Haven't gotten the opportunity to proof-read this, just wanted to get something out for you guys this week. Thanks for everything :)

||Jamilla Tate|| First Person ||

        "Thanks for the breakfast." My mother looks up from her latte when she hears my voice, a small smile curling her lips upwards upon recognizing my appreciation. She nods her head in response.

        "It's my job as a mother, Jamilla." She responds, lifting her cup off of its small plate. She takes a tentative sip of her drink before setting it back down, the cup clashing against the saucer delicately. I wonder for a moment whether it's also in her job as a mother to pretend everything is okay. "How's work?" She asks for conversation, but I know she doesn't really want to know. The only thing that she could possibly want to know is if the store that I've been working at, Appletree Books, is still in business and if I'm still going to be employed well into the summer. The rest is just fluff, the side effects of having a child and being forced to communicate with them.

        "Boring," I say almost immediately. She snorts at that, finding my statement oddly amusing. I avert my gaze to the chalkboard sitting on top of the coffee shop counter, staring longingly at the WiFi password written neatly in pink chalk. I resist the urge to take my phone out and connect myself to the internet, but my mom would think that I was being disrespectful. I don't want to cause a completely avoidable argument in public, not when our system is working so beautifully. She wanted us to enjoy a nice eight A.M breakfast before I had to leave for my opening shift at work, and in return for not being a complete asshole, I would tolerate her.

        "I think it's quite peaceful," she remarks. I shrug my shoulders. It's not like she's really stayed inside of the store before. She's visited to bring me stuff occasionally, but she's never stayed long enough to formulate such a positive opinion.

        "I guess." I mumble, picking at my breakfast bagel. We stay quiet for a moment, her sipping at her latte with her eyes on the television set and me pretending that we don't disagree on nearly everything. It's a little while before she speaks again.

        "Do you want a ride or will you catch a bus?" She only asks this because it's the polite thing to do. I'm sure that if I asked her for the ride that she would give me one, but I don't want to have to sit through the long drive down to Appletree Books with her. The bus, though packed with all sorts of Cleveland inhabitants with varying degrees of hygiene, sounds like a more ideal choice. I wouldn't have to put up with her for longer than absolutely necessary.

        "I'm good, thanks." I tell her. She nods her head again. "I should probably head out... the bus..."I shift around in my seat, trying to slowly maneuver myself out of the situation.

        "Nonsense, finish your food and I'll drive you." As a twenty-five year old woman who grew up under the roof with two dictators for parents, I know better than to argue with her. If my mom had her mind set on something, it was going to happen and there was no point arguing the fact. I slump back into my chair and start picking at my bagel once more.

        Despite the fact that I moved out over two years ago and now share a cozy little apartment with my cousin Nina, I'm still obligated to keep in contact with my mom. On some mornings, she'll invite me out to breakfast to check up on me and my horrible progress into adulthood. Nearing twenty-six, I was still working a dead-end job at a local bookstore while constantly throwing my inadequate resume to a number of offices in the hopes of achieving at least an administrative assistant position. Without the ongoing financial assistance from my mom(who was now divorced from my father for four years), I barely managed to make ends meet with Nina. I needed her help, and she knew that. 

        I manage to endure another ten or so minutes of breakfast with my mom, suffering under the weight of unbearable small talk. The car ride down to the store isn't nearly as bad since I turned on the radio, effectively filling the space so she wouldn't feel the need to. She tells me to have a good day before speeding off to work, leaving me to open up the shop like I do every Thursday morning at 9 A.M. After finishing my elaborate duties of turning all the lights on, sweeping the already clean floor, and making sure that nothing is out of the order, I open the shop at ten. My first coworker enters at eleven.

        "Morning, Jams!" The door jingles pleasantly as a young girl steps through, a wide grin spread across her face as she greets me. Zaynab, a 20 year old University student, makes her entrance into Appletree Books carrying a tray of drinks from the Starbucks down the street. I smile upon seeing her along with a cup with my name(or at least a poor attempt at it) scribbled across it. 

        "Someone's in a good mood," I tease her as she hurries past the counter into the back room, where she quickly sets the drinks down. I see her quickly shrugging her jacket off her shoulders, hanging it across a chair before she grabs two drinks from the tray. "I like your scarf," I point out, referring to her beautiful, red hijab. She grins at me in appreciation, blowing out a cool breath of air.

        Zaynab Mohamed started working here last summer after wowing our boss Jennifer Goodwin with her bubbly personality and fantastic interpersonal skills. She defied all of the stereotypes that employers typically set upon her because of the very obvious fact that she was Muslim. Out of our eight or nine regular employees, Zaynab consistently outsold everyone else with her charm. She also happened to be one of my closest friends, though how she puts up with my dismal personality is beyond me.

         "It took me a while to get dressed, so thank you." She tells me, passing me my regular green tea lemonade. I see that my name has been spelled as Jumela today, which elicits a chuckle from me. "Is my outfit okay?" She asks me, stepping back and lifting her arms up.

        "Do a twirl," I tell her, to which she complies. Today, she's wearing a cream, knitted sweater rolled up a little above her wrists, dark skinny jeans, and a pair of ankle boots. I think vaguely that the boots deserve a little more attention than what they're currently getting. "Cute, but cuff the jeans a bit? The boots are cute."  

        "Sure," she sets her coffee cup on top of the counter, slumping into my chair so she can fold her jeans at the ankle to show off her boots. 

         "So, good mood-- what's up?" I ask her as I take a sip of my drink. Zaynab's eyes light up as she remembers whatever it is that has gotten her in such great spirits.

        "Oh! I almost forgot!" She quickly stands up, the excitement within her making her practically restless. "Two things happened today-- one, I got tickets to see one of my favourite bands with my older sister," I throw in a noise of approval as she speaks, "and two-- I got a ninety six on my English paper!" 

        "Nice job!" I congratulate her. "This is the professor that you said hated you, right?"

        "I was so surprised!" She said, beaming happily as she leaned against the counter. "He always gives me crap marks-- I worked my ass off on that paper."

        "Well--" I can see the door open from the corner of my eyes, but I don't turn to look just yet. "We should celebrate. Maybe after your shift, we'll get something to eat?"

        "Totally," Zaynab agrees. She doesn't quite continue the conversation though because a customer has walked in. A blonde girl in a red beanie and an oversized hoodie steps in, shooting us a small smile before she tentatively heads towards the Fresh Books aisle, which we created to give up and coming authors more attention. I've found a number of good reads in that section, which is where I normally recommend new shoppers to check out first.

        "What time is Wendy getting here?" Zaynab asks me. I shrug my shoulders as I respond.

        "I think she's coming in at 3," I say. Zaynab nods, turning her attention to the copy of The Great Gatsby that sits next to the cash register. I'm not sure if it's Wendy Jacobsen's copy or our manager's, but I remember her telling us that she wanted to catch up on some of the classics. I study the cover for lack of anything better to do, sighing tiredly.

        Day in, day out. Work. Home. Sleep. Repeat.

        Zaynab disappears into the back room, telling me that she was going to call her mom to tell her that she reached work safely. The girl who entered the store reappears then, carrying two hardcover books that she gently sets on the counter. "Hi," she smiles at me.

        "Hey, how's your day?" I ask her for conversation as I reach for the first book-- Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. 

        "I'm doing good," she answers me, "just catching up on some reading."

        "Harry Potter, huh? Interesting choice," I grin at her as I scan the book's bar code. I set the thick novel down onto the counter, reaching for the second book-- Me Before You by Jojo Moyes.

        "I'm travelling with my boyfriend right now," she tells me. pulling her cellphone out of her pocket and flipping open her wallet phone case. 

        "That sounds fun." I say. I ring up the total, catching sight of the notification that pops up on the screen-- ENTER SWEEPSTAKES!!!. I sigh tiredly, turning back towards the blonde girl. "So, totals over $25 get automatically entered into a $200 sweepstakes, but I just need your name and email address so if you win, we can wire the money to you." I pick one of our cards out of its placeholder, sliding it across the counter to the girl along with a pen.

        "Oh, uh," she thinks for a second, staring at the card. After a moment, she picks up the pen and gets to work. "[email protected]." She mumbles under her breath as she scribbles her email address down. "Jenna... Black..." When she's done, she passes the two items back to me. I take the card and immediately fold it, putting it into the ballot box next to the cash register.

        "Thanks, your total is $38.96." I tell her. 

        "Debit?" She asks. I push the machine towards her, allowing her to swipe her card and immediately pay for the books. I package them in our cute paper bags as the receipt prints out. I take one copy and stash it in the till before ripping her customer copy out, putting it inside the bag and passing it to her.

        "Thanks for shopping at Appletree," I smile, "you can fill out the customer survey listed on the receipt, your cashier's name is Jamilla." She stares at me for a second, her eyebrows furrowing, before she smiles again at me and waves.

        "Have a good day," she says, turning around and heading towards the door. As she leaves the store, I catch her looking back at me through the window. A curious expression warps her features, leaving me to wonder if I have something on my face. I subconsciously rub my cheek.