I am posting yet again! I have quite a few chapters written in advance to keep the ball rolling. I've finally done some calculations for the sake of cultural references. If the movie is set in 1959 with the main characters as seniors or juniors at the least, making them 16-18 years old, right? To make this work out on paper, I decided to put Nuwanda as a senior and therefore 17 years old. I also decided that Charlotte would come into the world when he was 25, making the year 1967. If Charlotte is 16, then the story is presently in the year 1983! Woot! Just letting y'all in on the insanity. So now I have a better frame of what's around and what's not. I just ask my parents or search the web for invention dates. Ok, now to the story! Charlie: I'm OLD! Me: No, you're sixteen, don't you know that? Charlie: If I live to your year, I'll be OLD! Me: It happens to everyone sweetie, get used to the idea. Charlie: ((sobs)) Me: You're fictional, what the hell do you have to worry about? You're not going to age! Charlie: ((sobs harder)) OLD! Me: Oh brother…

My dad seemed to be fighting an inner battle as he told me all about the Dead Poets again. I knew he was sort of proud of defying the stuffy headmaster and gaining his license as an artist. But I knew he was thinking I might try to pull the Society off, I was, after all, his child. But he let me on to a few details he'd skipped before. Like the exact location of the cave where they'd met (like I already didn't know that) and how the book of the Poets had mysteriously "vanished". His 'trouble' smile told me he had it and that was what I needed to know. He even told me the title of said book, Five Centuries of Verse. I asked if he knew what happened to it. Dad shifted uncomfortably at the wheel of the Prix. I was getting warmer; he would crack and show me it if I kept pestering him, I knew he wanted to.

I was jubilant when my house came into view. Oh my sweet lavender Victorian, with your magnificent turret and comfy farmer's porch, how could I have forsaken thee? I nearly hopped out of the car as it touched the drive way. My mom was at the door ushering one of the many students out of the house. My parents own a music store and teach the piano, saxophone, clarinet, French horn, drums, flute and recorder. I myself play the flute; we're very musical people. My mom was happy to see me and I was overjoyed to be home.

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The next morning was Thanksgiving Day. Mom already had the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade going on the TV. I could hear it from my room. Ah, MY room, no blank white walls or hard beds or cold hard wood floors or roommates or roommate's friends walking in and out at all times. I cracked open an eyelid, quickly shutting it because the sun was streaming merrily through the windows. I smiled; I missed sleeping in. I opened both of my eyes and looked at the erratically painted walls. The wild colors greeted me with cheer. I snuggled deep into my quilt. Oh, lord I was glad to be home. I heard Dad in the bathroom that was right next to my room and I could smell Mom cooking bacon. More real food! I leapt out of bed and followed my nose. My little brother, Theo, was already bolting down the stairs, each clunk louder than the last.

Mom's blonde hair was sitting messily upon her head, the sunlight that came in through the bay window made it glow. She was in her bathrobe and dancing around, tending to the stove. She was working on a combination of dinner and breakfast all at once. She took a few strips of the bacon out the frying pan and set them aside to cool; I promptly snitched some. Theo put his hands protectively around his plate and grunted; I rolled my eyes and ruffled his dirty blond hair. Mom laughed and made me a plate. Pancakes with rivers of syrup, toast dripping with butter and, of course, nice crispy bacon. I was munching away as she put a mug of her homemade hot cocoa in front of me. I nearly finished everything in one gulp.

"My, my, Lottie. Haven't they been feeding you at that school?" she asked as she reloaded my plate.

"Yeah, you pig, what gives?" asked Theo. "Save some for the rest of us."

"What they call food and what is actually is food are two entirely different things." I told her through a mouthful of toast. I swallowed. "Anything is better than what they serve."

My father was coming down the stairs. Laughing he said, "I second that! Anything is better than Hellton hash." Mom glared at him playfully. It was both a compliment to her cooking and an insult.

"Hell-ton hash?" Theo echoed.

"School food." Dad and I said in unison.

I stuffed more pancake into my mouth to avoid laughing aloud for I totally agreed with Dad. Anything was better. After breakfast, after chasing Theo around for fifteen minutes as he with held my shoes, I went to hunt down Kelly. Kelly is the best friend anyone could wish for. I wore my Welton coat and it kept me warm as I strolled down the street. Kelly's house was a small bright white Cape with a blue door and shutters. I knocked on the door and she opened up with a shriek. Actually, we both sort of started squealing and hugging. Her parents finally yelled that she stop heating the Great Outdoors.

"Oh, let's see what she's wearing." Kelly said as she inspected my jacket. "Mhm, mhm. School jacket, ooh that's nice and warm isn't it?"

"It is and it should be. The thing was a hundred dollars."

"No!"

"Yes! Is that outrageous or what? You'd think for the amount of money it costs to go to that school, they'd give it to you for free."

"So how is boarding school?" Kelly asked me. I rolled my eyes and started spilling the news out. She and her parents laughed hard when I told them about the girl's dorms. She was almost in tears when I told her who I was sharing my room with. I told her about classes and getting in a fight my first day there. When all was told we leaned back and sighed, happy to be back together, even if it was only for a day. Yes, a day, I was going back tomorrow morning. Then Kelly began gossiping about the people and school I had left behind. The Art Club missed me; the cheerleaders didn't as they still remembered the paint incident of the previous of year. (That's a really, really long story; I'll let you fill in the blanks.) She said she had a boyfriend who was president of the Drama Club and that they were going to present Romeo and Juliet a week after her vacation ended. We wasted hours catching up but it seemed all too soon that I had to go home because her family was eating dinner. Mrs. Donahue didn't send me home empty handed; I got an apple pie, her specialty.

When I arrived at the Dalton residence it was a complete state of chaos. Dad had apparently been pinching the raw pie crust and helping himself to the cranberry jelly a little too much. Theo had eaten half a bag of sugar following Dad's example and was bouncing off the walls. Mom was in a fury and Dad was out of the kitchen until further notice and parents think we're immature. Dad was in a defiant mood; he was defying my mother's control over him, so he took my upstairs into the attic as soon as I had deposited the pie on the kitchen counter. I was wondering what could possibly be up here that would prove to be 'bad'. I soon found out.

Dad was messing with the trunks that I knew contained items from his childhood and such. He pulled a small case out of one and (surprisingly) fitted one of the keys from his ring into the miniscule lock. The case held a lone and worn black book. Dad flipped it over and dusted the cover. Five Centuries of Verse. Dad grinned at me, "You know what this is." He handed it to me. I looked at him warily; this was too easy.

I opened it and turned the first pages softly. In a sprawling hand some one had quoted Thoreau. It was the 'sucking the marrow out of life' bit. I flipped through the book. It contained some of the most major poets of our time. Shakespeare, Poe, Wordsworth, Emerson and many others. There were bits of paper inserted here and there that I guessed contained verse by past members of the Society. As I looked at the last few pages a picture fell out. It showed seven boys in a crowded cave. One too tall, one with large glasses who looked vaguely like Sabrina, one with a serious aura and hair that looked like a steamroller had run over it, one with high cheekbones and a handsomely expressive face, my father with his mischief look in place and cigarette dangling from his long fingers, Mr. Overstreet with a bemused smile and one that was half in the shadows. I handed the photo to Dad. He began pointing to the figures and explaining.

"Let's see…that's Pittsie…who knows how many times he hit his head on that cave…and Meeks…Jesus he looks like nerd…Cameron…he finked on us, turned us all in…that's Neil, he's the one who…well…you know…that's me lookin' good…there's Mr. Overstreet, he'd just met Chris…and that is Todd Anderson, hiding the background as usual…he never did much." Dad's brow furrowed as he spoke. There was a bitter ring to his voice as he mentioned Cameron. I could understand why; I would be pissed if Kelly ever went behind my back like that. He handed me the picture back so I could put it in the book. I asked quietly if I could read it. Dad was perhaps lost in thought and memory, for he agreed.

We went back downstairs to find that Mom was calm and all was well. I fingered the frayed edge of the book and retreated to my room to become immersed in poetry until Dad came to get me for dinner. The real food was excellent. I won our yearly eating contest, which is saying something with Theo and Dad to contend with. Theo might be only eleven years old, but he's a human vacuum cleaner. I must have eaten half the turkey and, after a slice of both pies, I promptly passed out on the living room couch. I drifted off to the noise of Thanksgiving football.

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I woke up later in my room in the middle of the night. I felt for the Verse book where I had hidden it in my nightstand. It was there. I slipped out of bed and stuck it in my suitcase. I was braced for tomorrow. The Dead Poets Society was going to make a giant comeback.

Me: There you go! Another chapter! Charlie: Why did you stick me with a guy's name? Me: I thought it would be neat-o! Charlie: Anderson keeps making fun of me! Me: Really? Anderson: Tee hee! Me: Who let you out? Charlie and Anderson: Uh…you did? Me: Ri-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ight, uh huh. Anderson: Why did you stick me with the dead dude's name? Me: Why are you out of your cage? Anderson: Um…picked the lock? Me: Who else got out? Charlie: All of us! Me: Great, just great. I have to go do character wrangling now, excuse me.