Stupid and rich, clever and poo r
What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old girl who
died?
You can say that she was beautiful and intelligent. She
loved Mozart and Bach and the Beatles. And tne. Once, when
she told me that, I asked her who came first. She answered,
smiling, ''Like in the ABC.' I smiled too. But now I wonder.
Was she talking about my first name? If she was, I came last,
behaid Mozart. Or did she mean my last name? ff she did,
I came between Bach and the Beatles. But I still didn't come
first. That worries me terribly now. You see, I always had
to be Number One. Family pride, you see.
In the autumn of my last year at Harvard university, I studied
a lot in the Radcliffe library.
The library was quiet, nobody knew me there, and they
had the books that I needed for my studies. The day before
an examination I went over to the library desk to ask for a
book. Two girls were working there. One was tall and
sporty. The other was quiet and wore glasses. I chose her,
and asked for my book.
She gave me an unfriendly look. 'Don't you have a library
at Harvard?' she asked.
'Radcliffe let us use their library,' I answered.
'Yes, Preppie, they do - but is it fair? Harvard has five
million books. We have a few thousand.