Friends and Strangers - J. Courtney Sullivan Page 0,108

as soon as she reached the post office lobby, unable to wait for the privacy of her room. Inevitably, it contained something underwhelming, like a jumbo bag of cough drops her grandmother bought two-for-one at Walgreens, sending one to Sam and the other to her brother.

On Valentine’s Day, before she even opened her eyes, Sam told herself not to expect anything. Clive was arriving on Wednesday, four days from now. It would make no sense for him to have something delivered today. Anyway, he thought Valentine’s Day was a manufactured holiday, designed to put money in the pockets of florists and greeting card companies.

He sent her two or three love letters a week. Since they shared their day-to-day on the telephone and over Skype, the letters were mostly declarations of how much he adored her and missed her, coupled with detailed descriptions of what he’d like to do to her were she standing in front of him. Reading them, Sam felt a rush, and yet she could not help playing out a fantasy in which she died prematurely and her grieving mother discovered the words Clive had written, causing her to die also, of mortification.

Sam kept the letters stacked in the drawer of her nightstand, the blue airmail stickers in the upper-left corner giving her a boost whenever she saw them.

But there would be no letter today, if she knew Clive. He had strong opinions. When it came to Valentine’s Day, he said he refused to participate in anything that cynical masquerading as romance.

Today, Sam told herself, would be a Saturday like any other. In the morning, she went to the art building to work. In the dining hall at lunch, there were heart-shaped sugar cookies dyed a pale pink and a giant bowl of conversation hearts. When Sam went upstairs after she ate, she found that Isabella had placed three of them on her pillow:

OH BABY

HOT STUFF

CRAZY 4 U

In the afternoon, she procrastinated; she watched TV.

She avoided the mail until five, when her curiosity got the best of her.

On the off chance Clive had sent something, she didn’t want to miss it, not mention it, and potentially hurt his feelings.

Sam felt a burst of elation upon seeing a green slip in her box, like she had unwrapped a Wonka bar to find a Golden Ticket. The line at the window was twice as long as usual. She watched each student present her slip and walk off with a vase of red roses or a large box wrapped in brown paper.

There was a charge in the air, not unlike the one that emerged in grade school when a second-tier holiday like this rolled around. All those silent expectations knocking up against one another, creating a new kind of energy. It was the case even though campus on this day could be divided into the small faction of women who had dates in town and the far greater number who would be attending The Vagina Monologues. Sam had agreed to babysit.

To pass the time in line, she read the notices on the classifieds board. A new club called Knitting for Social Justice was meeting every Tuesday in Reynolds House; a Take Back the Night vigil would be held on the quad this coming Thursday. There were index cards tacked up by people seeking rides to New York City or Philadelphia or to the airport. Sam was grateful that George had offered to take her to get Clive on Wednesday.

One notice stood out from the rest. It was printed on neon-orange paper, and at the top were the words WAKE UP. Sam made eye contact with the woman behind her in line, to indicate that she’d be right back. She went closer, so she could read the smaller print on the page. It was a letter to the student body, signed by seventy-five adjunct professors from various departments, warning that if working conditions didn’t improve, they would soon boycott.

Apparently only tenured professors were making more than minimum wage and receiving benefits. Sam thought of all the instructors she’d had here. She couldn’t say who had tenure and who didn’t. Except for a few old guys who definitely had it and, as a result, completely phoned it in in the classroom.

She thought right away of the Hollow Tree. She snapped a picture of the letter with her phone to show George the next time they met.

Elisabeth and Andrew believed George was abnormally obsessed with the Hollow Tree, but Sam agreed