CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Logan taught his class. It pained him to listen to the terrible Shakespearean accents in an attempt to capture the essence of Hamlet. His mind remained elsewhere. He let the boys ramble through the text, impatient at their ignorance of iambic pentameter despite a term of teaching it. They picked up his veiled temper and acted up as though testing where the boundary might have shifted to. Logan kept his phone in his trouser pocket, pulling it out and checking for a message from Bodie that never came.
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and cursed. When he looked up, thirty silent faces observed him with nervousness. He sighed. “You know what boys? I don’t feel so great. Let’s wrap this up for today. Take an early lunch and stay out of trouble.”
The boys cheered
