SASHA ROSARIO'S POINT OF VIEW
"Anyone home? Sasha? Sasha!"
"Sashaaa!"
"She must be asleep again, honey."
"Knock harder—SASHA!!!"
"GOD DAMN IT—WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!" My brow knots tight, my throat raw from shouting at the top of my lungs.
Silence settles outside my front door. I kick the blanket tangled around my legs and push myself up from the mattress.
I have no idea what I look like right now, but my long hair falls in a messy curtain across my face. I swipe it away with an irritated huff and pin the strands behind my ears. I rub at the corners of my eyes to clear sleep crust, then dab at my lips in case I drooled.
Who cares if my hair looks like a bird's nest? As long as my face is presentable when I wake up.
I pull the door open with a sour look. On my porch steps, craning their necks up at me, stand Andeng and Junior—married couple extraordinaire. Andeng flashes a peace sign while her husband grins wide. Both carry enormous plastic food containers.
