This is the first half of the chapter you've been waiting for, and for that reason, I've indulged you all - and myself - with a final English lesson since I love writing them, and many of you have commented on your enjoyment of them. I had intended to include the deleted movie scene of the post-play cave meeting, but the chapter-length got out of hand. For that reason, the next chapter will pick up where this one leaves off.
In terms of updates, my dissertation is due next week along with two more essays in the first half of May. I'm hoping to get part two up within the next few weeks, but if it doesn't appear we can blame it on my Uni.
Also, Can anyone remember the mention of Jeffrey Anderson's haunted college dorms however many chapters ago? Well, the story continues. Shout out to the cultured individuals who can guess the inspiration behind that. I hope this chapter is worth the wait!
'So, we'll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.
[...]
Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a roving
By the light of the moon.'
~ 'So We'll Go No More A-Roving,' Lord Byron*
Chapter Fifty-three - 'the soul outwears the breast'*
Kathleen winced, narrowly avoiding yet another splinter as her hand slid along the aged wood. Decades of grime layered the walls which encased the winding staircase. Dust filled the air in plumes as the group thudded upward in a single file line, their footsteps guided only by the dim rings of the three flashlights shared between them.
"Did we really abandon breakfast for this?" Todd muttered, feeling for the mail tucked inside of his blazer pocket. "It's too dark to read anything."
"Nearly there," Neil's cheerful voice floated down from above. "It's a bit of a trek but no one will bother us here."
She pulled the hem of her skirt up, preventing it from dragging through the cobwebs. "Define here. If you hadn't found the cave, I'd suspect an empty promise."
Hazy daylight began to filter out the darkness, and one by one they emerged into the cluttered, west-wing attic. Old trunks and suitcases filled the shelves lining the room and spilled out into neat piles beneath the circular window at the far end. A mismatch of heavy rugs had been unrolled across the floor, and resting on the fabric was an array of disused or broken chairs placed carefully in the centre, away from shadows cast by the sloping ceiling.
"I take it back." Kat made a beeline for the gable window, "the situation is improving."
She dragged one of the smaller stacks of suitcases a few inches to the left, using them as steps up to the ledge. Shuffling back against the window, she drew her knees up with a sigh of satisfaction. Around her, more floorboards creaked, interspersed with groans and short outbursts of bickering as the boys claimed old chairs and trunks for themselves.
Beyond the glass, the lake swelled high in its banks. A swirl of snow geese grazed the grey water, the beat of their wings sending ripples across its surface. From her vantage point, the boathouse was in full view, its angles dark against the veined backdrop of leafless trees. The boughs seemed to shiver under the watery sky, its creamy hues holding a promise, or perhaps a threat, of snow.
"Just us today," a weighty envelope landed by the tips of her Mary Janes. Turning back to the dim space, Kat nodded her thanks to Todd who dropped down on the suitcase a few steps below her. He ripped open his letter as she studied the postmark stamped across the envelope in her hands. Scottish.
Her breath caught in her throat. Home.
A snort cut through the hubbub, silencing Cameron's dispute with Meeks over possession of an antique stool.
"Jeffrey?" Neil swung himself up onto a rather precarious pile of cases. Kat grimaced as the motion of his gangly legs caused the stack to sway. Unbothered, Neil leaned further towards the boy. "Did they hire the psychic?"
"Uh-uh, and conducted a seance. Jeff's roommate, Ted, thought it was a scam." He let out a breathy laugh, "apparently, Ted drew a pentagram in carbonara sauce and tried to goad the spirit into...um." Todd's eyes flittered to the expectant audience, his cheeks flushing. "In-inappropriate relations. The quotes are quite...colourful."
"And the psychic duly mortified," Neil mused as he scanned the letter. His expression stilled as he reached the end, his eyes shifting to Todd who shrugged. A smile tugged at his lips, his attention stuck on the blue eyes beside him as Nuwanda snatched the letter.
"You told him?"
"Confirmed his guess," Todd replied quietly.
Kat picked up her own letter and opened it hastily. The exchange seemed private; a moment wrapped in the tenderness of shadows.
"My parents arrived in New York for that astronomy conference," She called out to Meeks and Pitts, before reading on with a smile. "They're coming to Vermont at the end of term, and then we're planning to spend Christmas in town. Officially, it's to thank Nolan by attending his party."
"And unofficially?" Cigarette smoke rose up, its hazy tendrils framing Charlie's face.
"So the dead poets society may reconvene."
Knox made a gesture. Rolling his eyes, Nuwanda flung his pack of Lucky Strikes at him.
"There's an old garden house at mine," he said thoughtfully, "we could use it as a weekly meeting place while school's out."
"All the drama of a cave, and none of the damp." Neil agreed.
"Plus a wine cellar."
"That too." Neil reached into his satchel and pulled out his script. Absently, he ran through his lines. The familiar verse ran together into a hum of background noise whilst the others conversed; the smooth tones grew bolder and bolder until the rhythm became stilted. Knox's fierce ranking of cinnamon over sesame bagels came to a halt.
Nuwanda leaned over and plucked the script from Neil's hands. His desperate grabbing motions were ignored as Charlie tucked it away inside Meeks' bag. He swiveled back around on the trunk with a look of triumph, as if its disappearance would put it out of Neil's mind.
"You've learned it, Mr. Perfection. Another read will drive you even more insane."
"You and I both know humans are never perfect, and nor is improv."
"Improv," Nuwanda scoffed, "you were reciting in backwards!"
Neil frowned.
"Seriously, you know it like it's you're own name!"
"You're just saying that to be nice."
"When have I ever said something to be nice?" Charlie said, his face contorted with disgust.
"As fascinating as I find this dramatic scene," Kat announced as she hopped down from the window ledge, eyes glued to her wristwatch, "we've got an errand in the art room before class."
Charlie moved to follow her, instructing Meeks to keep the script hidden. Kat tugged at Knox's arm on their way out, rolling her eyes when he blinked owlishly at her, a bagel halfway to his mouth.
Pitts chuckled at Knox's confusion, "clearly you've got a real emergency errand on your hands."
She stared at him, her silence unnerving.
"What?" Pitts' blank look morphed into understanding. "Oh, the ban-" he grabbed his shin, "ow!"
Neil looked from Charlie's guilty face to Pitts' pained one, to Kat's impatient expression, and back to Knox who had leapt up and shoved the bagel into his pocket.
"Do I want to ask?"
"NO!" The answer was a chorus.
Tiredly, he nodded. "Please don't get detention."
"No promises," Nuwanda smirked.
XXXX
Heavy volumes of Wordsworth dropped onto desktops in a succession of bangs.
"Wordsworth should've got his words worth in payment for this," Charlie said darkly. "I thought The Rime of the Ancient Mariner was long. It's training wheels compared to this!"
"I did offer you help," Neil reminded him, his pestering unrelenting even as lessons drew to a close. "All you had to do was admit to your secret."
He received a rude sign in response.
"The Prelude," Mr Keating announced, "is both an autobiographical monster, and a poetic masterpiece of self-reflection." He dragged his chair to the front, motioning for Stick - a blonde boy Kat had spoken to once or twice - to stand. The class watched with amusement as their teacher swiped his student's chair, lining it up across from his own before reclining back with his feet propped up on the stolen seat. He gestured for Stick to occupy his larger, teacher's desk. Bewildered, Stick perched on the edge.
"Imagine Mr William Wordsworth recounting tales from his childhood to his therapist," Keating continued, gesturing between himself and Stick, "retracing his love of nature to its source and using this knowledge to reconnect to the world while developing his craft. Now, take that image of a therapist and replace it with a lake. That is The Prelude, and we'll be focusing on that infamous boat stealing section today." He leapt up, quickly thanking Stick as he sent him back with his chair.
"So we didn't have to read the whole thing!?" Called out Hopkins, his expression appalled.
"You did," Mr Keating replied, his smile kind. "But today I thought I'd ease you in with the material most relatable," he turned back to the class, his eyes drifting towards his favourite group, "to delinquent youths such as yourselves."
Laughter filled the room as Keating gestured towards their closed books. "Notice the rhythm, the metre. How does it speak to youthful delinquency?"
"It doesn't," Cameron frowned, "the lines are ten syllables. He's associating it with the traditional iambic pentameter."
Their teacher nodded, moving to the tap page in front of Cameron. "And here?"
"Twelve?" He looked up at Keating, "he broke it."
"Correct. Wordsworth breaks what Mr Cameron observed to be tradition, at the very point in which he describes a boundary."
Neil rose his hand. "But the horizon isn't a real boundary. Wordsworth talks about stars in the next line, and stars are above the horizon."
"Exactly," Keating snapped his fingers. "Things are not always what they seem. Where can we take that? What else can we see?"
"The mountain peak?" Kat suggested. "Wordsworth emphasises its imposing presence, infusing it with the power and agency to obstruct his journey, but really it's just rock. It doesn't move or make conscious choices."
Meeks nodded in agreement, "it's like a punishing figure. All the vivid colour evoked by the nautical joyride is vanishing."
A radiant smile crossed Keating's face. He stayed silent but pointed to Charlie.
"He finishes with mentions of 'the mind' and 'dreams' which indicate it was made up," Nuwanda paused for a moment and then chuckled, "his own guilty conscience frightened him."
"As with all mistakes, Wordsworth learned a lesson. What did stealing the boat teach him about himself, and about nature?"
Stillness fell over the room. A few students stared at the text with puzzlement, others watched Keating's dance of encouragement. Heads ducked as they giggled at the frantic windmill pattern of his arms.
"It taught him to recognise the darkness and dangers of the world," drawled an unfamiliar voice. "They coexist with the peaceful beauty he knows, and the boy has to reconcile this lesson with himself."
Pechmen and Hopkins nearly broke their necks looking back at Fraser, who merely shrugged.
"With that conclusion, I think it would be prudent to compose a paragraph each. You have five minutes to write a quick analysis." Keating returned to the chalkboard and began to outline the structure of an exam answer.
Kathleen moved to dip her pen in the inkwell, but a flash of blonde drew her eyes up. Across the aisle, Fraser turned away from his friends and shot her a quick wink. "Still a delinquent," he mouthed before slumping back into a pose of inattention.
The class passed quickly as the students worked in groups to refine their analysis. Orange blurred pink as the sun set, its last rays painting the wall opposite the tall windows. Each tick of the clock was accompanied by glances between the poets, and each glance etched a further wrinkle upon Neil's forehead. At the final bell, the group sprung into action.
Weaving between the faceless students, Knox tackled Neil back into his seat. Cameron strode quickly over to the door, narrowly missing the end of a satchel as he slammed it behind the last classmate.
"Sorry, Captain," Kat called over her shoulder as she darted to the front, "We're commandeering you're ship."
Charlie appeared beside her with a handful of pins. Together, they unfolded a lump of fabric that had been stuffed beneath Keating's desk. Reaching up, they pinned it across the top of the chalkboard.
Knox grinned from where he held Neil down by the shoulders. His grip loosening as he studied their handiwork with satisfaction. A rainbow of painted letters spelled 'CONGRATULATIONS PUCK' across the white linen. Leaves had been printed in the corners, their stems united by tiny illustrations of fairy wings and golden crowns.
"Is that bedsheet?"
"Yes," Nuwanda's tone was defiant.
Neil's lips twitched, "how many detentions?"
"Two."
His smile grew blinding, "I love it."
"I suspect you have one more surprise," Keating's voice held curiosity as Todd scrambled to the front. His hands were steady as he smoothed out a scrap of paper. He breathed deeply as he waited for the others to sit down, amused by the look of wonder that seemed to keep Neil pinned in place despite Knox's absence.
"As a token of luck, the dead poets solemnly present you with a reading of Walt Whitman's Scented Herbage of My Breast."
'SCENTED herbage of my breast,
Leaves from you I glean, I write, to be perused best afterwards,
Tomb-leaves, body-leaves growing up above me above death,
Perennial roots, tall leaves, O the winter shall not freeze you
delicate leaves,
Every year shall you bloom again, out from where you retired you
shall emerge again;
O I do not know whether many passing by will discover you or
inhale your faint odor, but I believe a few will;
O slender leaves! O blossoms of my blood! I permit you to tell
in your own way of the heart that is under you...'
His voice soared, clear and strong around the classroom. The rosy evening light cast them in pinkish hues as the winter breeze slipped in through the open window, its cool touch ruffling Todd's hair. It was as if his words were snowflakes, falling thick and fast until they dusted them all with the sharp sensations of life. Neil's eyes shone, his hands gripping the edge of his desk tighter and tighter until the last six words.
Neil vaulted over his desk. Todd dropped the paper, letting it crumple under Neil's feet as he engulfed him into a fierce hug.
"I can't believe you did this," he spoke into Todd's shoulder. "I can't believe all of you did this, for me."
Charlie met his speech with a glare, then lightly flicked him on the ear. "Of course we did."
Neil bit his lip but the action did nothing to dim his smile. "Come here." He pulled his best friend into the fold, his other arm dragging in Kat, who pulled in Meeks, who grasped Pitts, and tangled Knox into the circle.
Cameron hovered by Keating.
"Come on," Neil slipped a hand free of his hold on Charlie, beckoning the last member of the society in.
"Dammit," Nuwanda ripped himself away. "Do I have to do everything?"
In three long strides, he made it across the room and back with his roommate in tow. Cameron made noises of protest, but a pleased expression bloomed as Kat and Neil pulled the duo in.
"Thanks, Captain," Neil looked up at their teacher as he pushed his friends away. The man had fallen strangely quiet at the display, but his manner was proud as Neil shrugged on his jacket. His script had been returned and stuck out from his left pocket.
"Good luck, Neil." Mr Keating tapped his watch, "now start cycling or else you'll be late."
XXXX
Head tilted, Kat examined the familiar face in her bathroom mirror. She ran a gentle fingertip over the faded freckles which speckled her nose through summer, tracing the well-known slope of her nose and down the slant of her cheekbones. Nothing seemed to have changed, nor had there been any noticeable alteration to her rounded jawline. Pursing her ruby-painted lips, Kat wondered when the architecture of her face would begin to bear the marks of age. In scarcely two weeks she would be eighteen, college-age, and that sort of grand milestone seemed the kind to make a tangible difference.
She turned from the mirror with a sigh.
'Whether the skies are grey or blue,' the sweet wave of Connie Francis' vocals washed over her as 'My Happiness' spluttered to life beneath the needle of her record player. 'Any place on earth would do.'
Swaying her hips to the tune, Kat rummaged through her jewellery box. She had just found her silver bracelet when a short rap sounded at her door.
Projecting her voice, she called out a greeting.
"Knox?"
He stood in the doorway, outlined by the brown and white of his suit. "You look nice," the soles of his shoes squeaked as he shifted on his feet.
"Thanks," she held out her wrist. "Could you help me with the clasp? It's too fiddly."
Nodding, he crossed the threshold. His eyes roamed over her dresser, catching on her overturned make-up bag. Its contents spilled across the wooden surface, with further pots and tubes abandoned around the bathroom sink.
"You've been busy," he grinned. The clasp fastened in only two attempts under his careful eye.
Kat looked critically at the mess and laughed. "Now imagine the scene at Chris' house. Double it for two girls, and then double it again for just Nancy."
With a grimace, he turned back to the chaos of cosmetics. "I'm surprised you didn't join them."
"And abandon my boys on their most important night?" An eyebrow arched as she regarded him, "what if you had another wardrobe meltdown?"
"I wouldn't!"
"If you're sure," she said, dousing herself with violet water from a glass bottle on her dresser.
Knox pivoted, his movements odd as she dabbed the liquid on her pulse points.
Her eyes narrowed as he righted himself. He seemed frantic, smothering the excess energy by bouncing on the balls of his feet. Nerves, she decided. That seemed to be Knox's default setting when confronted with the promise of Chris.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Kat put the bottle down. Her full attention focused on the strange energy emanating from her friend. "I think she's had time to digest the poetry reading by now."
"Great," one of his palms rested flat against her door, the other plunged into the pocket of his jacket. "The boys have taken over the entrance hall bathroom, the hairspray got us kicked out of the dorms," he explained, "meet us there in five?"
She nodded, her features drawn together as she tried to puzzle him out. But before any conclusion could be reached, he had gone. Footsteps raced away, the heavy door slamming shut on air.
'Just as long as I'm with you,' she sang, a giggle smothering the last scratch of the record as the song dwindled, leaving her alone once again.
Shoving on her heels, Kat grabbed her coat and set off down the corridor. The empty passage was devoid of life, not even an echo of Knox's quick getaway could be heard.
A curious, chemical smell hung in the air. The pungent odour grew thicker as she descended the main staircase. She pulled down her coat sleeve, cupping the fabric and pressing it over her nose as the panelled walls gave way to the boy's bathroom.
"Are you finished primping?" Her nails clacked on the wood as she knocked. "We're going to be late!" She knocked again, startled when it opened. Hurrying inside, she wrinkled her nose at the abundance of different colognes and hair gel brands littering the surfaces. The combination of scents clouded unpleasantly in the air.
Cameron hung part-way out of the door. "Come on," the latter half of his sentence ran together under the cacophony, "-rls are waiting." He swung backwards, forcing Kat to step sideways as his momentum increased.
"Are they ready?" Her light tone sliced through the chatter. Cameron flushed, his eyes widening as he caught sight of saw her leaning against the corner. "I'd rather not walk too far in and find out."
Greetings and promises of safety floated around the tiled walls. Absently, she twisted the chain of her bracelet as she listened out for Cameron's reply, but any remark from the resident time-keeper was cut-off by a new presence beckoning her through.
"The infamous red dress makes a return," smirked Charlie. His eyes flicked down quickly, moving back to her face with startling speed. "I don't know if I told you that night, but you looked like Byron's beauty."
"Plagiarizing poems again?" Heat enveloped her as she spoke, her voice ringing uneven.
"No, not with you. I-" He shook his head, gaze drinking in the loose, brown curls framing her pink cheeks. Her wide eyes were fixed on him, as questioning and tantalisingly open as ever. "You're beautiful."
"You look good too," she breathed, her lips parted. "Debonair."
The gauzy bathroom light caressed his slanting features. A diaphanous glaze filled his molten eyes, a contrast to the bold, red lines painted beneath them.
"Wait," she leaned back and pointed at his cheek,"is that my lipstick?"
"Maybe."
"When did you-" She sighed, "Knox."
He shrugged, "I traded a few tips for his services."
"That thief" she gaped, impressed by his smooth robbery.
"Believe me, I thought you would catch him" he continued, relaxing against the cold wall. "It's an ancient symbol for luck," he pointed to the red rune on his cheek, "and a few other symbols," he tugged at the collar of his shirt to reveal the top of a larger drawing located beneath the curve of his collar bone. "Do you mind?"
"No, I don't mind," she swallowed, unable to look away from the exposed skin and the new aura of happiness, confidence, and something so utterly Charlie that it was sparking a dangerous thrill within her. "Just ask next time."
Knox chuckled, watching them in the mirror as he smoothed his hair down with gel. "Drive 'em crazy, huh?"
"What? Drive who crazy?" Kat blanched as she caught sight of Knox's hair. One hand was poised above it to add a further coating of gel. "Stop distracting," she extended her hand and plucked the tub from his hands. "We need to have a little chat about your newfound criminality."
Cameron pushed past them for a final check, flinching away from Todd's smirk as if the mere sight of it was enough to threaten his hair once more.
"Girls?" Todd said in a low voice, joining Nuwanda by the door, "or just one?"
It was Charlie's turn to shove him, hands taking a swipe at his carefully styled hair.
"Break it up, boys." Pitts pulled his checkered jacket on with a flourish, "the girls are waiting."
Kat smothered a smile as she scanned the group appraisingly. "Yeah, but not for you."
The group whistled, slapping Pitts' back in mocking consolation as they were shepherded out of the bathroom.
"She meant you too!" He called with a pout, almost running into Cameron who had come to a halt in the middle of the hall. Knox and Kat stepped out, their bickering cut off as he collided with Meeks. The velocity of the two teenagers sent Kat stumbling backwards into the next solid body.
"Woah," her arm shot out and she grasped at a blue sleeve. The whistling tune fell suddenly flat.
"Chris?"
Kat tore her eyes from Charlie's disquieting gaze.
A familiar blonde stood by the arched doors. She shivered despite the heavy coat fastened around her body, her shaking hands wrapped in white gloves that stood out against the dark wood. Snow dusted her hair, glinting like highlights under Welton's lacklustre, amber lamps.
Knox stood frozen, his tone reverent as he repeated her name.
She bit her lip, silent as her hands curled into fists.
"You okay?" Kat mouthed. The tension drained from her shoulders at Chris' curt nod.
"Keep her out of sight!" Cameron hissed, equal parts intent and intrigued. "Hager's coming to give Keating the front door key."
The harsh sound seemed to revive Knox as he hastened over to the girl on their doorstep, almost tripping over his feet as he turned to address the crowd. "Go ahead, guys." Knox gestured to the passage behind the stairs, "I'll catch up."
Kat tilted her head in the direction he had indicated. "You heard him," she guided the gawping boys away. Her voice remained firm as she twisted to wave goodbye to the girl.
"Meeks!"
Behind them, she saw Charlie drag Meeks along by the tie. A laugh began to climb her throat but she pressed her lips together as they rounded the corner. Mr Keating came into view. He stood with one hand anchored to the door handle while he nodded at Hager. The grumpy man appeared unusually grave as he snatched the keys from their teachers' reach.
"Locked by midnight."
"Of course," Mr Keating's eyes seemed to twinkle as the dead poets emerged. "I expect no late nights from this lot."
"Dead poets honour," Todd whispered sarcastically. Kat grinned back as they watched Hager reluctantly hand over the keys.
As soon as the exchange was made, Keating sprung into action. He directed Todd and Kat to the front bench before herding the other four boys into the back of the car, barely pausing when Knox appeared to say he was walking and politely ignoring the girl at his side who seemed so keen to avoid Miss Murray's eye.
The snow fell thick as the car crawled up the icy road, leaving Chris and Knox behind in the taillights as two playful shadows silhouetted against the wintry landscape. Their joined hands were masked by darkness, but their smiles glowed bright beneath the stars.
XXXX
A hush of expectation filled the theatre as the amateur poets waited, their hands clasped with painful tension as they waited for the unparalleled talent to appear. The velvet curtains rustled, provoking them to cry out as they caught another set of faces peeking out.
Todd's folded program whacked Charlie lightly on the knee. "Stop pointing," he demanded, his voice half-exasperated and half-proud. "People are staring."
Kat felt Nancy shake as she suppressed a giggle. Her best friend had smoothly integrated herself into the group as soon as they set foot on the plush carpet, her arm slipping through Kat's as if they had never been parted.
"For all his shyness, Todd's good at keeping the boys in line." Her breath tickled Kat's ear as she whispered, the volume shooting up as Ginny appeared at the foot of the stage steps. "That's diner girl!"
Sure enough, a familiar tumble of raven hair bent close to Ginny's permed locks as the two spoke. That Sunday afternoon trip seemed so long ago, but the same current of intensity seemed to permeate the air around the two. Viola and Hermia, or two Tennessee Williams fans, or even two girls determined to drink milkshakes in bitter December. Whatever factors connected them, the girls seemed to have found them.
"Sly fox," Nancy huffed. "She never said a thing!"
Ditching her coat, Kat swiftly met Nancy's movements as they hurried down the aisle. Their purposeful strides caught Ginny's attention as the duo approached the front steps.
"Given up on the spying, Nance?"
"No, just the subtly," Kat teased as she pushed Nancy to the front.
Smiling brightly at the stranger, Nancy introduced herself. Then, she glared fiercely at Ginny, "I can't believe you hid someone so delightful from us. Chris will be horrified that you made her late inviting her into town with us."
Kat savoured the mild alarm in Ginny's expression as she greeted the girl. "I would apologise for them but it only gets worse the longer you stick around."
"I'm glad you think I'll be here to witness it," smiled the girl. "I'm Ji-soo. I usually participate in Henley productions, but this winter my time is wholly devoted to not failing my driving test again."
"A worthy cause," Kat replied. She paused as Ginny's squabbling was cut short by the stage manager.
Shooting one last mock glare at Nancy, Ginny waved the girls goodbye and darted up the steps. Her body vanished behind the curtain.
"You should sit with us," she offered a spare program to Ji-soo as they strolled back towards their seats. "We're here with a group from Welton, but you're welcome to join."
"Alright," she agreed. Her quick footsteps followed their lead and soon the trio had woven successfully through the crowded auditorium. Upon reaching their row, Nancy coordinated with Cameron to re-shuffle the seating.
The lights began to dim as the three girls collapsed into the middle seats. Kat reached over to grab her popcorn from Knox, frowning as he shamelessly devoured a few kernels from the top.
"When did you get to know Ginny," Nancy's quiet voice was casual, but she had pushed herself to the very edge of her seat, pale ruffles of champagne pink silk brushed the other girls' calves as spilled over the edge of Nancy's seat. It was as if the tactile connection would make the new girl's answer clearer.
"A week or two ago," Ji-soo answered, a furtive smile on her lips. "But it wouldn't be a spy mission if I gave all of her secrets away."
A piano's slow crescendo rose from the pit - its round, mellow tone mixing with the choral tenors ringing out the opening notes of Oberon's moonlit realm. Red drapes parted, bathing the cavernous space in searing light as the stage burst into life with the droll sonorities of Shakespearean verse.
Todd sat back - thin and folded no longer - as a lively sprite with a familiar glint in his eyes leapt across the stage. Neil- no, Puck darted through the crafted forest with an elegant and worldly zeal. The trill cadence of his wit infused the night until he faded, shrouded in forest shades until his final adieu.
The audience rose in a rolling tide of applause. Whistles broke through the thunder, the pitch deafening to Kat as Nancy dragged her and Ji-soo to the front, the boys scrambling along behind.
Up close, the red sea of plush seats came alive with shadowed black suits and glimmering jewels. A veritable wealth of appreciation, culture, and joy. Above them, Neil sunk into a bow, his face glowing with sweat and wonder.
Nancy shoved her hands into the deep pockets of her beige coat, retrieving handfuls of red petals which she pressed into everyone's hands. "On three," she commanded.
"One, two, THREE!"
Fresh roses clouded the false woodland, showering the stage with vibrant flashes of vermillion. The rain of admiration fell upon the heads of the cast as they gathered for the last curtain call.
Upon seeing them, Neil's slack jaw curved into a sheepish grin. Ginny appeared at his shoulder. She freed the laurel from her auburn hair, tossing it sideways into the crowd, or rather, into Ji-soo's startled hands.
"How was I?" He mouthed, eyes fixed on Todd as he took the final bow.
His roommate laughed, the wild sound soaring above the cacophony, his shining eyes just as bright. "Magic. You're magic."
Nuwanda leaned on Todd's shoulder, pride filling his every nerve, every aspect, and every facet of his being. Kat slid her palm against his, squeezing lightly as they congratulated the theatrical duo.
The pair rushed down the steps at the stage manager's nod. Immediately, they were mobbed by two hours of building praise. Tears spilled from Neil's eyes as he rambled about his dreams coming true, the phrase rolled again and again from his tongue, his joy bubbling over.
"Neil?" A cast member in a matching crown of twigs and berries approached the rambunctious group. "Neil? Your Father's asking for you."
His arms dropped from around Todd and Charlie, his chest rising and falling in rapid motions. "He'll have changed his mind," Neil insisted, his expression guilty as Keating patted his shoulder with a troubled smile. "Surely, he has to after this."
"Of course," Todd reassured, "you belonged on that stage."
"He's right," Kat said as they spotted his Father by the stage. "I've never seen anything like it, you were so alive!"
Once Neil had reached his Father, Mr Keating ushered them out. He held open the door as the group tumbled out into the cold night. Jackets were pulled tight as they gathered on the stone steps, shivering in the shadows cast by the overhanging roof.
Moments later, Neil appeared at the threshold. A hand landed on his shoulder as he reached the group. Keating squeezed him gently, his voice soft. "You have the gift, Neil. What a performance! You left even me speechless."
This moment, Kat thought as she watched Neil shine under Keating's praise, would live on again and again as their memory returned to this night; to this joy, and to Neil. It felt as if the passion in each line of script and in the lines which formed their own Puck would remain woven into the fabric of this theatre forever.
"Excuse me," a curt voice rang out. "Excuse me!" A tall man shoved through the crowd, his hand closing around Neil's arm and tugging him down the steps. "Get in the car," he instructed before drawing up to his full height to stare down at their teacher. "Keating, you stay away from my son."
Todd grasped at Neil's hand, eyes wide as he caught sight of the rage contorting Mr Perry's face.
"Don't worry about me," he whispered, before turning frantically back to the group. "I'll see you in the morning. Thank you for not only tonight, but for everything you've done to make this possible." His eyes followed his Father as the older man continued to glare at Keating. Quickly descending the steps, he reached out to squeeze Kat's hand. He turned to Charlie, but before he could speak, Mr Perry appeared at his side.
"Car," the man growled.
"Neil!" Charlie rushed down to the car, "Neil! Mr Perry, come on!"
Keating held him back, his frown deep as the actor slunk into the car. "Don't make it any worse."
Settled in the backseat, Neil glanced up through the glass. The rainbow from the lightbox above the doors was reflected on the window, his face framed by the distorted letters spelling out 'Everett Theatre'. His expression remained blank, a deep sadness in his eyes as Todd tripped down the steps to join Charlie at the curb.
The engine roared as Mr Perry started the ignition. His son mouthed a string of silent words that Kat couldn't quite decipher, but she knew it was poetry from the desperate rhythm of his lips:
'I've tried the world, it wears no more the colouring of romance it wore.'
Nancy's heels clacked down the steps. Her hand took Kat's as the black vehicle peeled away. Its scorching tires spat flakes of snow, and the burning exhaust saturated the solemn silence. The teenagers watched in horror as it disappeared down the long ribbon of road. Keating stood motionless, looking into the distance until the object was swallowed up in darkness.
* The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1798)
* The Prelude, William Wordsworth (1799)
* My Happiness, Connie Francis (1958) - #2 US Billboard, Jan 1959 & #4 UK Chart, Jan 1959
*'I've tried the world...' The Rivulet, William Cullen Bryant (1823)
Quick Note:
A few days after publishing the last chapter I realised that although Maurice was written and completed in 1914, the novel wasn't actually published until 1971. Usually, I double-check the dates of everything (including seatbelt laws and invention dates) for this imagining of 1959, but this time I forgot. Sorry. Rather than changing it, I would like to pretend for a moment that the world is less homophobic, and that E.M Forster's masterpiece was seen by more than trusted friends prior to the 1970s.
FF Net Comment Responses:
Thank you so much, AshleyKless. And to Artemis Fowl fan5476, thank you! Your comment gave me the push to add the finishing touches which took less time than thought. I'm so glad to hear that Nolan's treatment of Kathleen is striking a chord!