where all the poets went to die [dead poets society]

12 - a tale of reckless actions

"Aha, behold the butter cookie thief."

Maria froze, eyes wide and fingers fluttering against the metal tin of cookies. She spun around as her uncle entered his study and looked at her with a curious and amused expression.

"Uncle John," she said quickly, mind whirring to come up with a clever excuse. "I-I..." She chewed on her bottom lip. "I admit it, I'm the butter cookie thief."

Keating laughed at Maria's defeated expression- a loud belly laugh - as he crossed the room and pulled Maria into a side hug. "You are the most precious, my dearest," he said, placing a kiss on top of her head. "The absolute most precious thing in my life."

Maria smiled into the hug, swinging her arms around to give her uncle a solid embrace. "I love you very much, Uncle John," she said, pressing her face against his sweater. He smelled of ink, paper, and books and she found that she felt comforted by the familiar scent.

She realized then that she'd been missing her uncle quite a bit. She'd been so caught up with schoolwork and the Dead Poets Society and the boys that she hadn't had the time to sit down with her uncle for a cup of tea for quite some time.

He didn't seem to mind it, but still, she felt a little bad.

"I love you as well, my meadow mouse," Keating said, pulling back slightly to take a good look at Maria. "But you know what? I don't think 'meadow mouse' suits you much anymore." He smiled and tweaked her nose, eliciting a childlike giggle from her. "You've finally shed your mousy fur."

Maria looked up at him adoringly. "Thank you, Uncle John," she said, feeling a sense of pride and accomplishment.

Keating smiled at her and ruffled her hair affectionately. "It's time for a new nickname then, don't you agree? How about 'Maria the Magnificent'? Or 'Chesire cat' since you'd shed the mouse fur and now proudly don that Chesire smile."

Maria couldn't help but laugh at her uncle's suggestions, feeling a sense of triumph though at the idea of a new nickname and the shedding of a past self. She was certainly not a meadow mouse any longer - take that, Mr. Foster.

"I don't know about those, Uncle John," she said, shaking her head with a smile.

Keating shrugged. "We shall work on it," he said and then his eyes twinkled. "In the meantime, how about you tell me more about Mr. Charlie Dalton?"

Maria's eyes widened in surprise, feeling a sudden rush of embarrassment through her and she weaselled herself out of her uncle's hug. "I- I, uh," she struggled. "What about Charlie? There's nothing about Charlie to talk about?" She rambled, trying to feign innocence and failing very, very miserably.

Keating chuckled at her reaction. "Oh, come now, Maria," he said, rolling his eyes. "I'm your uncle, not blind."

Maria felt warm as her uncle nailed her with a paternal-like look. She squirmed under his gaze, feeling a little caught in the act and absolutely dreading wherever this conversation was going. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, attempting to deflect.

Keating raised an eyebrow. "No?" He said, casting a sardonic sort of smile. "Ah, so you don't have a bit of a crush on Charlie Dalton? Must be another Maria that likes him then. Ah, I know, it must be Mr. Richard Cameron that likes Charlie Dalton. Yes, that's it."

Maria looked down at her feet, tapping her Mary Janes together tentatively. "You'd start a riot with that sort of rumour, Uncle John," she chuckled softly.

Keating laughed at that. "You're terrible at hiding things, my dear," he said. "Just like Margie, your mother. Terrible liars, the both of you." He laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "It's natural to have a crush on someone. Particularly at your age. I think it's important that we have discussions like this one where we -"