It didn’t matter to me where or when we ate. “When?”

“I don’t know, a couple of hours.”

“Okay.”

She left, leaving the door open behind her.

After a while of staring at the ceiling wearily, I got up and found my parents assembling furniture, unloading boxes from U-Haul trucks, cleaning up little things.

I stood motionless in the hallway, forlornly, kind of lost. It was a Saturday, usually on Saturdays I would be hanging out with my buddies: Gia, Kelly, Speed, and Darren. What was I supposed to do in this place for the next week until school started?

“What’s wrong?” Asked James, dusting his hands off on his jeans.

“I dunno.”

“Why don’t you help your mom set up the new TV?” He suggested, with a phony smile. That’s the thing I never liked about my stepdad; he was a pretty phony guy.

“I think I’m good.” I strode right back into my bedroom.