The next morning, during our usual quiet reading hour, Mr. Wood threw a curveball at us. His voice was dispassionate, yet there was an undercurrent of mischief in it.
"I'm going to call out some student numbers. Whoever hears theirs has to recite the passage," he declared nonchalantly. "Fail to do so. Trust me. You won't like what's coming."
Silently, I hoped with all my might that my number would remain unspoken.
Naturally, Mr. Wood named me first.
Standing, my body shook from head to toe. With exaggerated slowness, Mr. Wood said, "Lena, give me The Road Not Taken."
I breathed a sigh of relief. I was well-versed with this one, and the words rolled off my tongue effortlessly. Mr. Wood gave an approving nod, releasing me to my seat.
Jack, however, was not as fortunate. Mr. Wood seemed
