AN: The POV will switch from 3rd to 1st person occasionally. This story begins right in the beginning of the 2nd book.

A change in environment is healthy, but rarely is it ever fun.

This rang true for Jacqueline, who had found herself unpacking her belongings in a sickeningly pale pink bedroom, within a beige house, within a dull town. It was a disaster. Of course, her guardian had agreed to let her paint the room and replace the carpet once they settled in. Yet, she had a feeling she'd never settle in a place like this. She had hardly stepped out of the moving truck when she felt eyes on her, raising the hairs on the back of her neck.

It wasn't surprising. Boredom Central, as she liked to call this quaint little town, was filled with a bunch of conservative clones, all sporting the same, name-brand clothes, with the same, dull-toned hair. With Jackie stepping in, her spiked pompadour dyed a brilliant shade of teal, a denim vest pulled over a black tank top and her combat boots adorned with spikes on the sides, well, she couldn't have expected anything BUT stares, except perhaps being burned at the stake. Though, she doubted they'd want to get the cheap hair gel on their perfectly ironed shirts by interacting with her.

She had no issues with "normal" people, even in large hordes. She did wish they'd be a little less obvious with their disapproval though. At least in New York, nobody had time to stare at each other, and her school had enough people to have a punk gang of it's own, a place where she belonged. Here, she felt like she'd be lynched just for her odd fashion choices.

Well, it didn't just limit itself to her clothes. Without the dull pink walls and stainless white carpet, her room was soon to be her little sanctuary. Her wrought iron bed rested right under her window, which she had just finished decorating with gray tartan curtains. Her dresser was sitting in the other corner, the drawers stacked up elsewhere in the house, probably next to the boxes with her clothes. Her various posters, wall-hangers, and other decorations were either scattered around her room or still in the moving truck, waiting for Rixie to push them into what was destined to be the living room.

With a delicacy she didn't usually display, she hefted up her Stratocaster Electric Guitar, a slick. navy blue with an autograph standing out upon it's rich color, scribbled in a silver sharpie. "To Jackie, Rocking the Night Life. Billie Joe Armstrong." She laughed when she read it, like always. She was twelve when she asked her idol to write that, and it was pretty cheesy, but she still valued it like her life depended on it. Gently, she placed it upon the display she had nailed to the wall earlier, strapping it securely and stepping back to admire her handiwork.

Even in a town that looks like the pastel fairy puked all over everything, her little mementos made it feel just as homey as her old apartment in New York.

"Jackie!" she heard her Mom, Rixiana, call from somewhere in the small house. She tore her gaze from her guitar, shoving boxes out of the way with her foot and stepping out of her bedroom door, calling down the hall.

"Aye?" she called back.

"Come here, I need you to grab some more of your things to make room for the couch." Jackie sighed, walking down the hallway and into the living room, where packages of all shapes and sizes rest in towers, more akin to a fort than a living room. She walked over to the stack with the most boxes labeled "J" and grabbed one, hefting it back to her room with a small nod to her Mom along the way. She smiled back, holding two boxes each twice the size of the one Jackie held.

That was something Jacqueline always admired about her adopted Mom. Jackie wasn't anywhere near weak, she actually had a decent musculature for a 17-year-old girl. Even so, Rixie was practically a bull when it came to strength. She was well over 6 feet tall, and she still managed to stay quite beautiful, even at 43. Her red hair was always in a messy bun, she was a bit wider around the waist than some women, and she went a little overboard on her lipstick sometimes, but she still looked damn good for her age. Plus, she was 207 lbs of pure German fury and could beat up anyone who had the gall to say otherwise. Win-win.

As she went to grab the 6th box, she saw Rixie dragging in the couch, while the mover was struggling to keep pace. Jackie smiled and went back to her room, opening the new assortment of packages and sorting things out. Clothes, books, boots, toiletries, make-up, the like. She worked until late sunset, sorting things, reassembling furniture, and taking the empty boxes out to the trash.

After her mother called to tell her to wrap up for the day, Jackie wiped the back of her forehead to get rid of the sweat and made her way to the living room. After a solid 9 hours of work from the both of them, most of the boxes were gone, and a lot of the living room furniture was placed. Jackie fell back onto the couch, ready to lay down and sleep, night life be damned. Besides, she doubted there was a "night life" in a town like this. Rixie popped her head out from the kitchen doorway.

"Don't you want dinner? You haven't eaten all day," Rixie said, her thick accent reminding Jackie once again how lucky she was that she didn't pick it up.

"Depends. Are we having spaghetti again?" Jackie asked, propping her feet up on the couch and stretching.

"I was thinking of ordering a pizza, but if you love my spaghetti SO MUCH, then I guess I can make some more." Her Mom's face lit up in a grin, and Jackie smiled right back.

"Extra Pepperoni."

"You hate pepperoni."

"Yeah. I need something else to complain about."

Rixie rolled her eyes, and held up a piece of paper in her hands. "If you want to complain about something, I'll go ahead and give you the news now. School on Tuesday."

"What?!" Jackie's eyes widened, and she darted up, her soreness vanishing with the urgency of NO. "It's Saturday! Don't we even get to settle in?"

"We got a lot done today, so we shouldn't need any extra time to unpack." Rixie shrugged, gave Jackie that stern "no-ifs-ands-or-buts" look that Moms seem to pull off so well, and retreated to the kitchen. Jackie groaned, running her hand through her aqua locks and burying her face in the couch cushions.

That ratty old apartment in New York sounded really comforting right now.