"Hey," I started. I turned toward her, away from the books. The most important book was in my hands, and I offered it to her.

"A Bible," she said. "And look at that, it's not on fire."

And for a blink in time, we were caught up like that. Mirrored smiles. Familiar.

"I did a little reading," I told her.

"Have you."

"Don't believe me?" I asked.

"Proof's in the pudding."

I cleared my throat. "People swear by someone greater than themselves, and the oath confirms what was said and puts an end to all argument. Because God wanted to make the unchanging nature of his purpose very clear to the heirs of what was promised, he confirmed it with an oath. God did this so that, by two unchangeable things in which it was impossible for God to lie, we who have fled to take hold of the hope set before us may be greatly encouraged. We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain."

Everly nodded, but no light lit her eyes. "Well done. You memorized a Bible verse."

"I thought it'd make you happy to know I was reading more than medical books."

Her back flattened against the bookcase and she sighed. "All self-righteous people take an oath: military men, lawyers, godly men, doctors, and etcetera. According to this passage God took the oath so that you could believe in His word and that hope would never abandon you when you crept behind your curtain of hurt to hide. I think God was the only one upholding his oath, and the rest of the world's noble oath-takers are full of malarkey."

I feigned offense. "To think I was going to buy you a brownie after all the shit you put me through the other day."

The faintest smile grew in the poke of her cheek. "I don't like food any more than I like false oath takers." She finally looked at me in a way that only she owned. "What do you think?"

I shrugged. "People in general suck at being good. I think that's why God left that magical 'repent and I'll forgive you' clause."

"In a way," she agreed. "But I also think it's a test, like, when you tell a child to do something, just so they won't."

Everly had a dry crack on her bottom lip that held my attention. It looked as if she had split it open several times. A little dried blood lingered on her lip. "So God's whole plan is reverse psychology? I bet he's bummed about the outcome of that plan."

"Are you here to debate religion with me, Callum?"

"No, but you already knew that." I poked at a well-worn book spine. "If . . . if I do this, no games. You give it to me straight. I don't have time to play around."

She agreed, "Neither does Truscott."

"How long do you have? What's your expectancy?"

"Age three," she smiled.

"Why are you still alive?"

"Some might say it's all the planning my father has done. The rules. The routine. But I think it's because I haven't done this yet. Like Truscott is just meant to have my heart."

I reminded her, "You promised no 'just'."

"Sorry."

"What happens if Truscott dies before you?"

"Then it wasn't my purpose after all."

"This is crazy," I half-laughed, "I can't believe you talked me into this."

"I didn't do anything. I told you-it was already there."

I glanced around the cafe. "We can't really be seen talking to each other outside of class without students from the other groups complaining about me cheating." I took a breath. "I'm going to my parent's house in Montauk for Fourth of July break. I want you to come with me. We can talk freely, without anyone looking over our shoulder or school to contend with."

Everly shook her head. "My dad will never agree to that. The beach? No nurses? This heat? It's a lost cause."

"My father will be there. And for the record you're not the only person who can argue well or use someone's words against them."

Everly took the Bible from me and flipped to cover open. "You have a pen? Write to Everly Anne love Callum."

"Why?"