I apologize. The poem sounds like a funeral. Very depressing.”“That’s Sylvia Plath.”“No shit?”“Yes.”“Well it sounds to me like she w...sn’t too happy. Almost like she’s trapped.”She was amazed at how quickly Claude picked up on the imagery, how easily he discovered the metaphor. She had loved those lines in college. Claude was good, maybe even a little too good. He was more intelligent than she originally thought.“You like some depressing shit, Amanda. Well I say there’s no room in this life for. Else. Mr. Prince."Weasel gulped, backpedaling a couple of steps. "No, sir," he said. "Thank you, Coach." And he turned back to the team, a satisfied smile on his face until he saw his twenty teammates, all scowling at him. His smile faltered as he realized he might have a problem finding someone who would be willing to partner up with him on this challenge.When Coach Simonson was done setting up the field for the day's drills, Coach Neville blew his whistle and explained the day's activities. I. More

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