The Perfect Place by Teresa E. Harris Page A

paper bag and peeks inside. “You got me sesame seed.”
    â€œYou asked for sesame seed, didn’t you?”
    â€œNo. I asked for poppy.”
    The girl cocks her head to the side and looks at Byron, wide-eyed. “They’re pretty much the same thing. But my manners!” She waves at Great-Aunt Grace, Tiffany, and me. “I’m Sasha, Byron’s girl.”
    Great-Aunt Grace eyes the girl’s wrists, which are covered in tangled gold bracelets. Sasha notices and holds her arms out so Great-Aunt Grace can get a closer look. “I’m a jewelry freak,” she says.
    Byron is scowling at her. She understands the look on his face, which says, plain as day,
Go get in the car,
because that’s exactly what she does.
    â€œWhere’d you find that one?” Great-Aunt Grace asks.
    â€œShe lives over in Bracie.” Byron smiles, showing two rows of perfect teeth. “You know I love the ladies. Listen, you beautiful girls have yourself a good day, you hear?”
    â€œYou too,” Great-Aunt Grace says, fishing her keys out of her pants pocket.
    â€œHe said I’m beautiful,” Tiffany says, as Byron pulls away from the curb.
    â€œGirl, please,” Great-Aunt Grace says. “That fool has more women than he has sense.” She grabs her cooler, unlocks the door to Grace’s Goodies, and ushers us inside.
    The first things I see are the shiny wrappers of rows and rows of candy glittering in the murky light, like coins in a fountain. Great-Aunt Grace flicks a switch, and everything comes into sharper focus. Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, 3 Musketeers, Swedish Fish, Skittles, no-name chocolate bars (but who cares because chocolate is chocolate), sour watermelons, gummy bears. My eyes don’t know where to settle and my hands don’t know what to grab.
    â€œDon’t even think about askin’ for anything.”
    My eyes land on Great-Aunt Grace. “I don’t even like candy.”
    I would lie, cheat, and steal for candy. And the first chance I get, I’m going for a pack of Sour Patch Kids. In the meantime, Great-Aunt Grace informs us that there is work to be done. I’m to wipe down the shelves in the back, and Tiffany—
    â€œCan I work the register?” she pleads.
    Tiffany has a thing for buttons.
    Great-Aunt Grace grunts, neither a yes nor a no. “First you’re gonna help me restock the shelves out here in the front, make sure there’s enough of everything.”
    Tiffany and I follow Great-Aunt Grace through a waist-high swinging door that’s connected to the counter. As we pass the cash register, Tiffany looks back and sighs.
    Great-Aunt Grace leads us to the stockroom, where I’ll be working. It’s cold and gray, but anything is better than being outside in the Black Lake heat. Shelves line each wall, and on each shelf are boxes and boxes of candy. When I turn to look toward the front of the store, it’s like it’s back in Jersey, it’s so far away. Tucked away in the corner is a phone hanging on the wall. Does it work? Can I use it to call for help? It’s not fair that Great-Aunt Grace won’t let me work in the front too. She probably doesn’t want to be around me any more than I want to be around her. On the plus side, working in the stockroom means I’ll be left unattended with more candy than I’ll probably ever see again.
    It’s like Great-Aunt Grace reads my mind.
    â€œI know which boxes ain’t open, and of the ones that are, I know exactly how much candy is in ’em.” She gives me a long, hard look. “You want some, you gotta pay, just like everybody else.”
    I think about the money in my pocket. Mom gave it to me for emergencies. Somehow it doesn’t seem right to spend any of it on candy—candy that should be free, any old way. And now that I know cleaning these shelves isn’t going to produce any type of reward—given