Chapter 8
Logan stood on the grass outside St Bart’s boarding house and watched as the little man in front of him waved his arms like a windmill. The horticulture teacher’s eyes popped and bulged in threat of an imminent heart attack, infuriated further by Logan’s apparent disinterest.
Logan heaved out a sigh as the yowling, nonsensical tirade ramped higher. The bell rang in the main building and he lifted his wrist and checked his watch. “I need to go,” he stated in a neutral tone. “I can’t trust my Year 9 English class to behave without supervision.” He suspected the little idiots were already running around the classroom and would need detentions, which he didn’t have time to supervise.
“I’m sick of this!” the horticulture teacher screeched and Logan winced. At six feet four inches,
