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