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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

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