Sugar - Charlie Dalton

10

The next day, Clara was exhausted from the late night fun. But still, she couldn't stop her excitement for Keating's class.

Today when they arrived, he walked in already on his lesson.

"A man is not very tired, he is exhausted. And don't use very sad, use?" He quickly pointed a finger at Knox. "Come on, Mr. Overstreet, you twerp!"

"Morose?"

The teacher smiled. "Exactly! Morose. Now, language was developed for one endeavor, and that is? Mr. Anderson? Come on! Are you a man or an amoeba?"

Clara found herself praying that the boy would speak up, but he said nothing.

Awkwardly, Mr. Keating moved on. "Miss Perry?"

"Uh, to communicate?" The girl questioned.

"No! To woo women." She laughed lightly, she should've guess that. "Today we're going to be talking about William Shakespeare."

Immediately the class filled with groans, one boy even calling out.

Clara was surprised, why did everyone hate Shakespeare?

"I know. A lot of you looked 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 very much like this:"

The class was tentatively as Mr. Keating held up his arm and began to talk in a horrible British accent.

"'O Titus, bring your friend hither.' But if any of you have seen Mr. Marlon Brando, you know, Shakespeare can be different. 'Friend, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears.' You can also imagine, maybe, John Wayne as Macbeth going, 'Well, is this a dagger I see before me?'"

The class began to laugh as their teacher joined in.

All too soon, the bell rang signaling the class was over.

Quickly, Clara caught up with Neil outside the room.

"Hey Neil, look time no see."

"I saw you a minute ago?"

The girl laughed and hit her brother. "I meant you and me hanging out, I feel like we haven't."

"I guess you're right. Let's hang out now!"

The brunette smiled. As much as Neil drove her crazy, she wasn't sure what'd she do without him.

€€€

It seemed to Clara that she couldn't remember anything of her day except Keating's teachings.

And of course all of Charlie's shameless flirting.

Today, everyone was seated at the front of the room while their Captain paced back and forth, reading from a book.

"'Dogs, sir? Oh, not just now. I do enjoy a good dog once in a while, sir. You can have yourself a three-course meal from one dog. Start with your canine crudites, go to your Fido flambe for main course and for dessert, a Pekingese parfait. And you can pick your teeth with a little paw.'"

Sneakily, Clara sat down next to Charlie, occasionally stealing glances at him.

She was about to make a joke to him when Mr. Keating suddenly jumped onto his desk.

Everyone fell back to their regular seats, making Clare upset she hadn't gotten a chance to say something to the boy.

"Why do I stand up here? Anybody?" Mr. Keating asked the class.

"To feel taller."

"No!" The man responded, hitting a bell with his foot, making the others laugh. "Thank you for playing, Mr. Dalton. I stand upon my desk to remind yourself that we must constantly look at things in a different way."

The girl nodded thoughtfully, writing down the advice in her notes.

"You see, the world looks very different from up here. You don't believe me? Come see for yourself. Come on. Come on!"

Charlie and Neil rose from their seats quickly, the latter grabbing at his sister's hand to join them.

The three all stepped up together, Charlie constantly poking Clara in her side, trying to make her fall off.

The girl ignored him, looking around the room carefully. She had never noticed the globe on top of the cabinet or the pencils in the ceiling near Charlie's seat.

"Neat." Was all she said as her brother agreed.

From the ground, Mr. Keating began to speak again. "Just when you think you know something, you have to look at it in another way. Even though it may seem silly or wrong, you must try! Now, when you read, don't just consider what the author thinks. Consider what you think."

The two boys jumped off, Charlie holding his hand out for Clara to take.

She thanked him, blushing.

"Boys, you must strive to find your own voice. Because the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all. Thoreau said, 'Most men lead lives of quiet desperation.' Don't be resigned to that. Break out!"

Clara watched as the others all stood and walked off immediately, not taking in the activity.

She couldn't blame them though, how many teachers at Welton even allowed their students to stand on the floor during class?

"Don't just walk off the edge like lemmings. Look around you." The teacher called up, thinking the same thing as the younger girl.

Suddenly, the bell rang once again. A good class far too short. Clara moved to pack up her books as the rest of the class jumped up and down from the table.

"There! There you go, Mr. Priske. Thank you! Yes! Dare to strike out and find new ground. Now, in addition to your essays, I would like you to compose a poem of your own, an original work." Mr. Keating promoted, moving to the back of the classroom.

Just like with Shakespeare, loud complaints were heard across the room.

The older man laughed and began to flicker the lights. "That's right! You have to deliver it aloud in front of the class on Monday. Bonne chance, gentlemen and lady."

Clare giggled as she watched Todd, the last student get up on the desk.

"Mr. Anderson? Don't think that I don't know that this assignment scares the hell out of you, you mole." And with that, the room was flooded with black.

All the students laughed as the poor new kid jumped down into the darkness.

Clara swore she could still see red on his face, even in the dark.

€€€

Later that night, Clara sat in her dorm, fiddling with her pencil.

She had been working since the end of the school day, even skipping dinner to try and go to bed on time.

She had succeeded - almost.

Now the girl was staring a blank page titled "Original Poem by Clara Perry."

She groaned and stood up, pacing around her room.

Writing always came easy to her, why was this so hard?

Sitting back down, the girl couldn't stop thinking about Charlie.

Gosh! It was so stupid. For all she knew, he saw her as just another girl to try and "woo" and practice flirting on.

Then it clicked. Write the poem about this!

It was like someone had turned a light on in the brunette's head as her pencil flew across the paper.

In a matter of minutes, she had her poem written.

Closing her textbook, Clara crawled into her bed, imagining reading the poem aloud to her classmates.