I was absolutely taken with this book's start, "We live in the dregs of Queens, New York, where airplanes fly so low that we are certain they will crush us. On our block, a lonely tree grows. Its branches tangle in power lines. Its roots upend sidewalks where we ride our bikes before they are stolen. Roots that render the concrete slabs uneven, like a row of crooked teeth. ... In front yards grow tomatoes that have fought their way through the hard earth."

There's more poetry as Andreades's story of third culture brown girls coming of age unfolds. Sadly, the first person plural narrative put me off, and I didn't finish the book. I hope others, with more of a love for experimental storytelling will get out of the novel what I didn't.