When I woke up, I was momentarily startled because there was no alarm clock.
The sun had risen, streaming in through the window, and there I lie like a lazy sack of potatoes, hours after the time I would normally be up and moving.
Stumbling to my feet, I noticed the closet door had been opened.
An outfit hung from a hanger and, stepping closer, I saw a sticky not tacked onto it.
"Get changed. Come down for breakfast."
It was cursive in black pen, and the handwriting looked feminine. Poala, I thought with certainty as I pulled it from the closet, noticing that there was a sports bra and underwear. They were plain, white, but comfortable. I changed quickly, aware that most of the items didn't fit very well, tucking the oversized dark green t-shirt into the front of my waist-high jea
