Tuesday began too early.
Ronda woke before dawn with the unpleasant clarity of a person whose body had refused to fully trust sleep. The fan still turned above her. The room was still dim. Outside, the neighborhood had not yet grown into its usual noise.
But inside her, the day was already alive.
Interview day.
The words sat in her chest with equal parts hope and irritation.
Hope, because something had answered.
Irritation, because answering back did not make the waiting easier. It only gave fear better shoes to walk around in.
She sat up slowly and reached for her notebook before her feet even touched the floor. The interview page was already creased at the corners from how many times she had read it since Friday.
Possible questions.
Clean answers.
No shrinking.
No apologizing
