I rubbed my arms. “It’s stupid,” I said. “I don’t want fake friends.” “Then don’t make them,” he said. I have to, I wanted to say. It wasn’t a suggestion; it was an order. But I stopped myself. “You said you had the same talk? Was I on your father’s list?” Zahariev dropped his cigarette, grinding it into the earth with his foot. He took a few steps toward me. At the time, holding his gaze as he approached had been the bravest thing I’d ever done. “Yeah,” he said. “You were on a list. Untouchable.”
