Quentin Coldwater was not good at much. If you asked his elementary school teachers, they might say Quentin was good at reading. If you asked his mother, she might say that Quentin was good at breaking precious things. If you asked his therapist- well, Quentin didn't have one of those at the moment, and he wouldn't have thanked you for trying to talk to them anyway. It's hardly anyone else's business what his therapist thinks of him. They probably all pity and despise him in equal measure. The things that Quentin wasn't good at outnumbered the stars in the sky. He's not good at talking to people. He's not good at dressing himself. He's not good at turning his assignments in on time. He's not good at being the son his dad deserves.
If you asked Quentin what he was good at, he could scrounge up a few: he's good at remembering minute details that others forget, he's good at close-up magic, and he's good at pretending to be okay. Today is a day that will challenge all of those skills. Okay, admittedly, he doubts that Yale cares much about close-up magic, for all that his essay about it netted him this interview. No, today is about impressing an alumnus with facts and figures that he's memorized about their philosophy program, and not showing any signs that he's as crazy as he feels right now. He's Quentin Coldwater, which means he's a talented, ambitious, promising applicant, and not any of the other things that being Quentin Coldwater means.
"It's only the alumni interview. It's only Yale."
He's aiming for flippancy; it doesn't land.