“Wow, six figures.” Marianne blew into the phone, trying to whistle. She did not ask how much of the advance would go to Eric, but she imagined that it would be more than his own two-book deal. “When are you coming back to the Ranch? And what do you think about the scholarship idea?”

“Merit or need-based?”

“Both? One of each? What about the diversity fellowships we talked about?”

Eric cautioned her: she’d been overly optimistic about their numbers before, and there was still a lot of uncertainty. Who knew if the people who downloaded the applications would apply, or if the rate of applications would continue? Plus they’d have to hire someone to read them all, unless she wanted to go blind or crazy doing it herself.

“There’s a question on the application—how did you hear about us?” Marianne pointed out. “I’ll just look at that.”

“And throw them out?” Eric said. She didn’t answer. “There’s one more thing. Tad Tucker, the man himself, plans to take a class.”

“Tell him to get in line, then,” she said. “All the webinars and online classes are full. Or did he already register?”

“That’s just it,” Eric said. “He doesn’t want to take an online class. He wants to join a workshop, he wants to come in person.”

“You’re not asking me to give that man an advantage, are you?” Marianne was not sure she could say “Tad Tucker” without adding “that fucker.” And automatic admission certainly would not be fair to the other Day of Inspiration applicants, destined for the paper shredder.

“The thing is, he wants to start right away,” Eric said. “He wants to come for this session, actually, with the other students.”

“He wants to get here on Monday?”

“Not Monday, actually. He says he can come on Wednesday.”

“Well, that’s impossible. The classes are full. Plus classes start Monday, not Wednesday.”

“Not impossible,” Eric said judiciously. “My workshop is smaller than the others. He wants to do fiction.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” said Marianne. “He has plenty of experience doing fiction. More than you, even!” When Eric didn’t respond, she argued, “Your classroom is tiny. Also, there is the question of balance and community and fairness. And the fact that classes start Monday. No, it is impossible.” She sipped her coffee.

“It isn’t impossible, Marianne. It’s done. He’s coming, he’s registered. It was part of the deal.”

“Part of what deal?”

“The deal you’re so excited about—signing up new students, getting out from under GWGW’s … influence,” he said. Then, more firmly: “It’s done, Marianne. I will email my students. I will teach him. I will handle it. It’s not your concern.”