It was finally two-thirty. When the family's shop, The Belladonna's Book Shop, first opened, it read the sign on the front door in large bold letters to make it visible to passing pedestrians. The shop opened about ten years after my mother left and has been thriving ever since. We are, of course, well-known for our book selection. Most customers come in specifically for it. Casually causing a rush when the shop first opens for business.
I arrived at the shop on foot about fifteen minutes before Clarice. She is usually a few minutes late because school ends at two-thirty. I've always wondered how school is. Aunt Visha and Uncle Fallon never sent me there because it is not for people like me. Whatever that means. So, I taught myself to read, write, and do everything else that people in school are supposed to learn for years. I didn't want to become illiterate, so I took every chance to learn.
I took the key ring from my right pocket and pushed open the shop's door. An earthy aroma hit my nose as the door swung behind me as I walked in. The shop is decorated with yellow, brown, and white accents. The bookshelves are, of course, brown, and the wall art is yellow. Some customers come in to view the wall art as if the shop were a museum. I walked over to the white-painted wooden checkout counter and slid the keys into the drawer. I looked at the time and saw that the Belladonnas would be open in ten minutes.
I went over to the body mirror that sits between the two bookshelves on the left to make sure I was presentable for the customers. To keep my hair out of the way, I braided my curly black hair into French braids. To match the theme of Belladonnas, I wore a yellow long sleeve blouse. My blouse was tucked into my black pants, which went perfectly with my white velvet flats. I rubbed my face, checking for red lipstick smudges on my dark skin like Aunt Visha.
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