lden…brown…haired；

glittering…green…eyed；　fifteen…year…old　boyness。　Nate　smelled　like　Downy　and　the　Kiehl？s

sandalwood　soap　the　maid　stocked　his　bathroom　with。　Serena　just　lay　there；　trying　to　breathe　with

him　on　top　of　her。　？My　scalp　is　cold；？　she　pleaded；　getting　a　mouthful　of　Nate？s　snow…dampened；

godlike　curls　as　she　spoke。

Nate　sighed　reluctantly；　as　if　he　could　have　spent　all　day　outside　in　the　frigid　February　meat

locker　that　was　the　back　garden　of　his　family？s　Eighty…second…Street…just…off…Park…Avenue

Manhattan　town　house。　He　rolled　onto　his　back　and　wriggled　like　Serena？s　long…dead　golden

retriever；　Guppy；　when　she　used　to　let　him　loose　on　the　green　grass　of　the　Great　Lawn　in　Central

Park。　Then　he　stood　up；　awkwardly　dusting　off　the　seat　of　his　neatly　pressed　Brooks　Brothers

khakis。　It　was　Saturday；　but　he　still　wore　the　same　clothes　he　wore　every　weekday　as　a　sophomore

at　the　St。　Jude？s　School　for　Boys　over　on　East　End　Avenue。　It　was　the　unofficial　Prince　of　the

Upper　East　Side　uniform；　the　same　uniform　he　and　his　classmates　had　been　wearing　since　they？d

started　nursery　school　together　at　Park　Avenue　Presbyterian。

Nate　held　out　his　hand　to　help　Serena　to　her　feet。　She　frowned　cautiously　up　at　him；　worried　that

he　was　only　faking　her　out　and　was　about　to　tackle　her　again。　？I　really　am　cold。？　He　flapped　his

hand　at　her　impatiently。　？I　know。　e　on。？　She　snorted；　pretended　to　pick　her　nose　and　wipe　it

on　the　seat　of　her　snow…soaked　dark　denim　Earl　jeans；　then　grabbed　his　hand　with　her　faux…snotty

one。　？Thanks；　pal。？　She　staggered　to　her　feet。　？You？re　a　real　chum。？　Nate　led　the　way　inside。　The

backs　of　his　pant　legs　were　damp　and　she　c