song of the chapter: loverboy by a-wall
a/n: also, this chapter is lovingly dedicated to the wonderful @junobirchasf, because they're awesome<3
(y/n)'s pov...
Something that had always been of great comfort to (y/n) was the sunset, particularly at that moment when the golden light spilled across the ground diagonally, creating a perfect atmosphere of romantics, to better help her live her life fully. At Welton, where the only interference were trees instead of the cramped rows of homes in London, the sunset seemed even more ethereal and intoxicating for the young girl.
However, her love of the sunset was noticed by Charlie, who impatiently grumbled from his position slumped over his desk, where the two pupils had been attempting to study for the upcoming verbs quiz.
"Hey, (y/n), baby if I'm ever going to pass this class, you've got to stop staring at the sunset as if it's Meeks' eyes. Jeez." he complained, stretching. (y/n) blinked, snapping out of her reverie.
"Alright, alright," she yawned. "So, like I was saying, you have to identify the first principal part of the verb, and from then you can determine the full conjugation. Here, try this one." She gently passed him a slip of paper with a hand whose forefinger was wrapped in a dark opal ring - a gift from her grandfather years ago - upon which the word 'mon' was scrawled in her handwriting.
Charlie frowned for a moment, glancing over at the girl unconfidently. She smiled at him and flipped him the bird.
"Don't think those blue puppy dog eyes are going to soften me up, Charles Dalton." she warned while he only smirked slyly in her direction.
"Can't a gorgeous girl such as yourself take pity on a poor soul like me?" he begged, to which she only laughed.
"C'mon, just write it down. I can tell you know the answer, so stop trying to flirt with your teacher." he waggled his eyebrows at her before turning back to the page and, with a flourish, finished conjugating the verb so it now read, 'moneo'. (y/n) clapped as he lit a cigarette to celebrate.
"Maybe your stupid genius is rubbing off on me." he suggested, breathing out a cloud of smoke as he offered (y/n) a puff. She took it gingerly, inhaling quickly and breaking into a fit of coughs.
"That's, disgusting," she gasped between coughs, Charlie laughing and petting her shoulder affectionately.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you?" he asked, grinning "ladies aren't supposed to smoke. Tsk tsk, (y/n)." she rolled her eyes and stood, brushing off her plaid skirt.
"Well, I'm not a lady, I'm a chaotic mess of human consciousness. Now," she said walking to the door "I'm bored. Let's go find someone to bother, shall we?" Gratefully, Charlie stood up and grabbed his blazer, following her out the door with mock chivalry.
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The next morning, the entire Dead Poets table was alight with excited chatter, each young person anxious to share their original poems in front of the class. Of course, some - like her dearest Todd, were not happy anxious, but rather, well, anxious anxious. (y/n) had written her poem that had been dedicated to the people she loved most, authors and poets of the past. Knox, on the other hand, took a different approach, lovely albeit a touch creepy, if you asked (y/n).
"So, Meeks," she said, sliding into a chair next to him and immediately filling up a coffee mug "how was your evening? I walked past with Charlie and very briefly heard Paul Anka, so I've got to say I'm a titch disappointed you never invited me." she made a face at him, who paled before going red.
"Sorry, it's just - the signal's not very good in the dorms, unlike the turret so I figured-" his ramble was cut off by the girl putting a chunk of muffin in his mouth.
"I was only joking, Steven," she explained, patting him on his fluffy, auburn head. Her heart soared each time her ink-stained hand made contact, although she prayed to God no one would ever notice. Unluckily for her, however, Neil had been staring the entire time at the two of them, a plan forming in his head. "I promise not to hate you, even for listening to him without me. But, you owe me a dance to Elvis, deal?" he chuckled and shook her hand, glasses catching the light.
"Deal. And I have the perfect song picked out, anyway." he winked at her, astonished when Pitts fake swooned from behind her. It was apparent to (y/n), that the entire group had begun noticing their banter, although it escaped her mind how they didn't notice the chemistry between Todd and Neil. Looking at them now, she could tell a certain energy had shifted in their dynamic, and they whispered to one another - obviously plotting - heads bent close together.
"Ahem, well," Cameron cleared his throat, looking upon Pitts with disdain "if you're done your little show, can you pass the jam?" the group snickered, mimicking Cameron's request in different tones of voice and manners until he was practically threatening to get them all demerits, at which point the young 'criminals' ceased their taunts and ate their breakfast.
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Knox had been chosen to go first, walking with confidence to the front of the English classroom before he opened up a sheet of lined stationary and cleared his throat.
"To Chris." he recited, which immediately got (y/n)'s attention away from her idle doodling. With a quick glance at Meeks, she could ascertain that the Poets, should they outlive Knox, would put this poem on his headstone.
"Who's Chris?" a boy (y/n) had never met asked, and she bit her tongue until it bled to keep from revealing Knox's creepy but sweet little puppy dog crush. It was only then, she realized, that she was in no position to judge him because she was also facing unfamiliar feelings with the boy who sat to her right.
"I see a sweetness in her smile,
Bright light shines from her eyes.
But life is complete, contentment is mine
Just knowing that-" he was cut off by the snickering in the room, many of the boys jealous of his ability to actually be true about his feelings without feeling judged, so they covered it with laughter and scrutiny.
"Just knowing that,
she's alive." he face faltered and he angrily crumpled his poem up into a ball, shocking Mr. Keating, who rose from his seat. "Sorry, Captain, it's stupid."
"No, no, it's not stupid!" Keating exclaimed, trying to console the boy by saying, "It's a good effort. It touched on one of the major themes: love. A major theme not only in poetry, but in life. " but (y/n) knew that was the nail in the coffin. She turned to look back at him, watching with slitted eyes as Charlie playfully tapped his friend's shoulder.
"Mr. Hopkins, you were laughing," Keating spoke, always happy to put a student on the spot for daring to assault someone else's attempts at mastering an art. "You're up."
The boy begrudgingly stood, smirking in (y/n)'s direction, but the girl simply turned her head and put a hand over her eyes to avoid his gaze.
"The cat sat on the mat." he said clearly, staring at Keating as if daring to disclaim his "poetry". For the thousandth time, (y/n) turned towards Meeks before shooting him a "what-the-hell" kind of look, gorgeous eyes meeting even more beautiful ones in a shot moment of confusion.
"Congratulations, Mr. Hopkins, you have the first poem to ever have a negative score on the Pritchard scale. We're not laughing at you, we're laughing near you." The boys and girl all laughed, but Hopkins seemed almost please with himself, which made (y/n) horrified at the thought of someone demeaning a raw form of art, just to be more popular with their friends.
Primly, (y/n) raised a hand. "Sir, I thought you said J. Evans Pritchard was not to be used as a means of judging poetry," she questioned, thinking aloud "or are you suggesting that his poem was so terribly written even Pritchard would be disappointed?" The classroom roared into even more laughter at the girl's comment - with even shy Todd making noise of amusement as well.
"Correct, Ms. (y/l/n). Poems can be simple, yes, but do not let your poems be ordinary." He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at his young protégé. "Would you do Mr. Hopkins a favor and put on display what is true poetry? Yes, thank you, dear." he smiled before taking his seat again, Meeks shooting (y/n) a positive thumbs-up for luck. She shot finger guns at him back before pulling her poem out of her sweater's pocket. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before taking a deep breath.
"You were there, when no-on else was. elegantly
existing there, on my bookshelf made of oak and years of childlike wonder.
the worst time of my life, i fell back upon you,
the only thing that kept me afloat. and so,
i thank you, every author whose works i have ever read.
because you created worlds that were home to
me. when it seemed i had no place in this world,
i was always welcomed in yours." She finished her poem and bowed when Charlie wolf-whistled at her, his way of showing affection to the darling girl. Hopkins raised his hand, which ceased the student's applause(which was mainly the Dead Poets).
"Mr. K, I thought you said poems have to rhyme." he said smugly, staring at the girl as if trying to demean her. She simply smiled back, plastering her face with fake angelic emotion, when in reality her blood was boiling at his audacity.
"Ah, that's where you're wrong, my boy." he pointed out "Poetry is often written to rhyme, perhaps follow a theme. But the most important thing, is the actual content. If Ms.(y/l/n) should chose to pour out her soulful of love for authors without rhyming, so be it. Because it is still poetry, simply freelance. Thank you, dear." he clapped his hands together once as (y/n) sat down.
"Now, who's next?" Keating asked, standing in front of Todd to emphasis his not-so-subtle plans to put the blonde boy on the spot, ruthlessly to show him his own talent. (y/n) felt a tap on her shoulder, and saw a paper airplane - thrown by Meeks himself - land on her desk. She looked over at him and he mouthed, 'open it'. So, she did and read.
'Hopkins is an idiot, I thought your poem was beautiful. Never stop writing (y/n), otherwise Hell-ton ought to be way less fun.' He had signed his name, Steven Meeks, so thoughtfully in the corner (y/n) had to stop herself from covering her mouth with her hand. On the bottom of the page, so small she thought she missed it, was a small heart, clearly drawn with a wobbly hand.
She folded the paper airplane back into its original, only slightly aerodynamic shape and placed it gently in her leather bag, sparing Meeks a blush-y smile, which he so ardently returned.
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a/n: screaming crying giggling blushing i love meeks
also thank you all for 1.7k reads!!
love ya,
-chloe <3