Change of Heart

by Jodi Picoult

‘B-believe,’ Shay stammered. I turned around, as if I could see him through the wall between our cells. ‘What did you say?’ ‘It’s what you said,’ Shay corrected. ‘I read it right, didn’t I?’ I had not told anyone of my plans for my sixth tattoo. I hadn’t shared the prototype artwork. I knew for a fact that Shay, from where he stood, could not have seen into my cell as I worked. Fumbling behind the brick that served as my safe, I took out the shank that I used as a portable mirror. I stepped up to the front of my cell and angled it so that I could see Shay’s beaming face in the reflection. ‘How did you know what I was writing?’ Shay smiled wider, and then raised his fist. He unfolded his fingers, one at a time. His palm was red and inflamed, and printed across it, in Gothic script, was the same exact tattoo I’d just given myself.