𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐁𝐎𝐍 ~ 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐒𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲

Chapter 2: Class with Mr. Keating

~•~

It was only the first day of classes and Gwendolyn was completely and utterly spent.

She had to endure chemistry, Latin and trigonometry along with the other classes she had taken that day, all with their own mountainous amounts of homework. Throughout the day, she had several boys stare and gape at her, some even giving her odd looks. Not that she minded. She was used to being the oddball of the school. Neil and his friends had offered friendly waves and smiled before classes, along with Todd, who had waved shyly, looking about as red as his chemistry textbook.

She had eaten lunch in the study hall, careful not to get crumbs anywhere and silently started on her homework.

Now, she was finally seated in her father's class rolling her pen between her fingers, taking her textbook out of her fabric book bag. She said a quick hello to Todd who sat in front of her. He responded with a choke and a replying hello.

Mr. Keating has caught his daughters eye, peeking out from behind the mostly closed door. Gwendolyn replied with a small smile and a tiny wave, her pen nearly flying out of her grip. He opened the door and walked out into the classroom which promptly fell silent, apart from Mr. Keating's whistling. He strolled through the aisle before opening the door and stepping out of the classroom, his whistle ceasing. The boys looked around at one another, confused. Gwendolyn beamed and then, stood up from her desk and followed her father right out of the classroom. Mr. Keating stuck his head back in the doorway, "Well come on."

The boys paused for a moment, murmuring. Slowly, they all stood and walked outside, trailing the weird Mr. Keating and his daughter who were both simultaneously whistling the same tune. Everyone crowed around Mr. Keating, Gwendolyn situated on the very outside.

"O Captain! My Captain! Who knows where that comes from?" He asked. Gwendolyn's hand shot up. Mr. Keating let out a short laugh, "Yes I know you know. I want to see if anyone else knows. Anyone?" He paused. More silence. "Not a clue?" Silence. "Ok, Miss Keating," he said teasingly.

Gwendolyn smiled, "It's a poem by Walt Whitman about Abraham Lincoln."

Mr. Keating nodded, "Very good. Now in this class you may call me Mr Keating, or, if you're slightly more daring, O Captain My Captain." A few quiet chuckles came from the group. "Now, let me dispel a few rumours so they don't fester into facts. Yes, I too attended "Hell-ton" and survived. And no, at that time, I was not the mental giant you see before you. I was the intellectual equivalent of a 98 pound weakling. I would go the beach and people would kick copies of Byron in my face. And finally, yes, Miss Keating over there is in fact my daughter and I will let her introduce herself to the class before continuing."

All heads turned to look at Gwendolyn who had stepped to the front near her father.

"Hello, I'm Gwendolyn Keating but you may call me Gwen if you like, or if you want to feel special, whatever nickname you please...as long as it doesn't hurt my feelings too terribly." She scanned the sea of stares, burning holes in her body, but Gwendolyn never noticed. "Like my father, I love everything poetry and literature but I also like a fair share of adventures and mystery. A little mischief too of course...I get that from my mother. Anyways, father," she turned to Mr. Keating, "I believe you have an English class to teach." With that, she stepped back into line and waited for her father to continue the class.

"Thank you Gwen." He nodded to her, "Now, Mr..." he looked down at his clipboard, "Pitts. That's a rather unfortunate name. Mr. Pitts, where are you?"

Amidst laughter, a tall, lanky boy meekly raised his hand. Mr. Keating acknowledged him with a wave of his pen, "Mr. Pitts, will you open your hymnal to page 542? Read the first stanza of the poem you find there."