Self-consciously trying to bridge the generation gap, a deplorable sell-out that doesn't: two high-school seniors so in love and taken SO seriously--she the rich girl who lives on the Hill, he the brilliant son of immigrant parents outrageously typecast as East Europeans, poor-but-genteel; she of the In-Crowd so proud of its ""democratic"" (i.e. liberal; i.e. pseudo-liberal) doings in electing the Negro as student president, he not even acknowledged by her uppity mother and father; she foregoing Vassar for secretarial school (that choice is the final yea-saying) to be able to support their prospective marriage, he off to MIT on scholarship. . . . All so very complicated by her neglected brother Greg, tragic adolescing product of a Garden Club matron, whose budding delinquency is as misunderstood by the author as by his family . . . as per the anachronism that's her idea of a modern pot-party (compatible with her notion that saddle shoes are ""in""). Say no, no, NO.