TFP fanfic snippet thing

Jasper. The name was bland and ordinary in her head and it came out bland and ordinary on her tongue, like old bread or stale milk. She risked another glance out the window, hoping perhaps she had just woken from an unpleasant dream, but was met with arid desert scenery once more. Her head drooped. No, it was not a dream... Jasper, Nevada was reality, and she was stuck in it.
What was so bad about San Francisco? Or Salt Lake City? I mean, come on, anything has to be better than this, she groused mentally, contemplating the view from her bedroom window. It was on the second story of the old house, facing the east, so that every morning the sun would shine into her room (it was bright and uncomfortable and not in the least bit cheery). She flopped down onto her bed, which was covered by an old blue and black quilt, and sighed heavily.
For probably the millionth time since arriving here, Max Westerly prayed something would happen so her dad would move someplace else.
Her eyes wandered to the picture frame sitting on her nightstand. A man's face smiled at her, though the smile seemed a little guarded; it was a handsome face, with tired lines and a hint of gray creeping into the dirty blond hair that was shorn close to his scalp. He wasn't really her father, but he was the closest thing she had to one, so she thought of him as such. For as long as she could remember, he had fed her and kissed her goodnight and made sure she had clothes to wear... that was what dads did, right?
She loved him, and yet she couldn't help but resent him as her thoughts turned back to the predicament at hand. Jasper. Bland and ordinary. Not at all the sort of town she wanted to live in.
Vegas. Vegas would've been way cooler, she sulked, closing her eyes and exhaling.