Chapter One
\"Hey， You going to the ball?\"
\"Come on， Brad，\" Derek said. \"Riley thinks a ball
has to say Wilson on it to be any good.\"
Jack Riley lool[ed up from a Zenlike contempla-
tion of his aged :~，high-top sneakers， which he had
propped on a stacker files on his desk. The world s
smallest Christmas tree， hung with decorations made
by kids at the shelter， perched atop his computer
monitor.
For all Jack cared， the cluttered newsroom， the
ringing phones， the glaring fluorescent lights and the
two yammering preppies could vanish in a puff of
smoke.
\"Look at the boy， Brad. Like， old Rilcy sgot noth-
ing to wear.\" Derek Crcnshaw took nauseating pride
in his cashmere sweaters from Brooks Brothers--sup-
plied by overindulgent parents.
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