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CHAPTER TEN! ( BARBARIC YAWP. )
"TO CHRIS," KNOX began softly. Joan's ears perked up at this, she looked to the front of the class, all of a sudden very interested. She looked at Violet, exchanging excited glances. "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 began to snicker. Joan glared at one girl who seemed to find Knox's performance extremely comedic, to Joan's surprise, she shut her up.
"Just knowing that..." Knox slumped his hands down in embarrassment, "she's alive," he finished quietly. He crumpled up his poem and walked back to his seat, looking defeated. "Sorry, Captain, it's stupid."
"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 Knox. Keating strolled down an aisle of seats before reaching Richard Hopkins' desk. "Mr. Hopkins, you were laughing. You're up," Keating said.
Richard walked slowly to the front of the class with a smirk on his face. He unfolded his paper and stood on the platform, carelessness written in his body language. "The cat sat on the mat," he read monotonously. Several boys began to chuckle. Richard walked back to his seat, winking at his friends as they gave him thumbs up. Joan rolled her eyes. What made him think he was so cool?
"Congratulations, Mr. Hopkins," Mr. Keating smiled, making his way over to Richard's desk. "Yours is the first poem to ever have a negative score on the Pritchard scale," he cheered, earning an eruption of laughter from the rest of the class. "We're not laughing at you, we're laughing near you," Keating assured smugly. "I don't mind that your poem had a simple theme. Sometimes the most beautiful poetry can be about simple things, like a cat, or a flower or rain. You see, poetry can come from anything with the stuff of revelation in it. Just don't let your poems be ordinary." Richard nodded, now looking a little disappointed.
"Who's up next? Is there a daring spirit in this class who is willing to step up?" After a few moments of silence Charlie walked purposefully up to the front of the class. He held up a crumpled paper that looked like it had been stepped on, but he held it proudly nonetheless. Joan couldn't help but notice the fact that his lips were slightly upturned into a mischievous smirk.
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both, And be one traveler," Charlie began reciting The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost. Joan laughed softly, if he really wanted to fool anyone he should've chosen a lesser known poem, but then again, he didn't really mean to fool anyone.
"No, no, no, Mr. Dalton. An original work," Keating said quickly. Charlie only grinned, making it clear that he was kidding.
"Alright, fine," he said, he cleared his throat and looked down at the page. His eyes flitted over the page in what seemed to be hesitation, which was strange for him, considering that he had no impulse control. He looked up and locked eyes with Joan for less than a second. In that time she managed to give him a swift reassuring nod. He finally opened his mouth to speak.
