CHAPTER SEVENEEN!
( HOPE IS A THING WITH FEATHERS. )

   THE ADMINISTRATION KNEW about the club. They knew names, they knew details, and they wanted more. They wanted all the club members to come speak to Mr. Nolan with their families.

Violet was chewing at her nails, staring nervously at the wooden door. You stared at the ceiling. You were nervous, but anger overtook that. At this point you couldn't find it in yourself to care what your parents thought about the club, and you certainly didn't care what Nolan thought of you. He was desperately trying to pin Neil's death on Keating, and that made you mad.

You had been sitting in the dorm room for what felt like days. The air smelled stale, the bedsheets felt cold and rough. The walls looked more beige than ever, and you found yourself hating the stupid wooden furniture that leaned against the walls.

"I hate this place," you stated. Not really to Violet, not to yourself. Just to the stuffy, grey air. "I hate it."

Violet didn't say a word. She was preoccupied with her own thoughts. You looked over to see her glancing between the clock and the door. Her usually sparkling eyes looked dull and anxious.

"You okay?" you asked.

"It just feels so hopeless. I mean, it wasn't Keating's fault, and now he's gonna have to take the fall for something so terrible. I just wish I could change things but I can't. I'm gonna have to go in there and face my parents and Nolan. I can't stop thinking about what my parents will think. I know I shouldn't worry about that but I can't help it," Violet said softly.

You sighed and stood up. You stepped over to your desk and pulled a purple book out of a stack of textbooks. You leaned against the wall and flipped open to a bookmarked page, one that you had read several times.

"Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me," you paused and looked up at Violet to see her with a small smile. It was the first time you'd seen anyone smile since Neil's death. You missed the warmth in people's eyes. "It's gonna be okay," you said. You tried to smile, but it didn't work, it was more like a tight lipped line than a smile.

You glanced back down at the book. Hope is a Thing With Feathers. The words stood out against the white paper. You ran your fingers along the page before slowly tearing it out of the binding. You placed the book back down on your desk, the gold title looking shinier than ever, The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson.

Your mind wandered back to that first time you went to the cave. Before you left for the meeting you held this book in your hands, flipping through every page to find the perfect poem to read. You were so worried about what the boys would think of you, but you were so glad you decided to go. It was the beginnings something you'd never trade for the world.

You looked back at Violet and handed her the page. She took it from your hand and read the poem once more.

"Keep it in your pocket. That way they haven't really won, no matter what they make you do or say. You've got a piece of the forbidden Dead Poets Society in your own pocket," you nodded.

"Thank you," she replied. Just as the words left her mouth there were three harsh raps at the door.

"Violet Moore," a voice called loudly. She looked at you, but she didn't look as afraid anymore. Violet opened the door and immediately was lead down the hallway. You stuck your head out and watched the two figures disappear from view.

Once they were gone, you shut the door and grabbed a small silver knife out of your drawer. You sat down in the wooden chair and stared at the wooden desk. "Stupid," you whispered. It was all so stupid. Your whole life was stupid, until you met Keating, and you weren't going to let your life be stupid again.

You drove your knife into the desk and began to cut away at the surface. You moved your knife until a message had been carved into the desk. Travesty, horror, decadence, excrement. The four pillars of Hell-ton Academy.

Vandalism of school property seemed unthinkable months ago, but now it felt like something that you should've done a century ago. You were never really the rebellious type, but you certainly were the vengeful type.

Three knocks. "Y/N Y/L/N." You stood up and opened the door. Violet locked eyes with you for a brief second as she stepped back into the room. Before you knew it you were headed to Mr. Nolan's office.

You pushed the big doors open to find your parents seated across from Nolan. All three adults looked at you sternly. You stepped forward and looked Mr. Nolan in the eye.

"Have a seat, Ms. Y/L/N," he ordered. You complied.

"Ms. Y/L/N, I think we've pretty well put together what's happened here. You do admit to being a part of this Dead Poets Society?"

"Yes, Sir." The word sir dripped in sarcastic contempt. Enough for your parents to send you warning glares.

"I have here a detailed description of what occurred at your meetings. It describes how your teacher, Mr. Keating, encouraged you all to organize this club and to use it as a source of inspiration for reckless and self-indulgent behavior. It describes how Mr. Keating, both in and out of the classroom, encouraged Neil Perry to follow his obsession with acting when he knew all along it was against the explicit order of Neil's parents. It was Mr. Keating's blatant abuse of his position as teacher that led directly to Neil Perry's death," Nolan stated, staring you down the whole time. You swallowed down your rage, not saying a word. You clenched your fists tightly beneath the table, wishing you could punch Nolan where it hurt.

Nolan placed a page in front of you and advised you to read it carefully. You glanced down and skimmed it, every word adding more fuel to the dangerous fire that had been building in you for days now. Your eyes reached the bottom of the page where you saw that everyone had signed it, except Charlie. Charlie didn't even make it on the list.

"Where's Charlie?" you demanded.

"Expelled. That's what can happen if you don't make your choices carefully," Nolan warned. "If you've nothing to add or amend, sign it."

A dry, angry chuckle left your mouth. You took the pen from his hand and pressed it into the paper below your name. You considered for a moment what the consequences of your actions might be, staring at the ink that was bleeding through the page.

"Sign it, Y/N," your father hissed. You blocked it out, still holding the pen onto the page.

"Keating had nothing to do with Neil's death. He gave Neil and all of us something that we've never had, something the rest of you were afraid of," you said, breathing deeply.

"And what might that be, young lady?" Nolan countered angrily.

"The ability to think for ourselves and not just listen to what all you old white men tell us to think! He gave us meaning," you replied. He shouldn't have asked.

"Y/N!" your mother gasped incredulously.

"No, mother, you too. You're all pathetic you know that? Hiding behind the notion that this is Keating's fault. Either you're too much of a coward to face the truth, or you're too delusional to see it. Keating was never the tyrant," you spat. You took the pen and drew a line through the paragraph of lies.

"I told you what would happen if you didn't make your choices carefully," Nolan sneered, standing up to his full height. "You're hereby expelled from Welton Academy, the finest preparatory school in the United States. Congratulations, I hope you're happy with yourself, Ms. Y/L/N."

"Thank you, I am," you glared back.

"Oh, you are in for it! I am so ashamed of you," your father nearly yelled, grabbing the back of your blazer roughly. He dragged you out of Nolan's office, ready to reprimand you right there in the hallway. He had an ugly look on his face, one that told you the next chapter of your life would not be a pleasant one. Despite it all, you swore you saw your mother smile proudly, if only for a second.

❪ ⋆࿐໋ 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒑𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒎. ❫

AUTHOR'S NOTE.

I feel bad about this taking so long but here it is. I don't know how I feel about it because there's not any Charlie in it, but he will be in the rest of the chapters. The book is coming to a close, and thank you to everyone who is still reading I really appreciate you so so much.

- s.