The Dead Poets

31

My eyes glance at the clock, hanging atop the nearest cream-painted wall.

The day has both flown by so quickly, while simultaneously, has dragged on for what has felt like an eternity. Which one more so? I'm not entirely sure.

However, to say the least, today has been eventful.

Knox spent the better half of the day, pining after Christine, who both shows interest and disinterest, all at the same time. Usually I had quite the knack for gauging whether or not someone was romantically invested into another person, but Christine proved hard to read.

"Violet!" The familiar voice of Knox, shouted from behind me, followed by a set of increasingly apparent footsteps.

"I need your help with something," he began, his face filled with hope, his eyes scanning mine intently for a response.

"Sure, Knox," I giggle at the mere intensity of his features. I've come to learn that Knox was slightly mellow dramatic. Funnily enough, I liked him more for it.

"Okay, so-" he began, pausing for a second to catch his breath, or to decipher how to word his favour, I'm not quite sure.

"-Christine asked me out!" He beamed proudly, his cheeks adopting a light fuchsia tint.

"Knox, that's great!" I answer, attempting to mirror his excitement. Though I truly was happy for Knox, he deserves to be with someone who makes him even remotely as content as I am with Charlie.

"I know, just when I was starting to think she didn't like me," he said, his tone quickly becoming sombre, an unwelcome contrast to his previous lively disposition.

"Well, what exactly do you need my help with?" I ask eagerly, hoping to change the tune of our current conversation.

"Oh, right!" He quickly adds, running a nervous hand through his neatly groomed, golden locks.

"I know you're not a fan of large parties..." he begins, running his hand anxiously over his grey slacks.

He wasn't entirely incorrect. I did dislike most parties. Not that I am a buzzkill or anything, I'd just much rather rest in the comfort of my room, curled up under heaps of soft blankets, while reading my favourite novel for the hundredth time, or pretending to be shocked at the plot twist that accompanies my favourite film of which I've seen more times than I care to admit, than to socialize at an overcrowded high school party. Which frankly, I usually regret attending, almost as soon as my foot crosses the threshold.

However, I spare him the details, upon glancing at his impatient face.

"That's not completely true," I say defensively, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Well, with that in mind," he begins, his clammy hand reaching to grasp mine.

"-will you please, please, please come with me to one tonight?" He begs, his hold on my hand becoming tighter by the second, his eyes glossy with worry.

"But, what about your date?" I question quizzically. I know Knox and I didn't share a mutual dislike for parties, but I know for a fact that he didn't like them enough to blow off his long-awaited date with Christine for one.

"That's the thing," he began, shuffling his feet anxiously over the grey tiles.

"-the date is the party. She asked me to go with her tonight."

"Who's party?" I ask, not entirely sure why, as the name probably won't spark any recognition within me anyways.

"Well... promise you won't get mad?" Knox spoke timidly, shifting his weight between his feet.