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SHE'S NOT ALONE! - If a young girl doesn't get what she dreamed about as a young child. At least she knows she's not alone.
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IN WHERE A GROUP OF YOUNG BOYS ACCEPT A YOUNG GIRL INTO THEIR NEW...
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Neil ran down the hallway, banging on Charlie's dorm and Y/N's. The two opened their down and looked at the excited boy.
"Charlie, Y/N! I got the part! I'm gonna play Puck! I'm gonna play Puck!" Neil exclaimed, talking about his audition for the play.
Y/N smiled, "Good for you, Neil!"
"Yeah, good for you!" Charlie called out, as Neil ran into his room. Sitting down to a typewriter.
"What did he say?" Meeks questioned.
"Puck?" Pitts asked.
"That's the main part!" Neil exclaimed.
Y/N walked in and leaned on his doorframe, "Hi, Todd." She greeted the boy.
Todd looked up and smiled.
"What are you doing, Perry?" Y/N questioned.
"They need a permission from my father and Mr. Nolan." Neil replied.
"You're not gonna write it." Todd said.
"Oh, yes I am." Neil looked at the boy.
"Neil your crazy." Y/N chuckled.
Neil just laughed and began to type.
"OK. 'I'm writing to you on behalf of my son, Neil Perry.'" Neil stomped his foot up and down.
"This is great." Neil laughed. --
"To Chris," Knox began, his voice soft. Y/N looked up in shock, this is what he decided to write about for the assignment?
"I see a sweetness in her smile. Bright light shines from her eyes. But life is complete; contentment is mine. Just knowing that.." Knox paused as the boys around the class began to snicker.
"Just knowing that she is..." The boy slumped his shoulders in defeat, "She's alive." He finished, crumpling up the paper.
"Sorry, captain, its stupid." He apologised.
"No, no, it's not stupid. It's a good effort. It touched on one of the major themes, love. A major theme not only in poetry but life." Mr. Keating reassured the teen.
Keating strolled down the aisles of his students, before settling in on Richard Hopkins.
"Mr. Hopkins, you were laughing, you're up." Keating said.
Richard walked to the front of the class, a smirk settled on his face. He didn't care about anything in this class, and it was noticeable thanks to his body language.
"The car sat on the mat." He read, no emotion at all, just a smirk on his face. He sat back on his desk, sending more smirks to his friends.
"Congratulations, Mr. Hopkins," Mr. Keating smiled, making his way to the boys desk, "Your is the first poem to ever have a negative sore on the Pritchard scale."
