It was evident to Kevin, just a freshman shadowing a senior reporter, talking as they walked through the Collegetown neighborhood, its lopsided homes looking all the crummier in the gray autumn light, that Alan—squinty, skinny Alan Yu from Oyster Bay—did not follow much of this advice himself, that he did not, in fact, fuck a bitch almost every night. Yes, Alan was in a fraternity. But this was Cornell. This was not Bama or Michigan or Mizzou or UT or Tennessee. This was a campus filled with nerds and legacy students and kids who’d been rejected from Harvard. There was something safe in that.

King, says Alan as they move down College Ave. in the direction of Day Hall, the university’s administrative hub where the two are supposed to interview the Dean of Student Life, Just remember that this is college and that you’re now in the newspaper business. You always tell everyone everything about everything.