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

22 - we'll make this work, doll

Maria placed another stack of books into a cardboard box. She had already packed up a bit more than half of her room and the more she did, the more the reality of the situation was sinking in for her.

She placed another stack of books in, carefully arranging them to ensure they would be safe during their journey - her and her uncle's journey back to London, Ohio.

The verdict had come a few hours before.

Uncle John had left to speak with Nolan, with the Welton administration, and when he had come back, he looked at Maria with a bittersweet smile and shook his head.

It had been done.

Her uncle was taking the blame for Neil's attempted suicide because people like Mr. Perry, like Mr. Nolan, couldn't fathom it being their fault.

Maria glanced around the room, her sanctuary for the past few months, now stripped of its familiar comforts and returned to its original, bland design. The walls that once echoed with laughter, conversations, the sweet nothings that Charlie and her would mumble to one another when they hid away here during free hours, away from the others, now seemed barren and hollow.

It was hard to believe that the end had come so swiftly.

She moved to her desk, the last of the books to pack up and smiled softly, despite the pang in her heart, at the sight of a photograph. It had been taken about a month ago when Meeks had gotten his hands on a camera and Charlie had bullied a freshman into taking a photo of the entire group.

Maria smoothed her hand over the shiny surface, over the smiling picture of herself, then Charlie, then Knox, Neil, Todd, Meeks, Pitts, and even Cameron. She was seated on the bench between Charlie and Knox, with the others crowded around them. Knox was rolling his eyes playfully as Charlie pressed a kiss to Maria's cheek. Pitts was lazed out on the ground, his long legs stretching toward the camera as Meeks grinned, and knelt on one knee beside him with Cameron on the side. Behind the bench were Neil and Todd. Neil stood with his arm swung around Todd's neck, locking him into a hold.

She swallowed, feeling that uncomfortable lump in her throat forming again.

Maria placed the photograph delicately into the box, atop her books, her fingertips lingering on the glossy surface just a moment longer. It was a captured moment of pure joy, frozen in time forever and a testament to their bond - to their Dead Poets Honor.

As she closed the box, Maria couldn't help but think about everything that had happened, her mind flooded with memories of each and every one of her friends. Charlie, with his mischievous grin and eyes that sparkled with affection; Knox, the epitome of unwavering loyalty and passion; Neil, whose spirit burned so fiercely; Todd, the embodiment of growth and newfound courage; Meeks, with his contagious enthusiasm and unwavering curiosity; Pitts, the gentle soul who had found solace among friends. And even Cameron, whose path had diverged from them, leaving behind only a trace of the person he once was among them all.

Her heart felt heavy with emotions. Maria closed the lid of the box, sealing away the precious memories for safekeeping. She took a deep breath, attempting to find solace in the knowledge that the bonds they had forged would withstand the physical distance that lay ahead.

They had promised each other that.

She sniffled softly, letting a tear fall from her eyes as she stood alone in the room.

It was then that she heard a knock at her door and she quickly wiped her eyes, moving across the room to the door.

"Charlie," she breathed in relief when she saw her boyfriend standing there before her.