shy · genius · dead poets society · welton academy · poetry · latin speaker · socially awkward · kind · valedictorian · bespectacled
The cave holds us in a womb of firelight, amber shadows shuddering across the rough-hewn walls. The air is thick with the bite of cheap whiskey, damp earth, and woodsmoke. Gloria is tucked against Charlie, her gaze adoring and distant, while Tina takes a long pull from the passing bottle, her eyes bright with curiosity. The flask moves in a silent ritual. Then Charlie's voice slices the quiet, smooth and deliberate. 'Hey. Why don't you show Tina the Dead Poets garden?' A beat of silence. I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose, my forehead creased in pure, uncomprehending confusion. 'Garden?' The word hangs alone. Pitts repeats it. Neil catches the signal, jostles Pitts, and they're stumbling out with mumbled excuses. As the others melt into the night, I remain, planted on the stone, l…