Dead Poets Society

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Authors: N. H. Kleinbaum
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word. “All right, goddamn it, you’re right! ‘Carpe Diem,’ even if it kills me.”
    He picked up the phone and dialed again.
    Hello?” He heard her voice.
    “Hello, Chris, this is Knox Overstreet,” he said.
    “Knox... oh yes, Knox. I’m glad you called.”
    “You are?” He covered the phone and told his friends excitedly, “She’s glad I called!”
    “I wanted to call you,” Chris said. “But I didn’t have the number. Chet’s parents are going out of town this weekend, so Chet’s having a party. Would you like to come?”
    “Well, sure!” Knox beamed.
    “Chet’s parents don’t know about it so please keep it quiet. But you can bring someone if you like.”
    “I’ll be there,” Knox said excitedly. “The Danburrys’. Friday night. Thank you, Chris.”
    He hung up the phone, overcome, and let out a loud yelp. “Can you believe it? She was gonna call me! She invited me to a party with her!”
    “At Chet Danburry’s house,” Charlie said flatly.
    “Yeah.”
    “Well?” Charlie asked.
    “So?” Knox was getting defensive.
    “So you really think she means you’re going with her?”
    “Well, hell no, Charlie, but that’s not the point. That’s not the point at all!”
    “What is the point?” Charlie pressed.
    “The point is she was thinking about me!”
    “Ah.” Charlie shook his head.
    “I’ve only met her once and already she’s thinking about me.” Knox almost jumped up and down. “Damn it, it’s gonna happen. She’s going to be mine!”
    He raced out of the phone room, his feet barely touching the floor. His friends looked at each other and shook their heads.
    “Who knows?” Charlie asked.
    “I just hope he doesn’t get hurt,” Neil said.

Chapter 9

    Neil pedaled rapidly through the town square on his way to Henley Hall for rehearsals. He cruised past the town hall and a row of shops and continued along the quiet Vermont road until he reached the white brick buildings of Henley Hall. He slid his bike through the gate and parked it in the rack in front of the building. As he entered the auditorium, the director called out to him.
    “Hurry up, Neil. We can’t do this scene without our Puck.”
    Neil smiled and dashed to center stage. He grabbed a stick with a jester’s head on the end of it from the prop girl and began:

    Yet but three? Come one more;
    Two of both kinds makes up four.
    Here she comes, curst and sad .—
    Cupid is a knavish lad,
    Thus to make poor females mad.”

    Puck looked toward the floor where a mad Hermia, played by Ginny Danburry, crawled onto the stage, exhausted and wild-eyed.
    The director, a blond teacher in her forties, stopped Ginny as she started her lines and turned toward Neil. “Good, Neil,” she complimented. “I really get the feeling your Puck knows he’s in charge. Remember that he takes great delight in what he’s doing.”
    Neil nodded and repeated boldly and impishly: “ ‘Cupid is a knavish lad, thus to make poor females mad! ”
    “Excellent,” the director said with a smile. “Continue, Ginny.”
    Ginny crawled back onto the stage and started her lines:

    “Never so weary, never so in woe,
    Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers,
    I can no further crawl, no further go... ”

    The director gestured and pointed as the students ran through the scene several times.
    “See you tomorrow,” Neil called when they’d finally finished rehearsals for the day. He walked to the bike rack in the twilight, his eyes flashing and his face flushed from the thrill he got from acting. He rode back through the sleepy Vermont town to Welton Academy, repeating the lines he had practiced for the past two hours.
    Neil approached the Welton gates cautiously, making sure no one was around. He pumped up the hill to the dorm and parked his bike. As he started into the building, he spotted Todd huddled motionless on the stone wall.
    “Todd?” he called, walking over to get a better look. Todd sat shivering in the dark without a

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