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boomed, his Kentucky accent more pronounced than Easy’s.
    Easy exhaled a puff of smoke and watched it float up into the trees. “Dad. Hey.”
    “It sounds like you’re smoking,” his dad observed, forgoing more common greetings like, “How are you? Good morning! Good to hear your voice, son!”
    Easy flicked his cigarette to the ground. “Nice to talk to you too.”
    Mr. Walsh sighed. “I hope you’re not calling to try and extract yourself from our dinner appointment on Friday night.”
    Dinner appointment?
Never have a lawyer for a father. “No, dinner is fine.” Easy lay down on top of a nearby picnic table. The warm sun had baked it dry after yesterday’s downpours, but the table still felt a little damp through his jeans and blazer. Still, it was much easier to talk to J. L. Walsh when lying down. “But I’m not going out with Callie anymore. And I’m sort of seeing …”
    “Are you kidding me?” His father’s voice raised a stern octave when he was upset. Easy felt his body tense up and his brain sent an apology to his lips before he could do anything to stop it. Luckily his father barked out orders over the top of it and Easy realized he was talking to his secretary.
    “Well, then, she’ll just have to be my guest instead,” his father continued, his voice easing back to its natural pitch. Easy could hear him scratching on one of his famous yellow legal pads. “I like Callie. I’d like to see her.”
    “Dad
...”
    “I’ll see you both there at eight sharp. Looking forward to it. Anything else?”
    Was there anything else? Easy wasn’t really interested in getting into a giant discussion about it, especially since the more Easy protested, the more his father insisted. Better to just let it go. His dad could complain about Callie’s absence all he wanted over his coq au vin.
    “See you then.” Easy clicked his phone shut and slipped it back into the pocket of his baggy Levi’s. He settled back onto the picnic table and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths of fresh autumn air and ruminating on how screwed he was.
    “Does taking a nap before the test help you remember things?” A feminine voice broke into Easy’s reverie. He propped himself up on his elbow and squinted. Callie was standing next to the table, wearing a white cardigan over a blue short-sleeved dress with a deep V neck that might have looked sleazy on some girls but looked fine on Callie, whose breasts, ever since she’d apparently stopped eating, had disappeared. She was teetering on one of her typical pairs of expensive-looking, pointy-toed heels, her new short haircut making her look younger and cuter than Easy was used to.
    He blinked. Was she here to give him a hard time? Even though they were in the same history class, it was a big class, and Callie sat near the front with the rest of the girls who wanted an unimpeded view of Mr. Wilde, who’d been the studly teacher on campus before skeevy Mr. Dalton had arrived. Easy tended to sneak in late and escape the second class was over, especially now that he was avoiding Callie. Their breakup had gotten so ugly, even weeks later, he couldn’t help wanting to avoid her—not for his sake so much as for hers. Waverly was a small place and it was notoriously hard to avoid people, but he wanted to do what he could to give Callie her space. Maybe she’d cool off and not hate him so much. Or maybe she’d stop hating Jenny, who was probably the most unhateable person ever. Callie was scary when she was pissed.
    Once, when he’d forgotten their six-month anniversary, she had taken his copy of
On the Road
and torn out every fifth page. But now here she was, standing in front of him,
smiling?
    Easy sat up and swung his feet onto the bench below. “Nah, I think I’m pretty hopeless.”
    “Maybe if you wanted to impress Mr. Wilde as much as I did, you’d be ready for the test.” She swung her expensive-looking honey-colored leather tote from one arm to the