DRESS || ( charlie dalton )

iv. of annuals and secret societies

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

DRESS
(( — DEAD POETS SOCIETY — ))

—chapter iv: of annuals and secret societies

AFTER LUNCH THE BOYS and loraine had met up at the courtyard. they had quickly explained to her, how neil had found the old annual and had stumbled upon, what seemed to be, a secret club of some sort. due to the fact that loraine, even if she was a student, had to sit at the teachers table, she had missed all that had been discussed by the boys.

after they had agreed on asking keating about the annual, the group quickly noticed him walking over the grass.

"sir?" neil called, but keating just ignored him. "oh captain, my captain?" he tried again.

keating turned around. "gentlemen, ms nolan" he greeted

"we were just looking in your old annual" neil passed the book to keating

"oh, my god" keating laughed "no, that's not me. stanley 'the tool' wilson" he kneeled down on the ground chuckling to himself

neil got down on his level "what was the dead poets society?"

keating turned around smiling mischievously. "i doubt the present administration would look too favorably upon that."

"why, what was it?"

"lady, gentlemen, can you keep a secret?"

the rest of the group kneeled down in the grass as well.

"the dead poets were dedicated to sucking
the marrow out of life. that's a phrase
from thoreau that we'd invoke at the beginning of each meeting. you see we'd
gather at the old indian cave and take
turns reading from thoreau, whitman,
shelley; the biggies. even some of our
own verse. in the enchantment of the moment we'd let poetry work its magic" he looked between the boys and loraine like he had told them his biggest secret, which he probably had.

knox raised his brows, not entirely impressed "you mean it was a bunch of guys sitting around reading poetry?"

"no, mr overstreet, it wasn't just guys" keating shook his head "we weren't a greek organization, we were romantics. and we didn't just read poetry, we let it drop from our tongues like honey"

charlie looked at loraine, who seemed to be watching every move keating made attentively, and in the boys eyes, she was never more beautiful than in the moments she was thinking hard about something.

she would squeeze together her eyebrows, bite down the lower lip, which would often leave marks, as charlie noticed, and twirl her hair around a finger. but not in a suggestive way. more in a way of twirling it so long, that it would eventually get tangled and take her half an hour to brush through again.

loraine noticed his eyes and turned her head at him, smiling at charlie, he returned the gesture, before his attention was back on keating, scared he would turn red from the look she was giving him.

"spirits soared, women swooned, and gods were created, gentlemen, not a bad way to spend an evening eh?" keating passed the book back to neil and stood up "thank you mr. perry for this trip down amnesia lane. burn that, especially my picture." keating walked away whistling.

the bells started ringing and loraine could see mr hager open the door. the group started walking in the direction of the entrance.

"i say we go tonight" said neil

"tonight?" charlie repeated, like he hadn't heard him correctly

"what about my father?" asked loraine, hinting at the fact that he would surely hear them sneaking out