Has everyone heard about the snowstorm? We?re supposed to get four feet by midnight!? Jackie Davis, Nate?s teen group facilitator at the Breakaway Rehabilitation Center, rubbed her hands together as if the idea of being snowed in with all these rich derelicts was her idea of a rocking good time. After Nate had gotten busted in the park, his father and Saul Burns, the family lawyer, had come to fetch him at the precinct. Nate?s father, a stern, silver-haired navy captain who handled emergencies with crisp, efficient formality, had paid the fine of three thousand dollars and cosigned an agreement that Nate would immediately attend a drug rehabilitation program for a minimum of ten hours per week. That meant Nate was going to have to ride the train out to Greenwich, Connecticut, five days a week for counseling and group therapy. ?Just think of it as a job, son,? Saul Burns had tried to reassure him. ?An after-school job.? Captain Archibald hadn?t said anything. It was pretty clear that Nate had disappointed him beyond words. Luckily Nate?s mother had been in Monte Carlo visiting her thrice-divorced sister. When Nate had relayed the sordid tale over the phone she?d shrieked and wept, smoked five cigarettes in rapid succession, and then broken her champagne glass. She was always a little dramatic. After all, she was French. ?All right. Let?s start out by going around the circle,? Jackie instructed in a sunny voice, as if this were the first day of nursery school. ?Tell us your name and explain why you?re here. Keep it short, please.? She nodded at Nate to start, since he was sitting directly to her right. Nate shifted uncomfortably in his Eames chair. All the furniture at the posh Greenwich, Connecticut, rehab clinic was twentieth-century modern, to match the minimalist beige and white d?cor. The floor was cream-colored Italian marble, crisp white linen curtains covered the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the staff wore beige linen uniforms designed especially by nineties denim impresario Gunner Gass, a former patient who was now on the facility?s board. ?Okay. My name?s Nathaniel Archibald, but everyone calls me Nate,? Nate mumbled. He kicked at the legs of his chair and cleared his throat. ?I got busted a few days ago buying weed in Central Park. That?s why I?m here.? ?Thank you, Nate,? Jackie interrupted. She smiled a frosty, brown-lipsticked smile and made a ............