: ̗̀➛ੈ✩‧₊˚
— daylight !
chapter two ; o captain! my captain!
THE BELL RINGS FOR THE FIRST CLASS OF THE DAY, and everyone floods out into the halls. I check my timetable in my hand, careful not the trip on the crowded stairs. Chemistry.
Mr. McAllister, who is making his way up the staircase, yells, "Slow down, boys and girls. Slow down, you horrible phalanx of pubescence!"
Finally, I find my classroom and take a seat at one of the shared desks. I open my notebook, slipping a pen from my blazer pocket.
Someone sits in the seat next to me, but I pay no mind. That is, until they tap their pencil on my hand. I look up, Neil right next to me.
"Oh, good morning, Neil," I say, setting down my pen.
Neil smiles, "Good morning to you too, Emmeliah. It seems we have the same Chemistry class."
"It seems we do." I nod.
The teacher walks in, shushing everyone. He talks for a while, then tells some students to hand out textbooks. As they are handing out the books, the teacher explains what we are to do. "Pick three laboratory experiments from the project list and report on them every five weeks," he says. "The first 20 questions at the end of chapter one are due tomorrow."
At his last statement, everyone in the class groans. Neil and I share an annoyed and exasperated glance.
Next, in Latin, I find myself sitting next to Neil again. McAllister recites Latin words, and we repeat them. Then, "Again, please." And we say the words with him.
I have only ever done French, so the Latin came a little hard for me, but Neil was there, and so was Meeks, to help me out.
In trigonometry, I'm sitting next to the window, already trying to keep myself awake for the lesson.
"Your study of trigonometry requires absolute precision," our teacher says. "Anyone failing to turn in any homework assignment will be penalised one point off their final grade. Let me urge you now not to test me on this point."
Suddenly, as I'm about to drop my head on my desk, the end of a pointing stick is slammed down in front of me, jolting me awake.
"Is that clear, Miss Williams?" my teacher says, looking at me with a strict look on his face. I nod quickly. "Since it is your first day of classes at Welton, I will let it slide this time. But the next time I see you falling asleep in my class, it will be straight to the Headmaster's office. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," I say, staring straight ahead.
The teacher tuts. "Good." Then, he continues on with the lesson.
Finally, the bell rings again. I check my timetable. English, it says.
When I get to the classroom, I sit in the far left column, third row, next to the window again. Renee takes a seat behind me, and we start talking, waiting for the teacher to come.
The chatter dies down once the teacher comes out from his office, whistling a tune a cannot recall. He, with his clipboard, walks down one of the aisles and makes his way outside the classroom.
I look at Renee and then Neil, who is next to me, in confusion.
The teacher then peeks back into the classroom. "Well, come on."
With some chatter and quiet questioning, Neil finally speaks up. "Let's go." He snaps his book shut and the rest of the class follows, murmuring in confusion.
We all make our way out into the hall, gathering around a table in front of Mr. Keating. I look up at Neil as he looks down at me, both of us with looks of confusion and excitement, curious for the happenings.
Mr. Keating stops his whistling.
"O Captain! My Captain!" he recites. "Who knows where that comes from?"
Walt Whitman. I think to myself. I don't raise my hand.
"Anybody?" he asks. The only answer is someone blowing his nose.
"Not a clue?"
Reluctantly, I decide to raise my hand.
Mr. Keating points at me. "You there."
With a dry throat, I manage, "A poem. By—um—Walt Whitman."
He nods. "About?" he urges.
"Um, Abraham Lincoln?" I say. It came out as more of a question than an answer, despite me knowing that I was right.
Keating smiles. "Good work! What's your name?"
I fiddle with the buttons on my blazer. "Williams. Emmeliah Williams, sir."
"Lovely, Miss Williams," he says. "Now, in this class, you can either call me Mr. Keating, or if you're slightly more daring, O Captain, My Captain."
Some of the class chuckles. I smile at the comment.
Mr. Keating—no, O Captain, My Captain—continues. "Now, let me dispel a few rumours so they don't fester into facts. Yes, I too attended Hell-ton and survived. And no, at that time, I was not the mental giant you see before you. I was the intellectual equivalent of a 98-pound weakling. I would go to the beach and people would kick copies of Byron in my face." The class chuckles.
He looks at his clipboard. "Now, Mr...Pitts. That's a rather unfortunate name. Mr. Pitts, where are you?"
Pitts raises his hand slowly and shyly. "Mr. Pitts," Mr. Keating calls on him, "will you open your hymnal to page 542? Read the first stanza of the poem you find there."
As Pitts opens his book, the rest of the class follows along. "'To the Virgins, To Make Much of Time'?" Pitts questions.
"Yes, that's the one," Keating assures. "Somewhat appropriate, isn't it?" Some of the boys and girls laugh.
Pitts begins to read the poem.
"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day,
To-morrow will be dying."
"Thank you, Mr. Pitts," Keating says. "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. The Latin term for that sentiment is carpe diem. Now, who knows what that means?"
Meeks quickly raises his hand. Keating points to him. "Carpe diem, that's 'seize the day'," Meeks answers.
"Very good, Mr...?" Keating trails off. Meeks tells him his name. "Meeks," Mr. Keating repeats. "Another unusual name."
"Seize the day. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. Why does the writer use these lines?" he asks.
Charlie from behind me speaks. "Because he's in a hurry." I roll my eyes.
"No. Ding!" Mr. Keating rings an invisible bell in front of him. The class laughs slightly. "Thank you for playing anyway." He pauses. "Because we are food for worms, lads and ladies. Because, believe it or not, each and every one of us in this room is one day, going to stop breathing, turn cold and die."
I whisper sarcastically, "That's a pleasant thought." Neil chuckles breathily.
Keating, unfortunately, hears. "It is isn't it, Emmeliah?" he agrees, also sarcastically. I wince, now knowing Keating heard me.
He moves on. "I would like you to step forward over here and peruse some of the faces from the past. You've walked passed them many times, but I don't think you've really looked at them."
The class moves forward to look at the pictures in the trophy cabinets. I see my father, and suck in a sharp breath, glaring at him through the glass. Class of 1930, the picture is captioned.
"They're not that different from you, are they?" Keating says. "Same haircuts. Full of hormones, just like you. Invincible, just like you feel. The world is their oyster. They believe they're destined for great things, just like many of you. Their eyes are full of hope, just like of you."
I notice my mother. Her golden hair is tied up with a white bow. Her green-grey eyes bright and excited. Her smile bigger than I've ever seen it. Her arms around her sister, my aunt Penny.
I smile fondly. My mom looks so happy. Not exhausted and sick as she looks now.
"Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable?" Mr. Keating continues. "Because, you see, ladies and gentlemen, these boys and girls are now fertilising daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whispering their legacy to you. Go on, lean in."
I move closer to my mother's picture. "Listen," Keating says. "You hear it?"
Everyone moves closer to the cabinet. A long silence takes place before...
"Carpe..." Mr. Keating rasps. "Hear it? Carpe... Carpe diem. Seize the day. Make your lives extraordinary."
After class, I walk with Renee's group, next to Neil as she walks with Charlie. "That was weird," Pitts voices.
"But different," Neil says.
Knox speaks up. "Spooky if you ask me." Renee nods.
"I liked it. It wasn't boring," I reason, timidly. Neil agrees.
"Think he'll test us on that stuff?" Cameron asks.
I roll my eyes. "Oh, come on, Cameron. Don't you get anything?" Charlie says.
"What?" Cameron asks. "What?"
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
I DRY MY HAIR GENTLY IN THE MIRROR OF THE GIRLS BATHROOM. Renee stands next to me, applying some lip balm.
"Hey, could I use some of that?" I ask her, just noticing how chapped my lips are. Renee nods and hums, passing me the tube. I set the towel down in front of me in the sink, putting the balm on my lips.
Suddenly, a hand reaches the faucet of the sink and turns it on, drenching the towel. I gasp and turn it off, groaning as I look at my soaked towel.
I turn to see Jane, a girl in my classes I've grown to hate. "Whoops," she says innocently, giggling as she walks away to her friends.
"Dammit," I mutter before dropping the towel in the laundry hamper. "That bitch."
Renee chuckles at my language. "Yeah, you get used to it. Jane's been terrorising me since the eighth grade."
"Ooh, I'm sorry," I wince.
"It's no big deal," Renee shrugs. "Let's go get changed."
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
I'm sat in one of the library rooms next to Neil as Cameron explains the math homework to the both of us. "Just replace these numbers here with X—for X and Y," he says.
"Of course," Neil says. I nod.
"Of course, so, what's the problem?" Cameron asks.
Suddenly, the door clicks closed. I look up to see Knox leaning against it, his blazer slung over his shoulder, held by two fingers. The chatter at our table dies down.
"How was dinner?" Charlie asks.
"Huh?" Knox says. Charlie repeats the question.
Knox looks down. "Terrible," he confesses. "Awful." He drapes his blazer over the back of a chair and sits down.
"Why? What happened?" Charlie queries.
"Tonight I met the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my entire life," Knox sighs.
Neil and I look at each other, then back at Knox. "Are you crazy?" Neil asks. "What's wrong with that?"
"How was it terrible then?" I ask after him.
"She's practically engaged," Knox replies. "To Chet Danburry." The group collectively groans except me.
"The guy could eat a football," Charlie comments.
"Wait," I say, "who's Chet Danburry?"
Charlie looks at me, shocked. "You don't know who Chet Danburry is? Do you live under a rock or something?"
"Relax, Charlie," Neil says, before turning to me. "Chet Danburry is this jock at Ridgeway High, the public high school near here. He's huge; he could squish your skull like you squash a bug."
"Ooh, that's rough," I wince, feeling bad for Knox.
"Too bad," Pitts adds.
Knox looked at him. "Too bad? It's worse that too bad, Pitts, it's a tragedy. A girl this beautiful in love with such a jerk."
"All the good ones go for jerks, you know that," Pitts says.
"Yeah, forget her," Cameron says. "Open your trig book and try and figure out Problem Five."
"I can't just forget her, Cameron. And I certainly can't think about trig," Knox argues.
Suddenly, Cameron and Pitts' radio squeals. "We got it," Pitts says, slapping Cameron slightly on the arm.
The door opens and McAllister walks in. "All right, ladies and gentlemen. Five minutes." I close my trigonometry book, picking that and my pencil up. "Let's go," McAllister says.
"Did you see her naked?" Charlie asks and Renee slaps him on the arm.
"Very funny, Dalton," Knox says plainly.
"That wouldn't be a radio in your lap, would it, Mr. Pitts?" McAllister asks as Neil and I made our way out of the room.
Pitts looks down at it and looks back up at the teacher. "No, sir. Science experiment," he says.
Neil and I, books in hand, walk down the hall together and up the stairs. "Have you finished the Chemistry homework yet?" he asks me.
I nod. "Have you?" I ask him back.
He nods as well.
For the rest of the walk we make light conversation, a little bit of laughter here and there. He walks me up to my dormitory, and we stop at the closed door.
"Thanks for walking me here," I say.
"Anything for you," he shrugs.
I open the door. "Goodnight, Neil."
"Goodnight, belle," he waves. I wave back, feeling a blush crawl onto my cheeks.
Neil walks away, and I close the door, leaning on it and biting my lip to stop myself from smiling ear to ear. I look at Renee, whose lips are parted slightly in shock.
"Did he just call you belle?" she asks. I nod. "You know that means—" I nod again before she can finish.
I giggle slightly and fall backwards onto my bed. "He just called me beautiful," I whisper.
Renee chuckles. "Goodnight, Liah."
"Night, Renee."
[ EDITED - ✔︎ ]