you say things, people pay attention. People follow you. I’m not like that!”
“Why not? Don’t you think you could be?” Neil pressed.
“No!” Todd shouted. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll probably never know. The point is, there’s nothing you can do about it, so butt out, all right? I can take care of myself just fine, all right?”
“Er, no …” Neil said.
“No?” Todd looked astonished. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”
Neil shrugged matter-of-factly and repeated, “No. I’m not going to butt out.”
Neil opened his play and began to read again. Todd just sat and stared at him. “Okay,” Todd said, defeated. “I’ll go.”
“Good.” Neil smiled and continued reading the play.
C HAPTER 8
The Dead Poets Society met in the cave before soccer practice that afternoon. Charlie, Knox, Meeks, Neil, Cameron, and Pitts walked around the in-ground clubhouse, exploring its nooks and crannies and carving their names in the walls. Todd walked in late, but once they were all assembled, Neil stood and started the meeting.
“‘I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.’”
“God,” Knox wailed, “I want to suck all the marrow out of Chris! I’m so in love, I feel like I’m going to die!”
“You know what the dead poets would say,” Cameron laughed, “‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may …’”
“But she’s in love with the moron son of my father’s best friend! What would the dead poets say about that?” Knox walked away from the group in despair.
Neil stood up and headed out. “I gotta get to the tryouts,” he announced nervously. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” Meeks, Pitts, and Cameron said in chorus. Todd was silent as he watched Neil go.
“I feel like I’ve never been alive,” Charlie said sadly, as he watched Neil go. “For years, I’ve been risking nothing. I have no idea what I am or what I want to do. Neil knows he wants to act. Knox knows he wants Chris.”
“Needs Chris? Must have Chris!” Knox groaned.
“Meeks,” Charlie said. “You’re the brain here. What do the dead poets say about somebody like me?”
“The romantics were passionate experimenters, Charles. They dabbled in many things before settling, if ever,” Meeks said.
Cameron made a face. “There aren’t too many places to be an experimenter at Welton, Meeks.”
Charlie paced as the boys considered Cameron’s observation. He stopped and his face lit up. “I hereby declare this the Charles Dalton Cave for Passionate Experimentation.” He smiled. “In the future, anyone wishing entry must have permission from me.”
“Wait a minute, Charlie,” Pitts objected. “This should belong to the club.”
“It should, but I found it, and now I claim it. Carpe cavern, boys. Seize the cave,” Charlie countered with a grin.
“Good thing there’s only one of you around here, Charles,” Meeks said philosophically, while the others looked at each other and shook their heads. The boys had seized the cave, and in it they’d found a home away from Welton, away from parents, teachers, and friends—a place where they could be people they never dreamed they’d be. The Dead Poets Society was alive and thriving and ready to seize the day.
The boys left the cave reluctantly and got back to campus just in time for practice. “Say, look who’s the soccer instructor,” Pitts said, as they spotted Mr. Keating approaching the field. He was carrying some soccer balls under one arm and a case under the other.
“Okay, boys, who has the roll?” Keating asked.
“I do, sir,” a senior student said, handing Keating the class list.
Keating took the three-page roll and examined it. “Answer with, ‘Present,’ please,” he said. “Chapman?”
“Present.”
“Perry?” No one answered. “Neil Perry?”
“He had a dental appointment, sir,” Charlie said.
“Ummhmm. Watson?” Keating called. No one answered.
“Why not? Don’t you think you could be?” Neil pressed.
“No!” Todd shouted. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll probably never know. The point is, there’s nothing you can do about it, so butt out, all right? I can take care of myself just fine, all right?”
“Er, no …” Neil said.
“No?” Todd looked astonished. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”
Neil shrugged matter-of-factly and repeated, “No. I’m not going to butt out.”
Neil opened his play and began to read again. Todd just sat and stared at him. “Okay,” Todd said, defeated. “I’ll go.”
“Good.” Neil smiled and continued reading the play.
C HAPTER 8
The Dead Poets Society met in the cave before soccer practice that afternoon. Charlie, Knox, Meeks, Neil, Cameron, and Pitts walked around the in-ground clubhouse, exploring its nooks and crannies and carving their names in the walls. Todd walked in late, but once they were all assembled, Neil stood and started the meeting.
“‘I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.’”
“God,” Knox wailed, “I want to suck all the marrow out of Chris! I’m so in love, I feel like I’m going to die!”
“You know what the dead poets would say,” Cameron laughed, “‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may …’”
“But she’s in love with the moron son of my father’s best friend! What would the dead poets say about that?” Knox walked away from the group in despair.
Neil stood up and headed out. “I gotta get to the tryouts,” he announced nervously. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” Meeks, Pitts, and Cameron said in chorus. Todd was silent as he watched Neil go.
“I feel like I’ve never been alive,” Charlie said sadly, as he watched Neil go. “For years, I’ve been risking nothing. I have no idea what I am or what I want to do. Neil knows he wants to act. Knox knows he wants Chris.”
“Needs Chris? Must have Chris!” Knox groaned.
“Meeks,” Charlie said. “You’re the brain here. What do the dead poets say about somebody like me?”
“The romantics were passionate experimenters, Charles. They dabbled in many things before settling, if ever,” Meeks said.
Cameron made a face. “There aren’t too many places to be an experimenter at Welton, Meeks.”
Charlie paced as the boys considered Cameron’s observation. He stopped and his face lit up. “I hereby declare this the Charles Dalton Cave for Passionate Experimentation.” He smiled. “In the future, anyone wishing entry must have permission from me.”
“Wait a minute, Charlie,” Pitts objected. “This should belong to the club.”
“It should, but I found it, and now I claim it. Carpe cavern, boys. Seize the cave,” Charlie countered with a grin.
“Good thing there’s only one of you around here, Charles,” Meeks said philosophically, while the others looked at each other and shook their heads. The boys had seized the cave, and in it they’d found a home away from Welton, away from parents, teachers, and friends—a place where they could be people they never dreamed they’d be. The Dead Poets Society was alive and thriving and ready to seize the day.
The boys left the cave reluctantly and got back to campus just in time for practice. “Say, look who’s the soccer instructor,” Pitts said, as they spotted Mr. Keating approaching the field. He was carrying some soccer balls under one arm and a case under the other.
“Okay, boys, who has the roll?” Keating asked.
“I do, sir,” a senior student said, handing Keating the class list.
Keating took the three-page roll and examined it. “Answer with, ‘Present,’ please,” he said. “Chapman?”
“Present.”
“Perry?” No one answered. “Neil Perry?”
“He had a dental appointment, sir,” Charlie said.
“Ummhmm. Watson?” Keating called. No one answered.
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