𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘺
𝘐𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦
𝘚𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴
when the dead poets sisters are admitted into welton through good word. unknowmst to the rest of the boys.
charlie dalton x oc
dead poets society...
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❨𝒕𝒘𝒐❩ YOU CREEP
Ruby and I chatted aimlessly amongst ourselves as we entered English class. It was our last class before lunch and the one I was looking forward to the most. Being the only girls in Welton, Ruby and I got stares all morning long, from the horny boys, including our brothers friends. It didn't help that Welton gave us skirts instead of pants. I had the constant fear that my skirt was hiking up to high causing my ass to show, only feeding the boys more.
I took a seat behind my brother, and in front of Charlie. Ruby sat beside me, pulling out her textbook. Mr. Keating hadn't showed up yet, leaving the boys to be rambunctious. Several of them threw tissues at Spaz, the others just shouting. A whistling started, silencing them. Mr. Keating walked out of his office and across the classroom, eyeing all of his students. He stood at the door, and waited. I observed the class, trying to figure out my own confusion. All of the boys shared the same look of confusion I held.
"Well, come on!" He cried, motioning for us to follow. I furrowed my brows, he wasn't teaching in class? It was unusual to say the least. I shared a confused glance with Ruby, who nodded to the door. Neil was the first to stand, gathering his books and exiting the classroom. I followed his pursuit, taking my notebook, textbook and pen. I headed out the door, the other boys following behind. The confusion was now mixed with curiosity. He led us to the entranceway, where the trophy cases and class pictures were displayed. All of us shuffled into the small room, my shoulder knocking with Ruby's.
"O Captain! My Captain!" Who knows where that comes from? Anybody." Mr. Keating asked once we stood in the hall. I stood near the back, next to Knox. Whilst Meeks found a spot closer up front, Ruby right behind him.
"Such a nerd," Knox muttered under his breath. I knocked his shoulder slightly. "What?!"
"Be nice to your sister!" I muttered, trying to hide the amusement that fought its way onto my face.
"Not a clue? It's from a poem by Walt Whitman about Mr. Abraham Lincoln. Now, in this class, you can either call me Mr. Keating, or, if you're slightly more daring, "O Captain! My Captain." A few boys chuckled at the remark our teacher made.
"Now let me dispel a few rumors, so they don't fester into facts. Yes, I too, attended Hellton and have survived. And no, at that time, I was not the mental giant you see before you. I was the intellectual equivalent of a ninety-eight-pound weakling. I would go to the beach, and people would kick copies of Byron in my face." Now the boys really laughed, and I couldn't help the smile that crept up onto my face. Keating looked down at the roster, "Now, Mr. Pitts. That's rather unfortunate name. Mr. Pitts, where are you?"
A tall boy with a flat top raised his hand slowly, earning chuckles from the boys.
"Mr. Pitts, will you open your hymnal to page 542? Read the first stanza of the poem you find there."
