Jane

It is a chess match, first one, then the other of us jockeying for the high ground. Move, counter-move. Isn't every confrontation like this?

"But how can I tell you heart is really changed?" I ask.

She presses her lips, leans into the bunk bed ladder. Then, with full eye contact, almost a stare, "You can look at my eyes, that's how you can tell if my heart is changed." I look at the blue irises braided with veins, her gaze level. "Do you think my heart is changed?" She waits. Something passes between us. It's almost a permission, a leading and following all at once, as if we both grabbed hands and began to run.