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I N M EMORY OF C LAIRE : A N O PEN L ETTER TO R IDGEMONT A CADEMY

My name is Emma Caroline Blake. But for as long as I can remember, I’ve had another name: Claire’s Little Sister. I used to resent it. Now, though, I’d give anything to hear someone call me that.

Claire Isabelle Blake graduated from Ridgemont six years ago. Her list of achievements is too long to publish, so here are a few highlights: All-star tennis player. First chair violin. Senior class president. Valedictorian.

She went to Harvard, where she graduated summa cum laude. Then she moved to New York City, where she became the youngest VP in her division at JP Morgan. She lived in a beautiful SoHo apartment with dozens of plants and one Siamese cat.

Claire Isabelle Blake had it all.

Did I mention that she was beautiful? That she knew a million jokes by heart? That she was the kindest, most generous person you’d ever meet?

Well, she was. But in the end, that didn’t matter. None of it did.

This past December, while all of us were home for winter break, my sister, Claire, killed herself. She didn’t leave a note, but I know why she did it.

She was miserable.

The dream child, the brilliant student, the perfect employee: Claire spent her entire life trying to live up to other people’s expectations. Trying to be who they wanted her to be.

It broke her. And it started here at Ridgemont.

We have a reputation for academic excellence, and we’re proud of that. We send so many kids to Harvard, they should pay us a finder’s fee. But our never-ending pursuit of perfection has a dark side. A deadly side.

Relentless pressure leads to perpetual stress. And when anything less than perfection feels like failure, we all lose.

We’re always being reminded of the opportunities our Ridgemont education offers—the life of wealth and success that awaits us. But what is the cost, besides $75,000 a year in tuition?

Our happiness? Our mental health?

Our lives ?

Those of you who knew Claire knew what a magical person she was. Her smile was brilliant and her laughter was contagious.

She was the best of us.

But we asked too much of her.

Claire didn’t deserve to die. And I didn’t deserve to lose the person I loved most in the world.

Wake up, Ridgemont.

Sincerely,

Claire’s Little Sister