The Dead Poets

28

We stood along the perimeter of the bus, once Mr. Keating had managed to compel us from the comfort that was some sort of barrier in which stood firmly between the Welton students and those of the public school.

Prior to Welton Academy, I had endured the grave loneliness I now call home schooling.

I read novels that depicted great adventures, watched old black and white films of epic romances, while silently wishing Paul Newman would fall through the small glass screen of our television set, whisking me away to somewhere far more interesting than my empty home.

"Earth to Violet," Charlie spoke playfully, snapping his fingers in front of me, breaking my gaze from the concrete.

"Huh?" I question, lifting my eyes from the icy cement beneath my Mary Jane's.

The Welton students, clad in matching grey toned slacks, and black suit jackets with red detailing, marched their way towards the doors of the public school, dragging their feet solemnly throughout the snow covered parking lot.

Some boys pose confidently against the hoods of their cars, clad in loose fitting leather jackets, with cigarettes dangling loosely between their lips, while an unlit one sat tucked behind their ears. James Dean vibes emitted from their cologne-doused selves, and I felt as though I was sat at home, watching Rebel Without a Cause for the hundredth time.

Others wore oversized letterman jackets, atop tight white tees and blue jeans.

Girls stood huddled together, books held tightly to their chests. Most don poodle skirts falling mid-calf, paired with matching pastel coloured cardigans, and a string of pearls that sat atop their collarbone. I suppose one of the more popular fashion trends of the decade, saddle shoes and white, frilly bobby socks, which clad every girl's feet.

I felt as though I stepped into another dimension. One in which I had heard about, even dreamed about, but never experienced. My wardrobe at Welton, consisted primarily of red's, black's and navy's.

I stared in awe at the vibrant hues amongst the crowds of students.

The halls were narrow, which caused people to shuffle amongst one another. Shoulders brushing past as the eager students hurried to their next class, and the less keen slugged behind the crowd.

The ceilings were also unlike Welton's. In contrast, the public school's structure sat lower in height. Unlike Welton's, which consisted of incredibly high ceilings, beautiful archway's, and tall cylinder columns.

I couldn't help but feel like a fish out of water, as I stood, uniform and all, amongst the many bodies.

"Hey," Charlie spoke softly to my flustered state, grasping my attention as he did.

"You alright?" He asks, concern filling his features, the frown line between his brows becoming more prominent as they furrow together slightly.

My eyes danced around the room, across the vast array of students, and to the walls of this narrow hall- which appear to be closing in with each passing second.

I shifted uncomfortably upon noticing how many pairs of eyes donned my figure. I suppose I did look rather odd. Being the only girl in this crowd of boys, while simultaneously being dressed more appropriately for a church service than what seemed to be the acceptable attire for this school.

"I'm fine," I answer, instantly changing my tune. Rolling my shoulders back and puffing out my chest, as I stride past the gawking eyes. Silently hoping this sudden surge of confidence lasts for the remainder of the day.

Trailing behind Mr. Keating, whose walk resembled more of a skip, I stood warily at the entrance of a classroom.

"This seat's available."

The words came from a boy, who sat at the nearest desk to me, yet farthest from the front of the room. His arm was slung lazily over the back of his chair, while his hand fiddled with a sharpened pencil.

"I don't bite," he chuckled, his chocolate brown orbs intently holding my gaze.

His hair was a dirty blond, which proved a nice contrast to his dark eyes. It appeared soft, feather-like, as it lightly brushed against his brow, which was slightly raised. He wore blue jeans and a fitted white tee shirt, that hugged his chest and arms in a complimenting manner. Worn converse concealed his feet, tucked beneath the pant leg of his jeans, and a cigarette sat discreetly behind his ear. Taking in his appearance, I deduct he was not one of those boys who wore letterman jackets and wide-framed glasses. 

He raised his brow in amusement, as he glanced between myself and the empty seat.

"And here I thought you rich, private student's were different." He huffed, swinging his arm back to the surface of the desk, and twisting his body to face forward.

"I am," I say quickly and defensively, feeling a sudden need to defend my character to this stranger.

He simply chuckles, looking at me with pure amusement- a look I gather he sports quite a bit, as he arranges his frame to face me once again.

I finally decide to take a seat in the empty desk.
"I'm Violet," I offer politely, hoping to ease any tension.

"Jack," his honeyed voice spoke proudly, as he gently reached for my hand, bringing it up to his lips, as they softly graze my knuckles.

"Alright, were missing a few students, but I think it's 'bout time we begin!" Mr. Keating spoke, and I can't recall a time I had been more relieved to hear his voice.

I gave Jack a kind smile, before turning in my seat to face the front of the room, where Mr. Keating stood with a contagious grin plastered across his face.

I glanced around the room, in order to spot Charlie. Out of guilt or habit, I'm not entirely sure. Though I wasn't convinced I had any reason to feel guilty, it was merely a friendly encounter between two strangers. Whether I was convincing myself of that, or whether it was the truth, is a question I'm not entirely sure I'm prepared to have answered.

As my eyes dance around the rather bare classroom, I can spot only Meeks and Pitts, sitting side by side in the nearest row to the front.

I glance over my shoulder, at the open door leading to the hall. The bell had rung all of ten minutes ago, and the sea of students had cleared out.

I can feel Jack's kind eyes bore into my figure, as I glance around the room.

"Looking for someone, sweetheart?" He asks, leaning back into his chair, his actions nearly mirroring Charlie's usual sprawled out seating position.

Shaking my head no, and fighting the blush that threatened to creep onto my cheeks, I desperately try to focus my gaze back towards the front of the room.

A/N: this chapter was getting long, so I'll put some drama in the next!! Hope you enjoyed this one, because I love writing for the 50's era. 💗