“I mean it, Amy. I used to be a floor partner like you. Then I took the test and became Shop Responsible, and soon I was a shopkeeper, then floor manager, then Pat moved me up to deputy store manager. If I can do it, you can, too.”

“Right, and then I’ll be on my way to management, which means I’ll be responsible for everything that happens in this store, I’ll be blamed every time something goes wrong, I’ll have to go to more meetings, I’ll have to work more hours, I’ll have to deal with everyone’s scheduling headaches, and I’ll be making a whopping seventy-five cents more per hour. I’m not taking the test.”

“You already did,” Basil said. “Pat told me.”

Ruth Anne perked up. “Really? That’s terrific. Congratulations, Amy!”

Amy tried to keep herself under control.

“What’s the matter?” Ruth Anne asked, genuinely concerned.

The silence grew.

“It’s an easy test,” Ruth Anne said, chattering on. “You just read the handbook for twenty minutes and fill in the bubbles …” Her voice trailed off.

“She didn’t pass,” Basil explained. “She was two points shy. I asked Pat to ask Regional if they would make an exception, but you know how they feel about business metrics. Numbers never lie, and all that.”

Amy’s face flushed. Everyone joked that the Shop Responsible test was so easy, “even a store manager could pass.” Amy had been so confident that she hadn’t even attempted to prepare for it. She just assumed she would sail right through.

“You can try again in six months,” Basil said. “If you stick around, I’ll help you study.”

“I don’t want your help,” Amy said. “You started out in Wardrobes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Basil asked.

“Wardrobes is the lamest shop on the floor,” Amy said. “A packet of grape jelly could be Shop Responsible for Wardrobes. They’re just big empty boxes with doors.”

“That reveals a flawed understanding of Wardrobes,” Basil said.

“Wardrobes is hard,” Ruth Anne chimed in. “People get angry because they’re so tough to put together.”

“Okay,” Amy said, taking a breath. “I’m sorry. Wardrobes is awesome. It’s right up there with brain surgery. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“If you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to stay,” Basil said.

“I want to be here,” Amy said, digging her nails into her palms. “But, no offense, I don’t need any more advice, and please don’t quote any more chapter titles from Tom Larsen’s memoir. I know this is your religion, but for me it’s just a job.”

“That’s your problem,” Basil said. “For you it’s ‘just’ a job.”

“What’s it supposed to be?”

“Work.”

“Same thing,” Amy said.