I grabbed Akos’s arm, and pulled him in to whisper, “They’re staring. They know who I am.” “No,” he said. “They’re staring because you’ve got bright blue paint all over your face.” I touched my cheek, lightly, where the paint had dried. My skin felt rough and scaly. It hadn’t occurred to me that today it meant nothing if people stared at me. “You’re kind of paranoid, you know that?” he said to me. “And you’re starting to sound kind of cocky, for someone I routinely beat up.”
