"okay, follow the stream to the waterfall." neil was explaining as he pointed to the maps to the cave. "it's right there. it's got to be on the banks."

cameron shook his head. "i don't know, it's starting to sound dangerous."

charlie, ever the gentleman, looked down at him "well, why don't you stay home?" he suggested.

"for god's sake stop chattering and sit down." mcallister scolded the group.

"todd, are you coming tonight?" celia asked, sitting with him and neil.

the boy shook his head. "no."

neil seemed offended by this. "why not? god, you were there. you heard keating. don't you want to do something about it?"

todd frowned. "yes, but-"

"but? but what?"

"keating said that everybody took turns reading, and i don't want to do that."

celia understood immediately that todd was shy, and she got it. "okay, what if you didn't have to? what if you just.. you just came and listened?"

he shook his head. "that's not how it works."

"who says?" the girl questioned. "who says how it works? forget how it works."

neil nodded his agreement. "what if they said it was okay?"

todd sent him a confused look. "what? what are you gonna do, go up and ask them?"

neil shrugged, getting up from his seat. "we'll be right back." he said, taking celia with him (despite todd's protests) to the table where all the other boys were seated.

"ceil and neil." charlie greeted, looking up from whatever assignment he was supposed to be focused on. "what's the honor? anderson over there being too weird?"

"charlie." she scolded, kicking his foot from under the table. "we were actually asking him if he was coming to the cave tonight, but he said he doesn't want to read."

"so?"

"so," neil said, "we were thinking.. what if he came and listened, and didn't read? there's nothing saying he can't just listen to the poetry if he doesn't want to write anything."

charlie shrugged his shoulders. "yeah, i guess."

everyone else nodded, not seeing a problem with it. "okay. cool." neil said, smiling as he went over to tell todd that he was "in".

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

that night, celia put on a sweater of her own (not the nylon filth that the school had given her for a uniform) and comfortable jeans, thankful to be rid of her ghastly skirt for once. she was practically counting down the minutes until she would have to meet up with the guys to head off to the cave.

soon enough, a small knock (much kinder than the aggressive wrapping charlie gave it every morning) sounded on her door. she stood up, opening it to find neil, holding a flashlight in one hand and a copy of thoreau in the other. "you ready?" he whispered as she nodded.

celia followed him to where the other boys were standing, each holding their own flashlights. todd passed one to the girl, who thanked him with a smile. after charlie had finished distracting the dog, the group set off running towards the woods. their cloaks made them look almost horrific, but they shielded them from the cold night air.

eventually, they were left to search the trees in an attempt to find the cave, which neil swore was nearby. the calm silence was interrupted when charlie leapt up from behind meeks, shining a flashlight in his own face and saying "arrr, i'm a dead poet."

"aww, charlie." the scared meeks groaned. "you're funny. you're real funny."

"hey, over here!" celia called as she shined her flashlight down into the opening of the cave. "who's first?" she asked when no one seemed to want to enter the dark expanse.

".. ladies first?" charlie suggested.

the girl rolled her eyes, but complied anyway, handing her flashlight to the boy behind her before dropping foot first into the cave. she surprisingly landed on both feet, holding her arms out for balance.

"did you die down there?" charlie asked, shining both her flashlight and his own down into the cave.

"nope, no signs of imminent danger so far." she assured him.

but, when charlie dropped down into the cave after her, she jumped out behind him, making all of the boys nearly fall over with laughter as he screamed "like a little girl, no offense, celia."

after a sad attempt at starting a fire, the group all settled down, passing around cigarettes. celia took one from charlie, taking a drag before deciding she hated it, and setting it back down.

"i hereby reconvene the dead poets society." neil said, standing in the middle of the cave. the group around him all cheered. "welton chapter. the meetings will be conducted by myself and the other new initiates now present. todd anderson, because he prefers not to read, will keep minutes of the meetings. i'll now read the traditional opening message by society member henry david thoreau." he opened his book. "'i went to the woods because i wanted to live deliberately. i wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.'"

"i'll second that." charlie said.

neil ignored him, continuing to read. "'to put to rout all that was not life, and not, when i had come to die, discover that i had not lived." several of the boys whistled in response. "and keating's marked a bunch of other pages." neil said, flipping through the book.

charlie seemed bored, immediately pulling out a stash of food. "all right, intermission. dig deep right here. right here, lay it down."

"on the mud?" cameron asked. "we're gonna put our food on the mud?"

"meeks, put your coat down." charlie then suggested. "picnic blanket."

the red head laughed. "yes sir, use meeks' coat."

charlie pointed a finger at him. "don't keep anything back either. you guys are always bumming my smokes."

as soon as meeks had laid down his coat, everyone dumped piles of food on it. celia was most amused by the half of a roll of bread that pitts had had in his back pocket.

"wait a minute, who gave us half a roll?" charlie asked, finally noticing it.

"i'm eating the other half." pitts said with his mouth full. "you want me to put it back?" he added when charlie griped about it.

"you guys have terrible taste in food." celia complained, picking up a crushed box of raisins.

after a while of eating and reading miscellaneous poetry from keating's book, the group had somehow moved on to telling scary stories. celia handed neil a flashlight, which he accepted, shining on his face for dramatic effect as he began his story.

"it was a dark and rainy night, and this old lady, who had a passion for jigsaw puzzles, sat by herself in her house at her table to complete a new jigsaw puzzle. nut as she pieced the puzzle together, she realized, to her astonishment, that the image that was formed was her very own room. and the figure in the center of the puzzle, as she completed it, was herself. and with trembling hands, she placed the last four pieces and stared in horror at the face of a demented madman at the window." he looked among the group. "the last thing that this old lady ever heard was the sound of breaking glass."

"oh, no, so scary." celia teased.

neil looked up in mock offense. "it's true, it's a true story."

cameron shook his head. "i've got one that's even better than that."

"ha!" charlie replied.

"let's hear it." celia invited.

"there's a young, married couple," cameron began, "and they're driving through the forest at night on a long trip. and they run out of gas, and there's a madman on the-"

charlie groaned. "the thing with the hand-"

everyone mimed the scraping on the roof of the car, all recalling the story already.

"i love that story." cameron defended.

"i told you that one." charlie sent him a look.

cameron sent a look back. "you did not. i got that in camp in sixth grade."

"when were you in six," charlie asked, "last year?"

as the noise died down, pitts took his turn reading, holding up the book. "'in a mean abode in the shanking road, lived a man named william bloat. now, he had a wife, the plague of his life, who continually got his goat. and one day at dawn, with her nightshift on, he slit her bloody throat.'" the boys, unimpressed by the rhyming, all laughed.

"you want to hear a real poem?" charlie asked. when meeks offered him the book, he shoved it away, insisting that he didn't need it.

"you memorized a poem?" neil asked, an amused smile on his face.

charlie shook his head. "i didn't memorize a poem. move up."

"an original?" celia asked with a raised brow, watching as charlie got up from his seat, letting neil take his spot on the log next to her.

"an original piece by charlie dalton." meeks agreed.

pitts chuckled. "take center stage."

neil was amused as he leaned into celia. "you know this is history. right? this is history."

charlie cleared his throat, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a page from a magazine, slowly unfolding it to reveal an excerpt from playboy.

"this is gonna be good." celia mumbled, making neil laugh again.

cameron, on the other hand, seemed shocked by the centerfold. "where did you get that?"

charlie didn't respond, looking at the back of the magazine. "teach me to love? go teach thyself more wit. i, chief professor, am of it. the god of love, if such a thing there be, may learn to love from me." he winked as everyone began to clap and cheer.

"bravo! bravo!"

"wow! did you write that?" neil asked through his laughter.

charlie turned over the centerfold to show where he had written down the poem. "abraham cowley." he admitted. "okay, who's next?"

neil now sat in the middle, reading the book with his flashlight. "alfred lord tennyson. 'come my friends, 'tis not too late to seek a newer world for my purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset. and though we are not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;-- one equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong in will. to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."

after he'd finished, celia took his place in the center of the cave, pulling out the copy of the waste land that she and neil had gotten earlier that day.

"what are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish?" she read, chuckling at the word. "son of man, you cannot say, or guess, for you know only a heap of broken images, where the sun beats, and the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, and the dry stone no sound of water. only there is shadow under this red rock... come in under the shadow of this red rock, and i will show you something different from either your shadow at morning striding behind you, or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; i will show you fear in a handful of dust."

when she'd finished reading it, she looked up at the boys, who were all completely silent, just staring at her. her eyes eventually landed on neil, who was smiling, seemingly excited that she'd chosen an excerpt from his favorite.

charlie broke the silence by softly clapping, making the group all start laughing, once again warming the atmosphere.

the final reader, then, was meeks, who stood in the center, reading his poem like a chant. "then i had religion, then i had a vision. i could not turn from their revel in derision. then i saw the congo creeping through the black, cutting through the forest with a golden track. then i saw the congo creeping through the black, cutting through the forest with a golden track."

knox stood, picking up a metal container and using it as a drum. the rest of the group all stood up and began to walk in a circle, making miscellaneous sounds with anything they could find. "then i saw the congo creeping through the black, cutting through the forest with a golden track." they all repeated.

the chant continued on and on as the group exited the cave, winding the way back to their rooms just as the clock struck two.