My dad drove me to Princeton in the summer of 1981, across the flat highways connecting Illinois to New Jersey. But it was more than a simple father-daughter road trip. My boyfriend, David, came along for the ride. I'd been invited to attend a special three-week summer orientation program, meant to close a "preparation gap," giving certain incoming freshmen extra time and help settling into college. It was unclear exactly how we were identified -- what part of our admissions applications had tipped the university off to the idea that we might benefit from lessons on how to read a syllabus or advance practice navigating the pathways between campus buildings -- but Craig had done it two years earlier, and it seemed like an opportunity. So I packed up my stuff, said good-bye to my mom -- neither of us teary or sentimental -- and climbed into the car.

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