song of the chapter: freaks by surf curse
(y/n)'s pov...
The morning after the first meeting of the Dead Poets Society, (y/n) awoke feeling groggy physically, but alive in her spirit and continuing to revel in the afterglow of the secret society's first meeting. Unluckily for her, even in her admiration of the previous night's events, was unable to consume her preferred ungodly amounts of caffeine that morning at breakfast. The reason? Her comrades had taken it upon themselves to not save her any.
"This is going to be a long day," she sighed, watching them as they drank.
"Finish mine!" Neil offered, handing her a half empty cup that appeared more cream than coffee. She smiled, although slightly disgusted.
"Aw, no that's alright," she yawned "I'll survive... somehow." Meeks bumped her shoulder and gestured to the empty cup by her plate, then he dumped half of his coffee into hers. She booped his nose affectionately, before taking a deep sip and smiling almost immediately. He looked back at her, a blush creeping from beneath the collar of his crisp white dress shirt.
Keating, from across the dining hall, looked on at the group of tired students, smiling vaguely at what (y/n) could only guess as his memories from his time with the Dead Poets Society. He averted his gaze from Knox guzzling back caffeine to meet his "daughter"'s stunning eyes, ringed by the effects of not sleeping well the night before. Gently, he lifts his coffee cup to her, in response to which she raises a piece of toast.
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Unluckily for (y/n) yet again, was despite the fact that she completed most of her homework the night before the meeting, was that her instructors gave the entire class a whole other set of questions to complete in a much shorter time. How she would keep up with this workload, she was unsure. But if her boys could do it, then so would she. At least, she thought to herself, English would be wonderful because of Mr. Keating.
"A man is not very tired," he announces to begin the class while half of his pupils nearly nodded off "he is exhausted! And don't use very sad, use - Come on Mr. Overstreet, you twerp!" he snaps his fingers before pointing to Knox.
"Morose?" he guesses, yawning.
"Exactly! Morose. Now, language was developed for one endeavor, and that is? C'mon Mr. Anderson! Are you man, or amoeba?" Todd stares up at Mr. Keating, clearly anxious. After a moment's pause, Keating takes pity on the boy and asks Neil instead.
"To communicate?" he responds unsure of the correct answer, as was (y/n).
"No!" Keating nearly shouts , startling Charlie awake from his seat at the back of the class. All the way at the front, (y/n) turns to laugh at him while he shoots her dirty looks. "To woo women!"
Simultaneously, every head in the room turns to face (y/n), whose face immediately goes red under Meeks' gaze. The boys chuckle, somewhat nervously.
"Ah yes, Ms. (y/l/n), for example. Are you not, my dear, woo-ed by language?" he asks, kneeling in front of her wooden desk. She taps her pen thoughtfully on the table, before resting her chin on her hand and puffing out a breath.
"Well," she begins "It always depends on what kind of language techniques are used. He who barks or calls at me, might in fact be using some form of language used by cavemen of the past, but he who speaks in poetry and full sentences would woo me, indeed." Meeks looks over to (y/n), who simply winks back.
"Yes! Thank you, dearest. You see gentlemen, women will fall to their feet at the use of proper language. Now! Today, we're gonna be talking about William Shakespeare."
"Oh, God," Charlie groans, a sentiment which is echoed throughout the room by the majority.
"I know," Keating sympathizes "A lot of you look forward to this about as much as you look forward to root canal work. We're gonna talk about Shakespeare as someone who writes something very interesting. Now, many of you have seen Shakespeare done like this-" (y/n) covers her eyes, all too familiar with his impression of Shakespeare live works, performed quite often by herself in London. She listens to the funny voices and laughter that follows, noticing that society has indeed drawn out the lifespan of Shakespeare's work and its "importance" in education.
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They've soon pushed a group of heavy desks together for seating, as they watch the Keating performance of the textbook. Neil sits on (y/n)'s right, his head looking over her shoulder. She can feel his laughter rumble in his chest, and to her right, she observes Todd finally acting free and completely himself. It's a wonderful image of him, and she hopes to God or whoever that he might start to open up more with the Dead Poets Society meetings. Todd is not the only boy she notices conducting themselves unapologetically; Meeks is as well. She can't help but notice that his eyes crinkle when he laughs, and his spectacles only make them bigger and warmer. As a poet, it is her job to notice what commonly goes unnoticed, in cases such as these. The smaller the detail, all the more wonderful - in her opinion.
Not much later, Keating stands upon his desk triumphantly, like he's just climbed Mt. Everest and is surveying the world from his new vantage point. He jumped up with gusto and vigor, obviously quite happy at the prospect of yet another lovely, albeit unconventional lessons.
"Why do I stand up here? Anybody?" he asks, spreading his arms to the side. From the back of the class, Charlie grins - (y/n) can practically tell at this point when the boy was going to make a horrendous comment on the teachings.
"To feel taller?" he guesses, while the other chuckle, many of which she can tell from their lingering smiling are still feeling the euphoria from having Keating read to them.
"No! Ding!" he rings the metal bell upon his desktop "Thank you for playing, Mr. Dalton. I stand upon my desk to remind myself that we must constantly look at things in a different way. He points towards the class. Earlier, (y/n) had folded Meeks a paper crane out of discarded stationary, that he was now dismantling as she looked on in confusion.
Keating goes on to leisurely turn about the desk, taking in his surroundings. (y/n) couldn't complain about the room - it was cosy and held the air of learning but not too stiff, unlike the chemistry lab or even the hallways. Pictures of famous poets litter the walls of the room prettily, Uncle Walt constantly keeping watch over the young pupils.
"You see, the world looks very different from up here. You don't believe me? Come see for yourselves. Come on, come on!" he guides them gently, and one by one they file up to the piece of furniture, unsure of what was to come. Meeks and (y/n) are among the first to reach it first, listening to Keating go on about changing perceptions and their beauty. Neil and Charlie are up first, then Meeks gently takes (y/n)'s smaller hand in his to help her to the tabletop. Surely, she thought to herself, Mr. Nolan would be having a stroke if he were here watching a lady in a skirt stand on a table. The wry thought was accompanied by a side grin at Meeks, while they stand side-by-side on the surface, although now (y/n)'s hand was cold in the absence of his.
"Boys, and girl, you must strive to find your own voice." The teacher emphasizes to the young people, who (y/n) guesses are struggling like the Titanic against sinking under the weight of Hell-ton education. "Because the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all."
Meeks hops off the desk, oxfords clicking loudly on the floors. He turns to offer (y/n) both of his outstretched hands, which she grabs as she hits the ground to keep from falling over.
"Curse these Mary Janes!" she raises a fist to the sky as they sit back down in their desks "Forever darling in fashion, but oh so unpractical." Meeks only laughs.
"Wanna trade shoes?" he asks genuinely, although (y/n) suspects he is fully aware her platforms will be much to small for him. Despite this, she laughs. The students continue jumping off of the desk until the bell rings, freeing them for a few minutes.
"Dare to strike out and find new ground!" Keating declares, grabbing his things to head out for the day. "Now, in addition to your essays, I would like you to compose a poem of your own. An original work!" He stands in the doorway as the boys groan, which only causes the extravagant man to flick on and off the lights as a joke, but (y/n) claps her hands in delight.
"That's right! You have to deliver it aloud in class on Monday. Bonne chance, gentlemen-" he steps out the door while (y/n) grabs her satchel to follow him, for they had book shopping plans in town that night! Suddenly, he pokes his light brown head back into the doorframe "Mr. Anderson! Don't think that I don't know that this scares the hell out of you, you mole." He's only poking fun, but (y/n) can tell by Todd's near tripping off the edge of the desk that he was indeed, scared the hell out of.
With a quick goodbye to her favorite partner in crime, (y/n) is just nearing the door when the room in plunged into darkness again, which is followed by laughter. Her and Mr. Keating walk outside into the late afternoon sunshine today, the girl skipping along as they chatted about their respective days.
"So, book shopping then, my dear?" he asks her as they reach his residence. She nods eagerly.\
"Please, sir, the Welton library is frankly downright boring. My mind yearns for fantasy!" she proclaims to the rose bushes, acting it out dramatically.
"Shall we?" He chuckles and offers her his arm. Gratefully, she takes it in hers and the two are soon walking towards town, leaving the menacing yet beautiful dark gates of Welton Academy behind, in exchange for fantasy novels and cosy Agatha Christie mysteries, (y/n)'s favorites.
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a/n: AAAAAAAA it's the little things? right?? because writing this i'm always like hehehe so cute and subtle but just AMAZING anyways love youuu and take care of yourself<3