I WANT TO BE WANTED | 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐎𝐍

𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆

              "That was weird" gerard muttered as the group made their way out of the school and down the steps. "but different" neil smiled, blair nodded in agreement. "spooky, if you ask me" knox added. "you think he'll test us on that stuff?" cameron questioned anxiously. blair couldn't help but roll her eyes. "come on, cameron. don't you get anything?" charlie scoffed, making blair laugh in the process. something he was exceptionally good at.

later, the sun began to set and all the pupils of welton academy returned to their respective dormitories for studying, homework and eventually rest. although, the resting part was always kept to a minimal.

"should i go over to the boys' dorm for a study group?" blair asked aloud as she shut her chemistry notebook. "do you wanna get expelled?" diana replied wisely. blair couldn't help but let out a laugh. "it's not like i haven't done it before" the blonde shrugged. "listen blair, i know you wanna see lover boy... but i don't think it's worth it if it means jeopardizing your enrollment" diana informed her, she always was more level headed than blair when it came to things such as this.

"for your information, meeks invited me! and what do you think goes on in a study group anyways? nothing romantic will happen" blair justified, crossing her arms sternly. "don't go. it's already late, anyways" diana checked her watch. feeling like a rebellious daughter under her mothers roof, blair rolled her eyes with a huff. she rolled onto her stomach, pulling out her trigonometry textbook hesitantly. "you've gotta help me, then. i suck at math" blair pleaded causing diana to laugh. "fine"

THE NEXT MORNING

"ladies and gentlemen, open your text to page twenty one of the introduction. miss cagney, will you read the opening paragraph of the preface entitled: understanding poetry" mr. keating requested of the girl to which she obliged.

as she spoke, mr. keating scribbled some sort of diagram on the chalkboard. it didn't make sense to anyone, but they tried to understand it in some way or another. as she finished reading the paragraph aloud, one simple word left the lips of mr. keating. "excrement"

puzzled looks appeared on the majority's faces as he smiled at them. "that's what i think of mr. j evans pritchard. we're not laying pipe, we're talking about poetry!" he balled up his fists with passion.

cameron began to scribble out the diagram he copied into his notebook as he realized what mr. keating was getting at. "i mean, how can you describe poetry like american bandstand? i like byron, i give him a forty two. i can't dance to it" the man explained. blair noticed charlie sit up a bit straighter as he leaned forward. it seemed as if he was now interested in the class, something she never thought she'd see.

"now, i want you to rip out that page"

everyone's faces scrunched up in confusion, looking up at the man as if he had just gone mad. "go on, rip out the entire page! you heard me, rip it out. rip it out!" he triumphantly ordered the class to which amused expressions began to take place around the room. charlie was the first to follow instructions, he held up the page after doing so.

"thank you, mr. dalton. now, tell you what. don't just tear out that page. tear out the entire introduction. i want it gone, history. leave nothing of it. rip it out. rip! begone j. evans pritchard, ph.d rip, shred, tear. rip it out. i want to hear nothing but ripping of mr. pritchard!" mr. keating clapped his hands together before he went into his office to fetch a trash can.

blair giggled at the man's antics as she ripped out every page, crumbling it up and moving on to the next. charlie watched from his desk, occasionally throwing one of his papers at her with laughter. it was safe to say the entire classroom radiated joy, it felt good.

"what in the hell is going on in here!" mr. mcallister's voice boomed throughout the room, blair nearly jumped out of her seat as her gaze fell on the door. charlie, had shoved one of his book pages into his mouth. first instinct.

the heavyset elderly man stood there with arms crossed and angry eyebrows. thankfully, mr. keating got them out of it as he re entered the classroom. "i don't hear enough rips!" he held out the trash can in front of him.

"mr. keating" mr. mcallister stated, clearly stunned to see the man was present. "mr. mcallister" mr. keating greeted back. blair liked how the man wasn't afraid of anyone or anything. "i'm sorry, i-i didn't know you were here" mr. mcallister stuttered, feeling like a complete fool.

"i am" was all mr. keating had to say before the older man excused himself from the classroom. the tension seemed to have lifted once the door shut. "keep ripping ladies and gentlemen. this is a battle, a war. and the casualties could be your hearts and souls" mr. keating smiled, holding out the basket as he walked around the room. blair laughed at her best friend as he spit the page into the trash bin. "thank you mr. dalton" mr. keating nodded.

"armies of academics going forward, measuring poetry. no, we will not have that here. no more of mr. j evans pritchard. now in my class you will learn to think for yourselves again. you will learn to savor words and language. no matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world" mr. keating spoke with excitement. informing the youth of the true importance of life was more than important to him, and frankly– his main motivator for teaching.

"now, i have a little secret for ya. huddle up!" mr. keating waved his hands toward him, the center of the room. everyone got up from their seats to gather around the man.

"we don't read and write poetry because it's cute. we read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. and the human race is filled with passion. medicine, law, business, engineering, these are all noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life. but poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. to quote from whitman, "o me, o life of the questions of these recurring, of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities filled with the foolish. what good amid these, o me, o life?" answer: that you are here. that life exists, and identity. that the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. that the powerful play goes on and you, may contribute a verse" there was a long pause. blair had tears welled up in her eyes, charlie noticed.

"what will your verse be?"

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