Nobody Knows This Little Rose - Dead Poets Society x Reader

3

"Alright, Mr. Perry it's your turn. Up you get" Mr. Keating was standing, a grin on his face, by the window of the English classroom. As always, there was chatter and laughter ruminating around the room. Charlie shrugged as he passed Neil on the way back to his seat, a smile splattered across his handsome face. "Good Luck" He muttered.

On the board, there was one word written in neat, legible cursive across the top. "Grand". Underneath it, in Charlie Dalton's messy and inconsistent scrawl was a tangle of synonyms, spanning from "large" to "monumental". Mr. Keating had gotten up while Neil and Charlie switched places, and, standing on a chair, erased the entire board. 

"Okay." He said thoughtfully, as Neil picked up a piece of chalk. "Your word is... Magical" Mr. Keating wrote the word and then stepped out of the way. He glanced at his watch, holding up one finger. "Your time starts... now" He called out as the second hand passed the 12. 

Just as Neil put his piece of chalk against the board, a loud creaking sound came from the door at the back of the room as it swung forward. A wave passed through those seated at their desks as they turned to look.

"Good morning Mr. Keating," Dr. Hager said from the doorway. "Miss y/l/n is here. I believe she is in this class"

Silence. But only for a moment. Then several things happened at once. Charlie seemed to jump in surprise, his notebook sliding off the edge of his desk and landing with a thump on the floor. Neil also dropped something, the piece of chalk fracturing as it also made contact with the floor. Meeks whipped off his glasses, polishing them on his uniform. Nearly everyone was running their hands through their hair.

"Oh yes yes," Mr. Keating said smoothly. The moment of awkwardness hadn't seemed to have any effect on him. Dr. Hager stepped aside and there she stood.

Rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, her plaid skirt carefully pleated, with her Welton pullover on top. She glanced over the room quickly, pushing her hair back over her shoulder.

Charlie's eyebrows were practically lost under his hair. "Holy shit!" He mouthed to Knox, who just nodded. 

Dr. Hager smiled and left, leaving y/n alone by the doorway. "Well, don't just stand there like a flamingo! Come in, come in. Where would you like to sit? Take your pick, you have my permission to kick any of these boys out of their seats if you prefer one they have" Mr. Keating said jovially, ushering her in. 

"Oh thank you, sir," she said politely. "But, if it's alright with you, I'll take that empty one in the front," she said, gesturing to the only unoccupied seat in the front row.

Mr. Keating smiled and gestured her forward. She dropped her bag and sank into the seat slowly. The pink tinge of her cheeks was a sign of how she knew all eyes in the room were on her. 

"Mr. Perry, you can return to your seat. I think it prudent that we all get to know Miss y/l/n a bit better before we finish our game" Mr. Keating said, with a wink at y/n as Neil returned to his seat, giving her a warm smile. 

"So Miss y/l/n," Mr. Keating said, apparently unaware the class was more deadly silent than it ever had been before. "Are you a poet?"

This seemed a rather odd, vague question to ask someone, especially someone you knew nothing about; but at this point, the other students in the class were used to this, attributing it to Mr. Keating's manner in general. Y/n paused momentarily before answering.

"Depends on your definition of poet I suppose," she said lightly. 

"And what do you mean by that?" He asked, leaning forward curiously.

"Well... some people would define a poet as someone who writes verse," She said slowly, sounding as if she was formulating her answer. 

"But you disagree?" Mr. Keating prompted.

"Yes. Although I occasionally write. I would define being a poet as being a person who sees the world in a certain kind of way. Attributing everything to some tragic metaphor, romance in death, and death in romance. Y'know, that sort of thing" She said.

Whatever the class had expected her to say, that was not it. The silence had deepened as she spoke, her feminine voice rolling over the adjectives in her sentence, completely foreign to this classroom, this school

Mr. Keating stood up, staring at y/n with an ecstatic expression.

"Oh you are going to fit right in here, Miss y/l/n"