I slowly step out of the car, my earphones dragging on the seat. I toss my iPod on the backseat, not wanting to carry it. I look up at the house, a look of apprehension on my face. This is my new life, and so far it doesn't look good.

I follow my parents to the front door. My dad sticks the key in keyhole and turns the lock. It clicks open. He opens the door and steps inside. My mom goes in after him, and I go in after her. Our new house is packed with boxes, waiting to be unpacked.

I walk out of the foyer and into the living room. Our new living room is very spacious. The walls are a nice creme color with a white carpet. It would easily hold our dark brown couch, glass coffee table, 36 inch TV and the stand that holds our many DVDs, and our grandfather clock. There would be space to spare which will be nice.

A little hallway connects the living room to the kitchen. In the little hallway is a small closet. The walls stay their creme color, but the floor changes to a smooth tile instead of a carpet. I walk into the kitchen and am surprised to find a stainless steel refrigerator, sink, and stove. Around the stainless steel, there are dark, cherry oak cabinets and drawers. This kitchen is bigger, and nicer, than the one at my old house. Well, too bad, I don't like to cook.

On the other side of the kitchen, there is another big room. I assume we are going to make this room the dining room. Creme is still the color of choice but the floor changes back to its white carpet. The dining room connects back to the foyer. To the left of the front door is the living room, to the right is another hallway.

I walk down it to find multiple doors. The first one to my right is a small bathroom. The brown walls are a nice change to see. Closing that door, I walk a couple of feet and open the door on the left. I am met with an empty garage that smells like gasoline and is filled with dust. I close that door and walk to the end of the hallway, which is only a few feet away from the garage. Opening the last door, I find the laundry room. I wrinkle my nose, smelling detergent and lint. I close that door and walk back to the foyer.

Right in front of the foyer, a few feet left of the front door, are the stairs that lead to upstairs. Walking up them, I notice there are very few rooms up here. At the top of the stairs, there is an open hallway that looked down to the foyer. Making a left, I walk into what must be the master bedroom. It is huge. In the bedroom, there are two more rooms. Opening them up I find a nice master bathroom and a walk in closet. All the walls are creme colored and the floor in the bedroom and closet is a white carpet, with white tiles in the bathroom. I guess there's a trend.

Shaking my head in jealousy, I leave the doors open as I walk out of the master bedroom, across the hall, to find my room. Instead of having a connecting bathroom, mine is again across from my bedroom. I sigh and walk into my room. My attitude immediately changes. This room is huge. Not as big as my parent's room, but certainly bigger than my last room. Sadly, like my parent's room, it's creme colored with white carpet. In the middle of the room I turn to see another closed door next to the now opened door. I slowly walk toward it, expecting something to jump out at me. Instead, I open the door to find my own walk in closet.

"Yes!" I shout.

"Evangeline, where did you go?" My mom yells from somewhere downstairs.

"I found my room." I yell back, still in my walk in closet.

"Great! Now you can come back downstairs and get the stuff for your room." Mom yells, smugness in her tone.

I groan. Unpacking wasn't as bad as packing, but it's still a pain in the ass. I walk out of my closet, out of my room, across the hall, and bound down the stairs.

"Okay," my dad starts, "the boxes that have your name on them, Evangeline, are yours."

"Obviously." I say. He continues like he didn't hear me.

"The smaller boxes have your pictures, lamps, books, pillows, mirrors, and any other smaller items you packed. The tall, rectangular boxes have your bed, desk, dresser, and nightstand in pieces. That big, rectangular box has your mattress in it, which is what you will be sleeping on tonight, we will rebuild your bed tomorrow." Dad explains.

"Gotcha." I respond, picking up one of the smaller boxes. I walk back up the stairs and to my room to place the box in the middle of my empty room. Walking back downstairs, I pick up another box and bring it to my room. Box after box after box. It's a never ending stream of squares.

Finally, after I get the last small box to my room, I return downstairs to try and haul my mattress to my room. I don't get far. The damn box just won't move.

"Need help?" My dad asks, coming up from behind me.

"Yes." I sigh in defeat.

"Well, the first thing you should of done was open the box and take our mattress out. Would've been a lot easier." He says opening the side of the box and pulling my mattress partway out with a grunt.

"Need help?" I ask him innocently.

"It's your mattress. Do you want to sleep on it tonight?" He asks mockingly. I roll my eyes and scoff at him, but I bend down to help him pull my mattress out of it's box.

After it's out of the box, my dad moves to the other side of it and hoists it up putting his hands underneath the mattress. I copy his actions on the side of the mattress I am on.

He goes first, going backwards up the stairs. I follow him going up the stairs. Once we are upstairs, he walks backwards toward my room. He stops in front of my room and looks in.

"It would help if there was a place to put it down. Preferably not on a box." Dad looks at me and puts down his side of the mattress.

I smile sheepishly, "Sorry." I put down my side of the mattress and rush into my room. I move the boxes in the way. My dad picks up his side of the mattress again and starts dragging it into my room. I run out and grab the other side of the mattress, pick it up, and help carry it into my room. We sit it down next to the wall.

"Thanks Dad." I say dusting of my hands off together.

"No problem sweetie." He says, coming over to kiss my head. He leaves the room after that. I sigh, happy that my heavy box moving was done.

"Evangeline, come get your suitcases!" My mom shouts from downstairs.

Damn, almost done. I walk out of my room, jog down the stairs, and rush out the front door and to the car. The trunk was already open so I reach in and pull out my two suitcases. One was filled with sheets and pillow cases for my bed. The other was obviously filled with the clothes I packed yesterday.

Holding one suitcase in each arm, I walk back into the house and up to my room. I sit both of them down on my mattress. Now I'm done.

I fall back to land on my mattress. Feeling around for my phone, I realize my carry on bag was still in the back seat of the car. Grunting, I hoist myself off my mattress and walk out of my room to get my bag.

Walking outside, the hair on the back of my neck stands straight up. I scan the woods around our new house. A cool breeze kicks up and I hold my arms closer to me, trying to keep warm. Tiny rain drops start to strike my body. So much for a nice, hot day.

Now hurrying to get back inside before the rain really hits, I grab my bag, close the car door, and run back into the house closing the front door in the process.

Going back upstairs, I close my room door and lay back on my mattress. Fatigue hits me suddenly and I find that I can barely keep my eyes open. Pushing my suitcases of the mattress so I can have more space, I curl up on the mattress and fall asleep without so much as a pillow or blanket.

Saturday consists of building my bed, desk, dresser, and nightstand. It takes forever since my parents ignore me and have to build all their stuff. Building my bed, I drop one of the parts on my foot. Hopping around for the rest of the day sucks, but my foot hurt more. After my bed is built, I take on the task of building my desk. It takes about half the time the bed did, and for that I am grateful.

After I am done with the desk, I run downstairs to grab a bag of chips for my lunch, "Mom, we need to go grocery shopping. I don't like eating crap." I shout, hoping my mom hears.

"Yes I know. I'm going tomorrow." She shouts back.

Finishing my lunch, I run back upstairs and build my dresser and nightstand. Happy with my work so far, including when I put sheets on my bed, I snuggle into them and fall asleep.

I am home alone Sunday so I decide to furnish my room with all my smaller items. The first thing I do is find my speaker and plug it into my iPod. Don't Wake Me Up by Chris Brown blares out of the speakers. Humming along, I dance around my room putting up pictures, putting lamps on my desk and nightstand, placing my little trinkets around my room, and organizing my school stuff on my desk for tomorrow.

My phone buzzes, "Hello?"

"Evangeline?" My mom's voice comes through the phone.

"Who else?"

"Quit it with the attitude," she retorts, "we are on our way back from the grocery store. I'll make dinner when I get home."

"Mmhmm," I mumble, only half listening, "bye." I pull the phone away from my ear and am ready to hit the end button as I walk downstairs.

"Wait," Mom shouts in the phone, "remember you have school tomorrow. Make sure everything's ready so you don't have to stay up late tonight. Bye."

I hang up the phone after that. Tomorrow's going to be one hell of a day.