[rewritten ver. of unscripted]
we don't live in a fairytale.
but she was everything the fairytales failed to mention.
like icarus, he was destined to fly too close to the sun.
and fall. maddeningly. deeply. in love.
- neil still does not die in this...
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THE MOMENT PRESLEY ROSSset foot on Welton Academy's soil, she had already decided it was a horrid place. Rubbing her thumb against the metal brass of her suitcase handle, she scanned the hall crawling with teenage boys, or rather, various species of prepubescent and hormonal monstrosities. The suitcase handle was cold against her skin, but she paid it no mind. On the contrary, she turned her attention to John Keating, who sat beside her with a little smile on his face.
"You never told me it was an all-boys school." Presley knit her eyebrows. "Why is that?"
"I knew you wouldn't accept my proposition," Mr. Keating laughed, amused. "I know you, Presley. I know well enough that you'd back out if I told you." No, he didn't know her. But Presley only feigned a glare at him, huffing in silent protest.
Welton Academy was a classically architectural infrastructure of umber brick and stone. Some parts were wood, some cement. Its steep gabled roofs were supported by fireplace pillars. A generous amount of glass windows lined the buildings, with different varieties of trees decorating the outdoor landscape. It was not a sight for sore eyes, but it wasn't all that grand either. It was a preparatory school after all.
Presley failed to notice the students and parents flood in the ceremony hall, as her nose had been buried deep in The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka. As the ceremony started, a number of students began to march to the front whilst carrying banners, placing themselves at the front once they reached the platform.
"One hundred years ago, in 1859, 41 boys sat in this room and were asked the same question that greets you at the start of each semester." Mr. Nolan, the principal, started. It was only the opening of his speech, but Presley already had the impression that it was a recycled one. "Gentlemen, what are the four pillars?"
"Tradition. Honor. Discipline. Excellence." Presley couldn't help but snort at the words, or what they considered to be the four pillars of the school. Her small reaction failed to escape Mr. Keating, who stole a curious glance at her. She responded by paying him no mind.
"In her first year, Welton Academy graduated five students." Mr. Nolan continued. "Last year, we graduated fifty one, and more than 75% went on to the Ivy League." The room burst into applause, to which Presley joined in half-heartedly.
"This — This kind of accomplishment is the result of fervent dedication to the principles taught here. This is why you parents have been sending us your sons. This is why we are the best preparatory school in the United States." Another round of applause echoed throughout the hall.
Nolan had a satisfied smile etched on his face. He was evidently proud of his hard work, and of what the Academy had achieved throughout the last century. "As you know," he continued, "our beloved Mr. Portius of the English Department retired last term. You will have the opportunity later to meet his replacements: Mr. John Keating and his teaching assistant, Ms. Presley Ross." At this, all heads within the vicinity turned toward the pair as they stood up for recognition. Unlike Mr. Keating, though, Presley reluctantly stood up without removing her eyes from her book.
