Chapter 7 (Neil): The Point of Language
After several years of being a chronic over-sleeper, Neil had already perfected the art of getting ready for class in less than fifteen minutes. "But it's very different when it's not just you who's overslept, but also practically all of your friends," he thought as he quickly knotted his tie. He winced as he felt the continued stinging from a slight nick he had incurred from shaving earlier that morning.
Across the dormitory room, Todd muttered something as he tried to comb his hair. "I can't believe I forgot to set my alarm clock," he complained.
"It happens even to the best of us," Neil said philosophically. He glanced over his shoulder and realized that Todd's tie was still askew. "Do you need help with your tie?"
Todd glanced down and cringed. "I got it wrong again."
"Here, wait a minute," Neil said, going over to help Todd sort out his tie. In a few moments, the offending necktie was in its proper appearance.
"Thanks," Todd said as he began pulling on his blazer. "Neil…"
"What?"
"If we're going to have another meeting, can it be on a weekend? Just so we can all catch up on sleep after?"
"Yep, you've got a point there," Neil replied, going back to his desk to get his things. He figured that he was going to hear something along those lines anyway from the others later. "Ready to go?"
"Yeah."
Neil stepped out in time to nearly collide with Spaz, who was hurrying down the hall. Spaz stopped himself at the last moment, and blinked. "What are you still doing up here, Perry?" he asked.
"I woke up late," Neil replied.
"Again? And Anderson too?" Spaz said. "Seems as if everyone's up late this morning. I heard Cameron running down here."
"And I know why," Neil thought as he, Todd, and Spaz headed straight to their Chemistry class. It was a little too late to have breakfast now, but he hoped that there would be some chance to sneak to the kitchen later.
As luck would have it, the chance did not come until after Chemistry class, nor did it even come after History. Before Latin class, Neil was just doing his best to ignore the sounds of his stomach growling.
In the middle of class, while Mr. McAllister had his back turned to the board, Neil felt someone tap his elbow. "What's going on?" he asked Todd.
Todd nonchalantly held out a roll of bread under the table. "Pitts went to the kitchen," he said, trying to hide the fact that he was chewing.
Neil quickly hid the bread behind his books, even as he noticed Charlie unwrapping a stick of gum. He had managed to stuff the bread in his mouth when Mr. McAllister turned around.
"Is it lunch time already?" he asked testily. "Unless you have been severely deprived of nutrition, there is no reason for anyone to be eating in my class," Mr. McAllister said sharply. His eyes searched the room, clearly looking out for any student who had food out. Unfortunately, his gaze soon trained on Charlie, who was still working on his gum.
"Mr. Dalton! How many times do I have to tell you about eating—"
"Mr. McAllister, I wasn't *eating* it. You can't eat gum," Charlie replied.
"This is going to end with Charlie in detention again," Neil thought. It was all he could do to keep a straight face and to surreptitiously conceal his food right under his notes, even as Mr. McAllister furiously marched up to Charlie's desk. Half the class nearly burst out snickering on realizing that Charlie had more sticks of gum with him as well as chocolate chip cookies.
"Mr. Dalton, what have you been doing in my class?" Mr. McAllister demanded.
"Consuming, Sir," Charlie replied.
"When you mean by consuming, are you referring to Latin, or those misbegotten lumps of sugar you have there?"
"It is possible to do both, Sir."
Before Mr. McAllister could say anything, the bell rang. "Consumtanum est!" Vanessa said a little too loudly.
"Yes, indeed," Mr. McAllister said. "Tomorrow, I expect a 1000 word essay from you, explaining the importance of delayed gratification. If you do not submit the essay, you will suffer deductions in the first exam. Do I make myself clear?"
Charlie bit his lip defiantly before saying, "Yes Sir."
"Good. Class dismissed," Mr. McAllister glowered even as the students began gathering up their things. "Ms. O'Donnell, Latin remedial on Saturday morning."
"He just had to remember," Vanessa thought before giving a nod of acknowledgment and leaving the room to join her friends in the hall.
Charlie gave her a rueful look. "He really has it in for us," he said.
"More for you than for me," Vanessa shrugged. "If only Latin could be as fun as last night was," she added, smiling a little more brightly.
"Yep," Neil grinned. "Aren't you glad you came?"
"I'm glad you asked," Vanessa said. "Though I do hope I won't be dead on my feet before English. I have to thank Charlie for keeping us all awake!"
"At least someone here appreciates my efforts. Don't count on me to arrange something for Trig though," Charlie said as they reached the dining hall. The rest of the day proceeded with its expected ennui, up until English class.
"A man is not tired, he is exhausted!" Mr. Keating said loudly during the lecture. It was clear that he had noticed how exhausted some of his students appeared, therefore he was doing his best to keep them on their toes. "And don't use very sad, use—come on, Mr. Overstreet, you twerp," he added, pointing towards Knox.
Knox looked up from his notes. "Morose?"
"Exactly! Morose," Mr. Keating said. "Now language was invented for only one endeavor, and that is?" He stopped in front of Todd's desk. "Come on, Mr. Anderson, are you a man or an amoeba?"
Todd merely gave Mr. Keating a blank look, but he remained silent. Mr. Keating looked towards the middle of the room. "Mr. Perry?"
"Uh, to communicate?"
"No!" Mr. Keating answered. "To woo women!"
Neil felt his face grow warm as the rest of the class burst out laughing. Much to his relief, even Vanessa was also chuckling despite having also turned red up to her ears.
Vanessa raised her hand after a few moments. "Oh Captain, my Captain, then what do women use language for?" she jokingly asked.
"To determine whether the man should continue his wooing," Mr. Keating replied, eliciting another round of laughter.. "There's the power that lies in the speech, Ms. O'Donnell. Now today, to further demonstrate the fact, we will be talking about William Shakespeare."
"Oh God!" Priske exclaimed as everyone in the class groaned.
Mr. Keating smiled ruefully. "I know. A lot of you look forward to this like you look forward to root canal work. But today, we will talk about Shakespeare who writes something very interesting. Now many of you have seen Shakespeare done something like this:" He stretched out his hands in an exaggerated gesture. "Oh Titus, bring your friend hither. But if any of you have seen Mr. Marlon Brando, you know, Shakespeare can be different. "Friend, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears."
Some of the boys laughed at this impersonation. Much encouraged, Mr. Keating continued, "You can also imagine, maybe, John Wayne as Macbeth going, "Well, is this a dagger I see before me? All of these things you like: high drama, intrigue, action yes, and romance: this was the stuff that drew Shakespeare's audiences to the Globe much in the same way I am sure you all go to the movies."
A stir and a buzzing sounded in class. "And imagine that this week, you're getting a free day off-campus. There's a blockbuster being shown in town. It's the story of a murder, in fact," Mr. Keating said.
"Of who?" Knox asked.
"The murder of a man, while his son was away at school. Now when this son returns home, he finds that his mother has remarried-of all persons his uncle, and that his sweetheart is being banned from seeing him. To top it all off, there's a ghost roaming the house," Mr. Keating said. "Sounds familiar?"
"That's Hamlet," Neil said after a moment.
"Yes. Not a bad plot, don't you think?" Mr. Keating said. "Now what about a war hero, who while on his way home, receives a message that he is going to become the next President? He's not a senator, just an ordinary war hero. It just so happens too that the President is visiting his house that day. What is he going to do? Obviously he can't just ask for the job."
"I don't know, kill him?" Hopkins said flippantly.
"Congratulations, Mr. Hopkins, you have just described Macbeth."