rich man's world; charlie dalton

[twenty] a pocket full of posies

The ride back home was quiet, almost like a parallel of the ride to Welton in August. Things change seasonally, for what was once an array of yellows and pinks in the clouds turned purple and gray. Threatening a storm. Threatening snow.

It was a transition to winter, like the one in Sigrid's heart, but this one was much more visible to the human eye. Her winter consisted of black and white, everything seemed to lose its color when her intrusive thoughts began to spill onto the notebook. Like misplaced coffee: staining all the contaminated pages and becoming an unorthodox manifestation of glue.

She wished it would rain soon, the smell made her mind clear up. The blankets were therapeutic, she closed her eyes just imagining the warm cup of cocoa soon to be in between her hands. But just as the pleasant thought arrived, the car stopped on a red-light. Mr. Hall took the small pause as an opportunity to flip through radio stations, not letting the person on the other side sing for more than three seconds. It made her thoughts go into a disarray, a quarrel, a yelp in unison saying completely different things. The radio paused once more on Paul Anka.

Paul Anka's normally melodious tones became a scintilla of bitterness in the small space, cutting off air in the backseat and drowning her with guilt.

"Eivind has been picking the colors to your new room for two days now. I told him you found the color purple fascinating, how does that sound? A purple room with the hand drawn butterflies you always begged me to paint?"

"Lovely," she answered shortly. He gave a small nod, her left eyebrow twitched in thought, quickly adding: "I just haven't liked the color purple since I was twelve."

"Oh, nonsense! Everything I've ever bought you was purple. You got that special gleam in your eyes, almost like when you three get me new ties! I've got enough to start my own Macy's," he joked, looking at her from the rear-view mirror.

"I don't like the color purple," she mumbled once more, deciding to get a pen from a small compartment to write on her hands.

"Well," he licked his lip before chuckling at the awkwardness, "Then I suppose it's a good thing we could always paint over walls."

There was no signs of the Hall's anywhere at Welton, and the boys knew this for a fact because Peter's normally loud and undeniable personality was nowhere in sight. No one knew where he had left but Gerard waited with Stick for any signs of ocean eyes or jittery legs.

Charlie packed his things for the last time out of adrenaline, trying to keep himself discreet in case someone came by. Only the poets knew about his potential jail-break and he needed to keep it that way before he got chased into the forest by a search group. Welton was full of snitches, he figured it was because the boys weren't loved by their families and sought validation through teachers. He got the attention he craved through acts of rebellion, he wouldn't be caught dead snitching.

Charlie left in the darkness with a backpack full of his belongings. It looked like a hump underneath his cloak as he ran with the other boys. Peter still nowhere in sight but Gerard held his cloak in case he decided to come around. Stick took his place in the unspoken sitting chart - they had let him in after some persuading from Peter. He admitted to being a horrible secret-keeper and Neil eventually did the asking himself. Stick loves poetry, it was the perfect opening to having more people in the society.

Gerard looked at Stick making himself comfortable next to him, he awkwardly looked down at the scribbles on his poorly-kept piece of paper and sighed. He had no one else to dedicate his poem to. The universe frowned upon him once again, when he was finally ready the person he was going to confess to was a no-show. It made him miserable, Stick sensed the hostile attitude and quickly moved to where Richard sits. The rock was lumpier but he had to make do.

Peter used to talk their ears off with things that happened during his day but no one was in the mood to take his position. They took off their cloaks and Charlie set down the backpack by his feet.

"You're doing it tonight?" Neil said in disbelief as the backpack came into view.

He picked up the phone. Hearing him breathe of the other side made her freeze in place, unable to speak. It must have been three in the morning but she had no intentions of sleeping, Richard had been awake for a couple minutes due to his uncomfortable bed. The telephone must have awoken his parents but he tried to stay as quiet as possible, "Hello?"

Silence, he sighed in annoyance. "You know if you're going to call at three in the morning at least grunt or moan. What's the point of calling just to breath into the phone?" he whispered angrily, "If this is some lewd call just pump the last one out and get on your way. I'm tired, so fuck off."

"Richard," she finally said into the phone as she curled the phone wire on her index finger. He sat up on his bed with wide eyes, "I just wanted to talk to you."

"Hi, sure. Sure!" the second was a little louder as he tried to disguise his excitement. It was a poor attempt to say the least, "What about?"

"I got kidnapped."

Richard felt like he would've spat out his coffee if he had some at hand. "What? Kidnapped?" The second word was slightly louder. "How are you calling me? Are you safe? Uh...do you see any landmarks? Sigrid WHAT-

"Richard! Not like literally tied up! Like I'm in Massachusetts right now and I can't talk for too long because the calls are expensive. Just tell the guys that me and P.B won't be at Welton anymore."

"What, why?" He mumbled, cradling his phone.

"You've been exactly up to date, Richie. I'm transferring over to the Bromfield School. We're at my brothers house. I know your address somewhat by heart, is it ok if I send you letters?"

"Yes...Siggy, why wouldn't it be ok?"

"I don't know...I just thought it wouldn't be. Like, I promise I didn't stalk you, you just told me once and I have memory somewhere in my brain. I'll try to write to you. And I'll send you letters for Todd as well, ok? Whatever you do, for now, don't share my address with anyone when it comes the letter comes in."