Then she leaned over and gave Amy a hug. Amy tried to say something, but her tear ducts felt swollen and her throat was a clenched fist. She knew that if she opened her mouth to say anything, some great big honking sob would claw its way out. She promised herself that she was not going to cry. They could take her job, but they would not take her dignity. Amy pulled back from Ruth Anne, gritted her teeth, and stared down at the carpet.

How had it come to this? For the first eighteen years of her life, she’d had one goal: get out of her mom’s trailer. When the guidance counselor had laughed at her plans to go to college, she’d cobbled together enough grants to get into Cleveland State for commercial design. But then her mom remarried, and her new husband’s income had pushed Amy into another need bracket. Without financial aid, she had to file papers as a noncontinuing student. Now she was late with her rent again, and her three roommates had made it clear that she had twenty-four hours to deliver the $600 she owed or they would throw her out.

The more Amy struggled, the faster she sank. Every month she shuffled around less and less money to cover the same number of bills. The hamster wheel kept spinning and spinning and spinning. Sometimes she wanted to let go and find out exactly how far she’d fall if she just stopped fighting. She didn’t expect life to be fair, but did it have to be so relentless?

Ruth Anne squeezed Amy’s hand and offered her a clump of Kleenex. Amy waved it away.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m not crying.”

The two women sat next to each other, stiff and silent. Amy moved from shock to bargaining, to depression, and right on through to righteous indignation, finally arriving at acceptance. Then her cycle of grief started all over again and by the time Basil slid open the door, she was back to righteous indignation. Before Basil could speak, Amy took the floor. If she was going down, she’d go out in a blaze of glory.

“I know you’ve got it in for me and that’s fine. But I cannot believe that you are firing the one decent, good person in this place.”

“What?” Basil asked, caught off guard.

“Amy, don’t—” Ruth Anne began.

“No,” Amy said. “If I’m getting fired, I’ll take it. But I want him to know that firing you is a huge mistake.” She turned to Basil. “Firing Ruth Anne is like clubbing a baby seal. It makes you evil. Everyone likes Ruth Anne.”

“Amy, listen to me,” Basil said. “Your brand connection is weak, your presentation leaves a lot to be desired, your attitude is aggressive and confrontational and not at all consistent with Core Values—”

“Don’t do it,” Amy said. “Please.”