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really into sports.”
    â€œWell, this will have to change here. Everyone is into sports. Besides, you and our athletes share one thing in common: you don’t need to worry about grades. The piano comes first, and the school understands that.”
    â€œUnderstands . . . as in fewer classes?”
    â€œNo, as in flexible curriculum. There are easier courses whose sole purpose is to give students like you a break: Physics for Poets, Rocks for Jocks. Those two should get you through the science requirement, unless you hate geology.”
    I wanted to ask what she meant by “students like me”—I was not a jock—but we had already reached the restaurant. The place turned out to be much pricier than I had expected. Its glass wall overlooked a sidewalk patio directly on Nassau Street—the main shopping and dining artery that divided the north end of campus from the town of Princeton. Once again, I regretted not having done a simple Internet search. When Donnelly’s e-mail had mentioned lunch at the Blue Point Grill, I had glossed over the name, unaware that in America the word grill signaled upscale ambience and thirty-dollar entrées. Now she, of course, fit right in with a brown pantsuit and coral brooch pinned to the lapel, while I sulked next to her, hoping that my black jeans and turtleneck could pass for edgy college chic.
    â€œMrs. Donnelly! We were starting to worry that you had forgotten us this week.”
    The waiter showed us to our table and I tried to decipher the menu while the two of them exchanged pleasantries. It was a maze of seafood dishes, referring to at least a dozen kinds of fish I had never heard of before. When she ordered the sea bass, I asked to have the same.
    He grinned in my direction. “May I interest you in any of our delicious starters?”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    Donnelly sensed that I needed help. “Would you like a soup or a salad, dear?”
    â€œNo, just the main course would be fine, thank you.”
    I was going to need quite a few restaurant trips in America before a meal would stop being an exercise in embarrassment. Luckily, Donnelly didn’t seem to mind. She loved the place, calling it her “weekly indulgence,” but I found it hard to believe she had the means to come here so often. Back at home, my family went to an upscale restaurant only on special occasions—two, maybe three times a year. Most other families could afford even less.
    â€œSo where were we?” She unfolded the napkin and placed it in her lap—another American custom. I copied everything she did. “Ah, yes, classes and grades. The bottom line is to manage a decent GPA. It doesn’t have to be great, just decent.”
    â€œI need higher than decent to keep my financial aid.”
    â€œThat’s the last thing you should worry about, especially with reviews like the one you just received. Your campus job, on the other hand, is a bit of a problem. I heard they’ve assigned you to the dining hall two nights a week?”
    â€œI don’t mind working.”
    â€œIt’s not a question of whether you mind. There are only so many hours in a day, and you can’t be washing dishes while you should be at the piano, practicing. Have you talked to anyone about it?”
    â€œMy award letter said this was part of everyone’s package, no exceptions.”
    She frowned, taking off her jacket and pulling up the sleeves of her beige blouse, as if to prepare for a battle with the food that hadn’t been served yet. “First of all, it isn’t everyone —only those who can’t pay their own way. And second of all, there are always exceptions. The whole thing is absurd anyway.”
    â€œWhy?” There was nothing absurd about earning pocket change when you needed it.
    â€œBecause somebody took a great premise and flipped it on its head. With the ton of money they are giving you each year, do you