He looked in the mirror. His cheeks and chin were speckled with blood.

“Look, I have to take this other call,” Mark said. “Let’s do more on this another time.”

A hero, Regina called Davonte at dinner, beaming at him across the basket of rolls the waiter had been asked not to bring. She wore her hair down, in loose and shining waves she tucked behind one ear, and had on a dress that managed to be modest and snug at the same time. She wore simple pearl earrings, the same high, glossy pumps she’d worn on the tour. Eric wished he had saved someone today. He wished he had on a tie. He wished most of all that he’d never talked to Mark.

“I knew there was something about you,” Regina said. “When we stopped by Eric’s classroom and you were so passionately engaged in discussion.”

Davonte shredded his roll into fine crumbs, making a mess of his plate and the tablecloth. He was clearly uncomfortable talking about the rescue, which had been widely discussed around campus. Louis, the one-world-government novelist, had even given Davonte a gruff handshake.

“She probably would have been okay,” Davonte said. “The candy probably would have melted in her throat. Butterscotch is kind of soft.”

“Some butterscotch is hard!” Regina insisted. “We are lucky to have you as a member of the GWGW community. In more ways than one! I understand from Eric that you are a talented novelist.”

Eric had said no such thing.

“Yeah,” said Davonte. “I’m working on a book.”

“That is wonderful,” said Regina. “Novels have the best sales potential.”

“That’s what I heard,” he said. “That’s what I was thinking when I decided to go with a novel. I always had a good imagination.”

“They don’t always reach their potential, of course,” said Regina. She looked at Eric, then looked away, as if embarrassed by his lack of success. He grabbed one of the last rolls before Davonte could mangle it, and stuffed it in his mouth. It was consolingly delicious—rich with butter and yeast, warm from the oven. He signaled the waiter for another basket.

“We think the inspirational market—that’s a little broader than Christian, though I know you have a Christian background, Davonte—is taking off. Is it Donald? Or Davonte? I want to use the name you prefer.”

“Davonte is fine,” he said. “I go by Donald in an academic setting.”

Regina nodded. “Donald is your Christian name.”

“It’s the name my mother gave me.”

“Though your book will probably sell better with the name Davonte Gold attached,” she said. He agreed. They talked about all the various ways Davonte’s unwritten book could sell and sell. On Oprah and Dr. Phil. On Amazon and the Today show. To teens and moms and old ladies. To blacks and whites and Latinos—there was a marketing angle for everyone. Eric would have loved to be on Dr. Phil or the Today show, but the most he’d done, in terms of TV, was a brief segment on a public-access program in Charlotte. There hadn’t even been hair and makeup.