Disclaimer: I do not own any Dead Poets Society characters or any of the plot. They are all the wonderful work of Tom Schulman.

Author's Note: Sorry for uploading twice, I changed it just a little bit. This is my first fanfiction, please review! This part doesn't actually advance the plot much, I just thought it was a nice idea.

Chapter Four: I Will Not Deceive

Reveling in Todd's poetic success, I left campus for town. I needed stamps and more tea bags. From my car window, I saw a student in a Welton Uniform coming up the road on a bicycle. It was Neil Perry. He turned onto a side street and pedaled faster. I frowned, thinking I should report this. Neil would get into heaps of trouble from any other teacher. But then I remembered the times I had been given a second chance or a soft punishment.

It was the night before our math test on conics. Four friends and myself were studying in the Common Room. I was lucky because math came somewhat naturally to me and required little effort. Mostly I just helped the others.

"John, what is a hyperbola and how is it different from a parabola?" Tom mentioned two of the graphing curves we had to know. I sat down and explained it to him, sighing inwardly because I had been explaining the same thing for two weeks. Tom worked so hard but he would never be a math prodigy.

By the end of the night, Tom was in despair. I tried to calm him, knowing I couldn't do much until the test was over.

"I can't do this," he lamented.

"Yes, you can. 'Men are born to succeed, not to fail.'" I maintained. Tom stared at me. I pointed at the ever-present Five Centuries of Verse. "Henry David Thoreau." He rolled his eyes.

"You read that too much." I looked across the table at the others. Will was reading an illegal magazine, he never studied. Sam was finishing his own review, all neatly done and perfect. Max was serving detention for being caught off campus. I smiled, remembering the rest of us hiding behind trees as our dorm-master yelled at Max. It had happened to all of us at one point or another.

At lights-out, we went to bed, dreading the test.

As it turned out, the test was not that hard. After writing it, I caught up with Tom. "It wasn't too bad, eh?" He looked down.

"It was alright…I have to go, uhm, get my chemistry book." He shuffled away uncomfortably. I wondered what was going on, but chalked to it up to relief and walked to my next class.

A few days later I was just coming to math when the teacher, Mr. Morrison, called out, "Misters Keating and Helmer, see me at the end of class."

"Yes, sir," both Tom and I replied. I glanced at him, puzzled, but he didn't return my look.

At the end of the fifty minutes Tom and I approached Morrison's desk. "Explain this," he stated, placing two pieces of paper in front of us. Our tests. Mine read 'John Keating, 92.' Tom's read 'Thomas Helmer, 87.' I looked up, wanting to congratulate Tom but sensing that I had no reason to.

"One of you cheated." Oh, no. It had been Tom. I cringed internally. I knew that he would be thinking of his failing grade. My own grade wouldn't be much affected by this, I had too many 90's. I took a deep breath and made a rapid decision.

"It…it was me. I didn't study." I said. I saw Tom startle, surprised. Mr. Morrison looked at me suspiciously.

"Mr. Helmer, is this true?" he asked Tom. Tom glanced at me from the corner of his eye. I nodded slightly.

"Yes, sir." He reddened and stared at the floor.

"Very well… you may go." The teacher nodded my friend out the door and faced me again. "So it was you, Mr. Keating?"

"Yes, sir." I answered, confidently, knowing that I could still revert to the truth but also that I wasn't going to.

"I don't believe you. You have always been one of my top students."

"I had not paid attention last week, sir."

"Well, if you insist on this, fine. You will accept a failing grade for this test and serve detention for two weeks, beginning tonight." His eyes seemed to pierce mine, and we both knew. He knew I was lying and I knew he was being lenient. Any other teacher would have sent me straight to the Headmaster, and the least I would have seen was a suspension.

"Yes, sir."

"You may go." I quietly exited the room and headed to my room.

I found Tom there, pacing and looking scared. "I'm so sorry, John."

"Tom, I helped you study!"

"I know!"

"And then you cheated off me!"

"I know…I'm sorry…I just…needed this…Look, I'll go tell Morrison it was me." He started to walk out and then stopped. "Oh God, John, you're not expelled are you?"

"Nope. Detention." As I said that he breathed a sigh of relief. I stood there, fuming but also sorry for Tom in some small way.
"Okay. I'll be right back." He began to walk out again, shoulders slumped like he was headed to the gallows.

"Tom, c'mon." I called, calming down a little. "That's crazy. You would surely get expelled. I'll just do the detention. You're not failing anymore, are you?" He turned back and looked at me cautiously.

"No." Tom needed the good grade to go to Princeton. We both knew this and I knew his cheating ad been based on it.

"Fine. Good. Don't mention it. Just…"

"What?"

"Just don't cheat off me again!" I burst out. He looked at me seriously.

"I won't."

Tom and I avoided each other for the next few days. I went to Morrison's room nightly to write lines. 'I will not deceive.' I thought it funny that he had chosen 'deceive' instead of 'cheat.' On Friday I settled in, listening to the music coming from the Senior Common Room, wishing I could be there.

After about half an hour, Morrison left, claiming he would be back in five minutes. I watched him go and put my pen down.

Just after the teacher left, Tom popped his head in. Seeing that the coast was clear, he entered the room

"Hi, John." He greeted hesitantly.

"Hi, Tom." I returned, stonily.

"Look, I'm really sorry."

"I know that." He cleared his throat and I watched him, wondering what was about to come.

"We flatter those we scarcely know,
We please the fleeting guest,
And deal full many a thoughtless blow
To those who love us best."

I looked up at Tom, puzzled. He started laughing. "Ella Wheeler Wilcox. You left your book lying around." He held up Five Centuries of Verse and I laughed, too. Tom sat down next to me and snatched a pen and paper. Morrison never returned and we sat in school desks writing 'I will not deceive' until one in the morning, stopping every once in a while to stretch out our hands and read a little poetry.