The Dead Poets

47

The warm tears that once threatened to spill, now rolled down my cheeks. I felt ashamed and humiliated—and I wasn't even sure why.

I glance down at my knee-length dress, thinking how foolish her assumptions of me were. Regardless of my attire, they were foolish.

"Vi?"

I spin on my heel and see Neil sporting a sympathetic look.

I quickly wipe my tears, "I'm fine."

"You don't have to lie, I overheard."

My fake 'I'm fine' smile fades instantly, the tears resurfacing in my presumably already puffy eyes.

"You know none of that's true, right?"

"Thanks, Neil," forcing a half smile, I nod slowly. A futile attempt to convince him that all I had overheard hadn't affected me.

"Charlie's mother is old-fashioned and, well, mean. Why do you think he's such a rebel?"

I smile. I truly don't know what I would do without Neil.

"Don't tell Charlie, okay?" I insist, my demeanour becoming sombre again.

"Why not?" Neil asks dumbfounded.

"Because, I don't want to ruin his night," I smile once again, nodding my head towards a flushed Charlie being dragged every which way on the dance floor by a group of older ladies.

"Fine," Neil huffs, but I can see a small smile toying at his lips at the sight of Charlie's current predicament.

The evening went on to be relatively uneventful.   

That is, until a red-painted finger nail tapped repeatedly at my shoulder.

"Violet," the woman breaths lowly, "can we speak...privately," she finishes, gesturing to the crowded room full of people.

I nod, slowly and hesitantly.

She leads us over towards one of the few quiet corners of the house.

"Dear, listen," she begins, and by the patronizing tone of her voice, I sense this conversation will not have a favourable outcome. For me, anyways.

"Charlie comes from a very..." she stumbles over her words for a brief moment before seeming to find those fitting.

"Affluent family. We have certain... certain expectations for him. And well, you see..." she pauses again, scanning over the crowd of people in the large dining hall.

"Ah, yes, Elizabeth!" Ruth beckons a tall girl, whose long blonde hair flowed behind her as she skipped towards us.

"Elizabeth, this is Violet. Charlie's...friend." I internally scowl at her choice of words, but decide against commenting. Elizabeth smiles politely at my stoic frame.

"Violet, Elizabeth will be valedictorian of her class this year. She's a competitive chess player, and has scholarships to Yale in the fall."