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“Amira waits a second, as if she's waiting for me to say more, but any words I attempt to form feel caught in my throat. She's lifting the flip-up section on the counter when I finally get the courage. ‘I'm sorry about what I said during training,’ I say. Amira stops and turns to look at me. When the silence stretches on, she raises one of her perfectly manicured brows. ‘Is that all?’ Of course, she's not going to make this easy for me. A bubble of irritation threatens to pop inside me, but I push it down. ‘I'm sorry that I said that I didn't think this job would be too hard-‘ ‘I think what you said was it wouldn't be 'too difficult to manage.' God, she's so annoying. ‘Right, and I can see now that it is not a simple job and so I'm sorry. And I don't want to fight with you anymore. At least not at work.’ I jut out my hand then, waiting for her to shake it, but Amira just looks down at it and then back at me. ‘You're supposed to shake it.’ ‘Yeah, no, I got that. I'm just thinking.’ ‘About what?’ ‘If I want to shake it.’ I swallow a groan of frustration and instead plaster the best smile I can to my face.” — Zakiya N. Jamal