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<div class="bbCodeBlock-content">Name: Quincey "Quinn" Sawyer<br/>
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Quinn yanked on the lever under her seat, cranking the chair back as far as it would stretch. Bulky “Wireless Beats” headphones blaring music into her ears, she propped her black and white chucks up onto the dash. “I really hate it when you do that,” her brown-haired father commented. She clicked her seatbelt into place and let her eyes close. <i>Yea, well…I kinda hate you right now, so I guess we’re even, </i>she thought nonchalantly. <br/>
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 She couldn’t believe that they were actually leaving New York City. Her home was here, her family was here. Just thinking about it made Quinn want to punch something. The 19-year old opened her eyes and craned her neck to peer out of the white car’s backseat window.  She was really going to miss this place. Their six-hour long drive was made in silence, aside from the exceptional inquiry about gas station snacks. The black-haired teenager didn’t hate her father, but didn’t particularly like him at the moment, either. <br/>
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When they finally pulled into the community, she peered out of the window and a small groan crept out of the back of Quinn’s throat. This was <i>exactly</i> what she’d expected: some cookie-cutter neighborhood, where all of the houses had perfectly stripe-patterned lawns and 20’ x 40’ -sized pools. “Give it a chance, Quinn,” her father cooed.<br/>
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<b>“You give it a chance, Jacob,” </b>she retorted, practically spitting out his name. When the 2008 Nissan Altima finally stopped, they were sitting in front of a closed double-door garage to a white, two-story home that had too many windows for Quinn to count. The black-haired female leaned forward to get a better visual of the house. <b>“Shit. How much money did you say she made?” </b>Her father ignored her. <br/>
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She stepped out of the car, snatching her black backpack from the floor and slinging it over her shoulder. She would come back for her suit case later. The sun was hot, beating down on her high cheek bones. Quinn was dressed in a pair of high-waisted jean shorts with a <i>Paramore</i> band tee cut just between her midriff. Her jet black hair had been tossed up into a messy bun that she didn’t care to adjust. The woman wasn’t particularly looking forward to another encounter with her father’s girlfriend or meeting her daughter. Closing the car door, she followed her tall father up to the front of the house, letting him ring the doorbell. He appeared casual, but Quinn could tell that the man was a second away from leaping for joy at the idea of moving in with this woman—Victoria, or whatever her name was.  </span>