“Elif, hello. I don’t know if this is pleasant or a surprise, but, yes, this is Grisha.” Freidin was at the dinner for the conference participants. He was, he said, experiencing confusion due to the total lack at this dinner of any graduate student presence. “You are not here,” he explained, “and Fishkin isn’t here. Josh isn’t here. Nobody is here. It looks—well, it looks strange. It’s a bit embarrassing.”

I considered this for a moment. “But we weren’t invited to the dinner,” I pointed out.

Silence.

“I see. You were waiting to be invited.”

I got into the left lane and made the next available U-turn.