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His
gaze
became
appraising
.
"
You
put
on
a
good
show
,
"
he
said
slowly
.
"
But
I
’
d
be
willing
to
bet
that
you
’
re
suffering
more
than
you
let
anyone
see
.
"
I
grimaced
at
him
,
resisting
the
impulse
to
stick
out
my
tongue
like
a
five
-
year
-
old
,
and
looked
away
.
"
Am
I
wrong
?
"
I
tried
to
ignore
him
.
"
I
didn
’
t
think
so
,
"
he
murmured
smugly
.
"
Why
does
it
matter
to
you
?
"
I
asked
,
irritated
.
I
kept
my
eyes
away
,
watching
the
teacher
make
his
rounds
.
"
That
’
s
a
very
good
question
,
"
he
muttered
,
so
quietly
that
I
wondered
if
he
was
talking
to
himself
.
However
,
after
a
few
seconds
of
silence
,
I
decided
that
was
the
only
answer
I
was
going
to
get
.
I
sighed
,
scowling
at
the
blackboard
.
"
Am
I
annoying
you
?
"
he
asked
.
He
sounded
amused
.
I
glanced
at
him
without
thinking
.
.
.
and
told
the
truth
again
.
"
Not
exactly
.
I
’
m
more
annoyed
at
myself
.
My
face
is
so
easy
to
read
-
my
mother
always
calls
me
her
open
book
.
"
I
frowned
.
