She's slept with half the college campus for test banks—which she still sells. She's beaten up guys (read: helpless nerds) because they were easy prey. She's shoplifted lingerie for exhibitionist escapades. Her name is Violet, and she wants to change. Badly. Enter Christian boy, goody two-shoes, mister Bishop. From what Violet’s heard, he's cured AIDS, ran Latvian orphanages, and is practically Jesus incarnate. Not at all intimidating. Not at all intimidating. If her abusive parents ever espoused any belief system, it was to fight for what you want. So Violet does what a fighter does when she wants a man. She walks up—no texting, no calling, no dallying—and asks him out, mano a mano. But even a goody two-shoes has dirty soles. Bishop runs his own less-than-honorable business, and combined with Violet’s, they’re two pieces of an unwholesome pie fit for one another. But he wants to change too. So badly. They venture through a crucible that’ll either melt or solder. Violet hopes it’s the latter. Fate prefers the former. No matter the result, they will change. Violet and Fate both agree.