Dead Poets Society

asked Todd.
    “I don’t know. A
poem,” Todd said.
    “For class?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “We’re asking for
demerits, guys, if we don’t beat it out of here. The snow’s coming down hard,”
Cameron said. Charlie ignored Cameron and kept playing the sax. Todd kept
writing. Cameron looked around and shrugged. “I’m leaving,” he said and walked
alone out of the cave.
    Knox read his love
poem to Chris to himself, then slapped it on the side of his leg. “Damn it! II
1 could just get Chris to read this poem,” he groaned.
    “Why don’t you read
it to her,” Pitts suggested. “It worked for Nuwanda.”
    “She won’t even
speak to me, Pitts!” Knox cried. “I called her, and she wouldn’t even come to
the phone.”
    “Nuwanda recited
poetry to Gloria and she jumped all over him... right, Nuwanda?”
    Charlie stopped
playing his sax. He thought a moment. “Absolutely,” he agreed and started blowing
notes again.
    Off in the distance,
the curfew bell rang. Charlie finished his melody, put his sax in its case, and
moved out of the cave. Todd, Cameron, and Pitts picked up their papers and
followed him out into the night. Knox stood in the cave alone, looking at his
poem. Then, shoving it back in his book, he blew out the candle and ran out
through the woods with desperate determination.
    “If it worked for
him, it will work for me,” he said to himself as he plotted a scheme to get his
words to Chris.
     
    The next morning the
ground was thickly covered with snow. Knox left the dorm early, bundled against
the freezing weather and icy winds. He cleaned the snow off his bike, carried
it to a plowed path, and sped away, down the hills of Welton Academy over to Ridgeway
High.
    He left his bike
outside the school and ran frantically into the crowded hallway. Boys and girls
bustled about, hanging coats in lockers, getting books, talking and joking
around with each other.
    Knox hurried down
one corridor and stopped to talk to a student. Then he turned and double-timed
it up a flight of stairs to the second floor.
    “Chris!” Knox
spotted her standing in front of her locker, talking with some girlfriends. She
quickly gathered her things and turned as Knox ran up to her.
    “Knox! What are you
doing here?” She pulled him away from her girlfriends into a corner.
    “I came to apologize
for the other night. I brought you these, and a poem I wrote.”
    He held out a
bouquet of wilted, frostbitten flowers and the poem. Chris looked at them but
did not take them. “If Chet sees you, he’ll kill you, don’t you know that?” she
cried.
    “I don’t care,” he
said, shaking his head. “I love you, Chris. You deserve better than Chet and
I’m it. Please accept these.”
    “Knox, you’re
crazy,” Chris said as the bell rang and students ran to their classes.
    “Please. I acted
like a jerk and I know it. Please?” he begged.
    Chris looked at the
flowers as though she was considering accepting them. “No,” she said, shaking
her head. “And stop bugging me!” She walked into a classroom and closed the
door.
    The hallway was
clear. Knox stood holding the drooping bouquet and his poem. He hesitated for a
moment, then pulled open the door and walked into Chris’s classroom.
    The students were
settling into their seats. Knox Pushed past the teacher who was leaning over a
desk, helping a student with his homework.
    “Knox!” Chris cried.
“I don’t believe this!”
    “All I’m asking you
to do is listen,” he said, as he unfolded his poem and began to read. The
teacher and the class turned and stared at Knox in amazement.
     
    “The heavens made a
girl named Chris,
    With hair and skin
of gold
    To touch her would
he paradise
    To kiss her—glory
untold.”
     
    Chris turned red and
covered her face with her hands. Her friends sat barely restraining giggles and
looking at each other in amazement. Knox continued reading:
     
    “They made a goddess
and called her
    Chris, How? I’ll
never know.
    But though my soul
is far behind,
    My love can only
grow.“
     
    Knox read on as
though he and Chris were the only ones in the room.
     
    “I see a sweetness
in her smile,
    Bright light shines
from her eyes
    But life is
complete—contentment is mine,
    Just knowing that
she’s alive.”
     
    Knox lowered the
paper and looked at Chris, who, utterly embarrassed, peeked out at him through her fingers. Knox put the poem and the flowers on
her desk.
    “I love you, Chris,”
he said. Then he turned and