He sighed and flipped through the manuscript on top, turning the pages so fast they fanned air into his face. “I used to work at Princeton,” he said.

“Well,” she said. “This is not Princeton.”

“What’s this?” he asked, pointing to the “GWGW” logo on the manuscript’s cover page. The logo had been printed on pale blue card stock, according to Mark’s instructions, and added to each manuscript. It was this card stock, mottled like old paper money, that originally jammed the copier.

“That’s one of our funders,” Marianne said, fitting a fresh copy of “Flower Herding” into the feeder. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s the funder,” Eric said. “Other than tuition. God’s World God’s Word. They pay your salary.”

“Such as it is,” Tom said.

“Right,” said Marianne. “And for all of this wonderful office equipment.”

“Say,” Tom said, peering at the logo, which featured a globe with a cross planted at the North Pole like a moon flag. It cast a shadow across North America. “This isn’t some right-wing organization you’re fronting?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“God’s World God’s Word is a faith-based organization involved in education and outreach efforts,” Eric explained. “They’ve been very generous.”

“No, I suppose I don’t want to know,” Tom said. “I’m beat. Where’d you say my room was?”

“This way,” Eric said, opening the screen door.

“Needs to lock from the outside,” Marianne heard Tom instructing him as they rounded the corner toward the dormitories.

After locking Tom into his room, Eric helped Marianne copy and bind the last of the packets, then walked her to her own room, deliberately sited all the way on the other side of the Ranch, just across from his. Sitting across from each other on her two beds, they shared the last of the punch, which seemed to have gone through an additional fermentation process since Marianne had funneled it into her thermos.

“To a successful opening night,” Eric said, raising his paper cup.

“To no one getting permanently lost,” Marianne said. “Or into any fights.”

“That’s true,” Eric said, pouring himself another. “Though I wanted to deck Tom when he picked you up and kissed you.”

“Me too,” Marianne said. “Yuck. Why didn’t you?”

Eric shrugged. “I didn’t think you wanted to teach nonfiction. Also, I think he would have knocked me out.”

“That’s probably true,” she said. The punch in her cup was down to its syrupy dregs, and she stretched her tongue to reach a maraschino cherry stuck to the bottom. Dislodged, it exploded alcohol into her mouth. “Anyway, you did a good job of evangelizing GWGW to him.”

“I didn’t evangelize,” he said. “I wouldn’t know how.”

“You did! You called it a faith-based organization involved in education and outreach.”

“But that’s what they say they are,” Eric said. “I was just repeating—”