The Tortured Poets Department

C. two - Dreams matter

It was the first day of classes at Welton Academy, and the members of the Dead Poets Society sat together at their usual table in the dining hall, eating breakfast and skimming over their schedules.

-We've got latin first- Meeks announced, glancing down at his timetable with a frown.
He absentmindedly pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose before returning to his meal.

-Latin... If only I could skip classes-
groaned Charlie as he stabbed an egg with his fork, his voice dripping with disdain.

Knox, who had been quietly munching on a slice of bread, nodded in agreement.

Neil looked up from his plate, trying to lift the mood.
-At least we have Mr. Keating right after Latin. That's something to look forward to- he said, his tone brighter.

-Yeah, sure. Maybe he'll have us tear out another page from our textbooks- Cameron cut in sarcastically.

Charlie shot him an annoyed glance.
-Come on, Cameron, don't be like that. Keating's lessons were always fun-.

Cameron, never one to argue too long when the group ganged up on him, shrugged.
He glanced at the clock on the far wall and pushed his chair back from the table.
-I'm going to head to class- he said stiffly.

Todd, who had been mostly silent through the conversation, furrowed his brow.
-But class doesn't start for another twenty minutes-.

-I'm going to review last year's material- Cameron replied, his voice clipped and efficient, as if explaining his punctuality was beneath him.
Without another word, he grabbed his books and walked out of the dining hall, leaving an awkward silence behind.

Charlie rolled his eyes and leaned closer to Knox.
-Damn, he's weird sometimes- he muttered under his breath.

Knox, however, wasn't paying attention.
He sat with a far-off look in his eyes, absentmindedly tearing the crust off his bread.

Noticing this, Charlie nudged him gently with his elbow, lowering his voice.
-You okay?- he asked, concern creeping into his tone.

Startled, Knox snapped out of his reverie and blinked at Charlie.
-What? Oh... yeah, I'm fine-.

Charlie didn't look convinced.
He knew Knox too well, and something was clearly bothering him.
-You sure about that?-.

Knox hesitated, then sighed.
-I'll tell you tonight, alright? At the cave-.

Charlie's brows knitted together in curiosity, but he nodded, deciding not to push further.
-Sure...tonight, then-.

Before either of them could say anything more, Neil's voice cut through the moment. -Alright guys, meeting at the cave tonight at nine. And I want everyone to bring a piece of poetry they've written. No excuses-.

He glanced over at Todd, softening his tone.
-Except for you, Todd. You don't have to if you're not comfortable with it-.

Todd's face flushed slightly under Neil's gaze.
-Oh no, I... I can do it- he stammered, his words tumbling out in a rush.
-If something comes to mind, I'll write it- he added.

Neil smiled, clearly pleased with the effort. -That's the spirit-.

With breakfast coming to an end, the group finished off their meals, chatting idly about their expectations for the year.
The conversation drifted, and soon enough, they rose from the table and made their way to their first class of the day.

Latin had been, without a doubt, the most stifling class of the day.
The professor, old and methodical, wasted no time on pleasantries or introductions.
His voice droned on, mechanical, as he swiftly moved to review the endless conjugations, declensions, and verb tenses that had already been drilled into their heads time and time again.
The students sat in silent, glazed-eyed rebellion, their minds elsewhere, anywhere, other than in that classroom.
The Dead Poets Society sat scattered across the room, each lost in their own internal battle to stay awake.
Charlie, slouched in his chair, tapped his fingers absently against the desk, his eyes flitting now and then to the clock above the door.
Knox, only a few desks over but not quite next to him, sighed quietly, doodling absent-mindedly in the margin of his textbook.
Every now and then, Charlie caught Knox's eye and raised an eyebrow.
Knox would smirk in return, shaking his head ever so slightly, as if to say: "Isn't this hell?".
Charlie rolled his eyes dramatically in agreement.
The minutes stretched, and when the final bell rang, it was like a shot being fired at the start of a race.
In one fluid motion, the students sprang from their seats, chairs scraping loudly against the floor.
The group of friends practically bolted for the door, their thoughts already on Mr. Keating's class.
All except for Cameron, who, ever dutiful and cautious, took his time gathering his materials and walked methodically toward the door, ignoring the impatient glances of the professor as he slowly made his way to the next room.