Dead Poets Society

saxophone, then suddenly stopped. Trance-like, he began to speak: ‘“Laughing, crying, tumbling, mumbling, gotta do more. Gotta be more...“
    He played a few more notes on the saxophone, then, speaking faster than before, continued, “‘Chaos screaming, chaos dreaming, crying, flying, gotta be more! Gotta be more!’”
    The cave was silent. Then Charlie picked up the instrument and played a simple but breathtaking melody. The skeptical looks on the boys’ faces disappeared as Charlie continued playing, lost in the music, and ending with a long and haunting note.
    The boys sat silent, letting the beautiful sound wash over them. Neil spoke first.
    “Charlie, that was great. Where did you learn to play like that?”
    “My parents made me take clarinet, but I hated it,” Charlie said, coming back down to earth. “The sax is more sonorous,” he said in a mock British accent.
    Suddenly Knox stood up, backed away from the group, and wailed out his torment. “God, I can’t take it anymore! If I don’t have Chris, I’ll kill myself!”
    “Knox, you gotta calm down,” Charlie said.
    “No, I’ve been calm all my life! If I don’t do something, it’s gonna kill me!”
    “Where are you going?” Neil called as Knox headed out of the cave.
    “I’m calling her,” Knox said, running into the woods.
    The society meeting ended abruptly and the boys followed Knox back to the campus. Knox might not die of passivity, but there was a good chance he’d die of embarrassment if he called Chris, and the society pledges felt obliged to stand by their fellow poet.
    “I’ve got to do this,” Knox said as he picked up the dorm phone. The boys surrounded him protectively as he boldly dialed her telephone number.
    “Hello?” Knox heard Chris’s voice on the other end of the phone. He panicked and hung up.
    “She’s gonna hate me! The Danburrys will hate me. My parents will kill me!” He looked around at the others trying to read their faces. No one said a 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