The second thing I’d learned was that everyone was friendlier if you had a dog with you. As soon as we emerged onto the street on the Upper West Side, random strangers were smiling at us as we passed, or pointing out Brad and saying how cute he was. And like he understood, he started strutting. When two girls who looked college-aged saw Brad, they immediately started cooing over him, and I took the opportunity to ask for directions to Mateo’s dorm. They told me where to go, and after they’d both taken selfies with Brad (he seemed pretty skilled at it, giving strong looks right to camera), I’d been able to find it, only getting turned around one other time.

There were fewer big buildings here, more sky, and Columbia gear in store windows and on people passing me on the street—the school’s name visible on hats and sweatshirts under open coats.

And the third was that if you look vaguely college-aged, you can, apparently, get into a dorm in New York City. Mateo’s dorm was pretty intimidating—the building was white sandstone with columns, and when I pulled the door open and stepped inside, I could see there were chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and a round desk in the center. But the desk was empty, a handwritten note on the top that read Gone for dinner back in 5.

Since asking some kind of official person to call Mateo for me—and at least tell me where in this building he lived—had been my plan, I was a little bit at a loss.

But then the door opened again, and two guys walked in, both wearing COLUMBIA CREW sweatshirts under open jackets. They walked over to the elevators, and I followed, hoping that maybe they could help me.

“Um,” I said, taking a deep breath and trying to tell myself that even though these were cute college guys who rowed crew, there was no reason to be nervous about talking to them. (Kat had a theory that the cutest college guys rowed crew, and when I tried to tell her this was entirely based on The Social Network and not even college guys who rowed crew looked like Armie Hammer, she would not be dissuaded. Also, who knows, they could have been tech crew. The sweatshirts were not very specific.) But I tried to tell myself that they at least would probably not try and rob me, so I could count whatever came next as a net win. “Do you guys know Mateo Lampitoc? He lives in this dorm?” My voice went up at the end, and I mentally rolled my eyes at myself. I was trying to break the habit—if I was going to clerk someday for a Supreme Court justice, I couldn’t be using upspeak. “He lives in this dorm,” I said again, dropping my voice lower than I probably needed to on the last word.