“Get out of the house” yelled my mother, “go be outside. It’s a lovely day”.

I throw down my copy of Little Women, but then pick it up and smooth it out because it is my favorite possession. I carefully set it down on the desk and dart out of my room.

“Ok Mom” I holler down the skinny hall to the kitchen. I race out the backdoor before my mother can reply. I grab my bike and unlock it with the code of my younger sister’s birthday.  Mia was everything to me; now she is just a distant memory.

I grab my dandelion colored bike and swing my right leg over the seat and pull myself up. I push the right pedal and then the left until I have a pattern going. I ride past our neighbors, the Johnsons. Mrs. Johnson, who only cares about her daffodils and roses, hollers at me while she is picking her flowers from her garden to stay away from her yard because I cut close to the curb. Why she would think I would ever even go near her house with her dog always unleashed is beyond me.

I keep pedaling, past the rest of the worn down houses, and then I cross into Taffeta street. White houses sparkle in the sunlight. Green grass shimmers with color. I keep riding, trying not to think about the house we used to own on this street. As I pass it, 7345 Taffeta Street, I look the other way. I can not bring myself to think about... Mia. Finally, I reach the end of the street and make it to the town. Shops of all colors shine out with the desperate cry of want less materials.

I keep riding and soon find that something seems out of place here at this town. In the old abandoned shop, something has just opened, or at least that is what the sign says. Allen’s bakery, or at least, that’s what I can make out from my bike. There are no windows, which I find kind of strange. But then something catches my eye. There is a grey sign at the bottom of the building which reads, “Help Wanted”. No person could have seen that without looking for it. Well that’s odd, I think to myself. Why would someone, who wants to find people to work for them, put a sign basically where no one can see it. This makes absolutely no sense. This person must be mad, I think to myself. I hop of my bike and flip down the kickstand. I walk over to the sign in the corner. I notice that as I get closer, more words appear on the sign.

On the back of the paper, I see more writing “come right in to talk about getting this job” Well, I do want a job for something to do, and the money would be nice, so I open the front door and walk in. My mind is shocked.

What I thought would be a run down old building is actually a petite, French looking bakery. What I thought we be an empty bakery is actually jam packed with people at tables looking satisfied with their service. I then look straight across from me and see two French doors looking out onto mainstreet. I must have come in the back door.

I walk to the counter where the cashier hastily is pressing buttons on the register.

“Your Order?”

“Um, I'm actually here to talk about getting a job.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, I saw the sign, by the door.”

She gives me a confused expression

“You know, the one…” I begin

“Just  to your left in that door marked office.”

“Ok.. Um, thanks” I say, a little stunned I was interrupted, but I decide to let it go and move on. I walk past the cashier and into the room marked “Office.” When I first walk in, I see the room is a little cramped. There are two bookcases and then a huge desk in the center of the room. I see a man sitting in a big chair behind the desk looking at some files that don’t seem to relate to the bakery.

Just while I am trying to read words on the paper, the man looks up and says, “Yes?”

        “Um, well, the cashier said to come in and talk to you about getting a job”

He, like the cashier, stares at me blankly.

        “You know, the sign…”

        “Yes, yes of course. I could use a waitress if you want to be hired?”

The next day, which is a Monday, as I ride my bike down the long, but also short path to the town, I park my bike by the side of the bakery and walk in the back door. I mean, I would go in the front door, but I would have to go around to the other side of the store, and the door is always crowded with people. I put on my new apron by the slate that says my name on it in the back room. I walk up to the hostess table to check out what tables I will be serving. I see on the small ipad my name on four different tables. While I am eyeing this, the hostess comes over with the first customers of the day, and my shift begins.

        After a quite busy day, it is time to get paid. I soon realize that since we have a tip jar, and that we don’t get tips personally, the manager just divides them evenly. Sounds fine to me. At the end of the day, I end up making $10.12, which is pretty good. As I help clean up, I see the manager exit through the front door. I guess he’s ready to go home, but so am I, I think to myself. I grab my money and exit through the backdoor to my bike?.

        The rest of the week goes about the same. I wait on four tables, the manager divides the money, which is usually around ten dollars, and then while we are cleaning up he exits through the front door hastily.

        On Thursday afternoon, as I am coming over to pick up my check, I see I only made three dollars. What? How can that be? I am quite confused by this, and my curiosity gets the better of me. I peer over my fellow employee and see that they also only made three dollars. But, we were just as busy as yesterday. As I start to clean up, something else happens. The manager exits through the back door.

        For the next few weeks everything goes back to normal, except on Thursdays. Every Thursday we only make three dollars instead of ten, and the manager exits through the back door. This shouldn’t bother me, but it does. So one Thursday, I decide to follow him. When he leaves, I quickly run out the door and follow him. This cheap old guy thinks he can get away with only paying us three dollars! I think to myself. I keep following him until I see the hospital, the hospital, where Mia died. I shudder, but I am on a mission, so I keep following him. He walks to the front door, and so I follow him. He then walks up a flight of stairs and as I follow him, I see that he turns into a hallway and then into a room marked 32B. As he walks in the room he leaves the door open. I peer in and see a girl lying in a hospital bed with the machine hooked up to her. She is unconscious. He strokes her  forehead and then whispers something to her that I cannot hear. He then turns to come back out of the room, so I run down the hall quickly so he cannot see me.

He stops at the desk clerk right outside the room and takes out a pile of money from his pocket and says “Will this be enough to cover her medical expenses for this week?”

The lady at the desk looks of the money and says “Just enough”

He looks very satisfied and relieved, and leisurely walks out the door. It reminds me of all the times he walked leisurely out of the bakery, except on Thursdays. I suddenly understood why. I understood why the manager took the back door.