CHAPTER THREE ━━ oh captain, my captain!

If the warm scent of peaches and vanilla wasn't a sign that Welton's junior class had officially welcomed two girls into its Latin lesson, then the layered sounds of not-so-hushed whispers directed at the top left table certainly was.

Their teacher, a red-faced man with glasses hanging off the end of his nose, glowered at the boys and a wave of silence washed over the room. "Repeat after me; Agricola, Agricolae, Agricolas, Agricolatis, Agricolatus."

Voices once so confident were now nothing more than unsure mumbles piling on top of each other in an unintelligible mess. All voices, except that of Steven Meeks, of course.

   The boy had the humility to downplay his intelligence by keeping his eyes trained on his book, but you could hear in the way he trilled his 'r's that Meeks needed no aid.

   Katie, however, felt like she was about to lose her mind. Should she have allowed herself some grace given that her only experience with Latin was what she learned over summer? Yes. Did she? No.

   Every syllable felt like it was taunting her. Her 'i's were too sharp, her 'ae' was too nasally. There would've been consolation if everyone was struggling with it too, then she could've blamed it on impossible conjugation for their tongue. But Steven Meeks wasn't a god, he didn't have immortal powers that allowed him to live and breathe long-dead languages, he was a boy. A stupidly smart boy who, in that moment, Katie Wells decided she hated.

   After her fourth time in a row stumbling upon the same syllable, the fabric of her uniform started to become too heavy, the scent of her perfume was too strong, the sound of near-unanimous failure was too loud, and Katie thought she was going to die. Her knee bounced at a million miles and her breathing grew shallow and quick.

   At her side, blissfully unaware of what was happening to her left, Amélie tapped the end of her pencil against the wood of the table. It was a harmless thing, repetitive at worst, mindless at norm. But it felt like a drill going through Katie's skull and the tears building in her throat melted to anger.

  "Can you fucking stop?" It was barely a whisper, but the harshness of it made Amélie hold her breath. She froze, looked at Katie with something indiscernible written across her face, and gently laid the pencil down on her paper.

   Katie knew what she was meant to do when this happened; take deep breaths, focus on what you can feel, relax. She tried, she really did, but it got stuck in her throat and made everything harder. She pressed the nail of her thumb to her index finger and tried to let the pain shoo anything else away.

And then it was over. Her knee still shook and her chest still rattled, but it was manageable. She peeled her trembling fingers apart to see a dark and angry crescent moon embedded in her pale skin. She could tell Amélie was looking at her because she still hadn't moved since Katie snapped, and the fear that she was about to say something back was almost enough to start it again.

But the high-chimed ringing of the class bell was her saving grace. Katie didn't even bother putting her book in her bag, only bundling it up in her arms and tossing the backpack over her shoulder, leaving Amélie alone in the rush of scraping chairs and hollering laughs.

Left in the dust, Amélie fought the urge to feel slighted. So what if they had breakfast together? It was her who said that Katie was never going to be her friend in the first place, but still. There's a difference between friendship and plain civility, right?

Amélie had leaned down to pick up her bag and when she sat up straight again, there was a shadow looming over her. She jumped in her seat with a yelp and laid a hand over her racing heart.

He was one of the few boys who had abandoned the school's crested jumper, his tie crooked and striking against his crisp white shirt. His hands were splayed out on the table and he grinned down at her in a manner too friendly to be wolfish but too predatory to be kind.

"Can I help you?" She asked with rehearsed coolness.

"I saw you struggling during class." He began, grin widening and laughter bubbling out at the insult on Amélie's face. "I was too, don't worry! But me and my friends have a study club going strong if you want a hand."

Amélie hummed and stood, slinging on her bag and turning away slowly to make sure the boy was following her. "I'm not allowed in the common room."

"We could go to the library, or we could sneak you in if you're up for a challenge. Hager does hourly calls."

She huffed out a laugh, the image of the senile Dr. Hager finding her hanging half-out of the window opening the common room to the grassy pitches sparking a sense of excitement in her that had been long missed. "That would be nice. I'm really good at art, so if any of your friends are taking that elective, I can help with that."

"I'll ask 'em. I'm Charlie, by the way. Charlie Dalton." He held his hand out and Amélie took it in her own, shaking it slowly. "And you ," he began, lowering his voice to what Amélie assumed was his attempt at flirtatiousness, "are gorgeous."

Amélie said nothing in return, only giving him a deadpanned look as they rounded the corner to the English classroom. "Not gonna happen, Charlie." She looked at him over her shoulder and instead of looking angry or hurt like she expected, he nodded with the same smug look on his face.

"I respect it. Can't blame a guy for trying." He sped up a little to reach the door before her, pushing it open and stepping to the side. "But still, ladies first." He flashed her a dazzling grin and she let out a breathy laugh.

"Such a gentleman."

"I do try." Was all Charlie said before he hurried to grab the seat at the back corner where he could doze off without a care in the world.

   Immediately Amélie looked for Katie, eyes landing on her sat by the window with her chin resting in her palm and doodling aimlessly into a notebook. The brunette had to supress a scoff at how relaxed she looked now. Then something caught her attention. The fact that Katie's bag wasn't beneath her table, but instead on the chair to her right.

   It was easy to tell the difference between Amélie's steps and those of a stranger, so when she heard that distinctive click-clack, Katie leaned over and dragged her bag off the chair, never looking away from her page.

   A small part of her wanted to be spiteful and ignore the gesture, but she looked around and the only other free seats were in the middle of boys looking fit to eat her alive. So she weighed out her anger and her worry and took the seat beside Katie.

   Amélie had never been very scientifically inclined. She didn't understand why letters and numbers had to mix, or why she needed to find the areas of spherical ditches. What she did understand, however, were the arts. Humanities, languages (most of them, anyway), dance, music, painting, all of it. Amélie Blanc was a girl who lived and breathed art.

   So at the sight of the heavy textbooks atop the teacher's desk, her heart leapt inside of her, no matter how embarrassing that may have sounded. It also occurred to her as she glanced around the room, that she may have been the only person to feel that way.

   Her peers, bogged down with the prospects of the assignments awaiting them after final bell and dreading the ones that would come tomorrow, clearly were in no spirit to entertain poetry and prose.

   The idea of holding distaste for something so beautiful had never sat right with Amélie, for no matter how bleak her pre-built future seemed, she was always comforted in the fact that there had been someone out there who had lived it too, written about it, and come out on the other side.

   Their teacher sat at the front of the classroom, dressed similarly to Charlie━collared shirt, tie, jacket abandoned and strewn across the back of his chair. He looked just as kind as he did the day before, staring pensively out the window.

   Amélie saw no fault in that, quite willing to credit Welton for its beautiful scenery, but when the clocked ticked through minutes and the class had long-since filled and he still didn't lift his gaze from the glass panes, an odd sort of confusion rose in her.

   When he did stand, it wasn't with the alarm one would associate with a teacher somehow forgetting they had a class, but instead with waking up on a warm Saturday morning. Mr. Keating maintained his silence as he walked through the rows of tables.

   He stopped before Charlie, looking as though he discovered something none of them knew. "Uh-huh." He nodded before moving to a different table. He stood at the table to Amélie's left belonging to the boy she recognised as the one she fixated on during the opening ceremony. "Uh-huh." He nodded again, making no comment on the furious red hue to the boy's cheeks.

   Then he crossed the table of the brown-haired boy sat behind Amélie and jumped, clapping his hands together. "A-ha! Nimble young minds!"

   With confident and quick strides, he was back at the top, pulling out his chair, and. . . standing on his desk?

   A few laughs bubbled out of other students, but Amélie didn't even hear them, utterly transfixed on the man's every movement. If you told her that her eyes had become stars, she would've believed you without shame.

   "Oh Captain, My Captain. Who knows where that's from?"

   "Walt Whitman." Amélie hadn't realised she spoke aloud until she saw Katie finally turn to look at her and became the subject of Mr. Keating's beaming grin.

   "Excellent, Miss..."

   "Blanc. Amélie Blanc, sir."

   "Miss Amélie Blanc, thank you for your contribution, and you are correct. It was written by a poet called Walt Whitman about Mr. Abraham Lincoln. In this case, you may refer to me either as Mr. Keating or Oh Capitan, My Capitan."

   Mr. Keating stepped down and started strolling down the aisles. "So that I become the source of as few rumours as possible, let me tell you that yes, I was a student at this institution many moons ago, and no, at that time I did not possess this charismatic personality. However, should you choose to emulate my manner, it can only help your grade. So pick up a textbook from the front, gentlemen—" Amélie cleared her throat with measured politeness "and ladies, my apologies." He added with an unfamiliarly sincerity. "And let's retire to the honour room!"

   He said no more as he left the room, leaving them all to look at each other in confusion. Nobody wanted to be the first to move, unsure if they'd be subject to a lecture if they did.

   Amélie looked over her shoulder to see if Charlie had stood yet. He hadn't, but when he caught Amélie's gaze, he nodded at her in unspoken dare. I'll go if you go. Amélie nodded back. 3, 2, 1. Their chairs scraped against the floor, all eyes turning to them curiously.

   They paid none of them any mind, laughing to each other when Charlie grabbed two books, handing one to Amélie, and continuing out the door. No sooner had they passed the threshold did they hear more chairs shrieking and heavy footsteps thudding after them.

The honour room was just as uniform as the rest of the school, with pictures of classes dating back to the 1800s lining the walls and award cases stock-full of academic acclaims and football trophies. Mr. Keating was standing before them with his hands clasped behind his back, studying each and everyone one of them. Amélie shuffled her way to the back of the crowd, catching sight of Katie hovering by the door.

"Mister..." Mr. Keating stalled, consulting the roll, "Pitts. An unfortunate name. Stand forward, Mr. Pitts."

A tall boy with a square jaw and acne bumps on his forehead cleared his throat. He seemed nervous while he turned to the instructed page. "To The Virgins to Make Much Of Time?"

   "That's the one."

   The rest of the class let out giggles and the base of Pitts' neck turned a bright red. Amélie smiled amusedly and turned to look at her left. Katie had her arms folded across her chest and her eyes trained on Keating. "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. Old time is still a flying, And this same flower that smiled today, Tomorrow will be dying."

   "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. The Latin term for that phrase is 'Carpe Diem.' Anyone know what that means?"

   "Seize the day." Amélie heard Katie whisper beside her.

   "Carpe Diem. . . Seize the day." Steven Meeks chimed up from the front with much more authority and confidence than Katie had. The blonde clenched her fists and took a deep breath.

"Very good, Mr. . . ?"

"Meeks."

"Seize the day while you're young, see that you make use of your time. Why does the poet write these lines?"

"Because he's in a hurry?" A boy from the back asked with a laugh.

"Because we're food for worms, lads!" There was a passion in the way Keating spoke, the way he moved with such animation that Amélie couldn't help but hang onto his every word. "Because we're only going to experience a limited number of springs, summers, and falls. One day, hard as it is to believe, each and every one of us is going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die!"

An uncomfortable lapse of silence passed through the room as they let his message sink in. It was true, and it was something all of them knew in the back of their minds, but something they saw themselves as too young to care about.

   Amélie liked to imagine she'd live forever. If she lived forever, she'd be able to live outside of her father. She'd lead a quiet life in a woodsy area and wear pretty dresses and listen to good music. She'd be happy in her art and satisfied in the comfort that, no matter how much time had passed, the clouds outside her windows would stay the same.

   It wasn't that she feared death. She was well aware of its inevitability, but the idea of something so permanent being so unpredictable made a thick nausea stir in her stomach. A shudder ran up her spine at the thought.

   "Come forward and peruse the faces of boys who attended this school sixty or seventy years ago. Don't be timid, go look at them." Keating ushered them closer. The girls stayed to the back of the group, looking idly at whatever sat on the walls beside them.

   The graduating class of 1918 caught Amélie's eye, its golden plaque and mahogany frame calling her name. Near the front of those ghostly faces was that of her father. She didn't know if it was a comfort that he hadn't changed much since his youth. She wondered if he was kinder back then, gentler. If the cold art of cruelty hadn't yet seeped into his bones. She hoped for the sake of the child long-dead inside him that he was.

   Mr. Keating carried on with a message Amélie was sure would've been much more effective if she were a boy, preaching how those boys stood just as these ones did now, and how in years to come the children of their children would look upon these pictures the same.

   Katie wondered if there'd be girls amongst the crowd then, if they'd gather in their own group around her picture and marvel at the first women to graduate from Welton. The pioneers of the new age.

   She hadn't noticed Keating stopped talking until she was forced to a corner by boys milling out of the room. She saw Amélie still stood staring at a frame on the other side of the room and almost went over to her, but her anger looked like a devil on her shoulder and whispered words of hatred like venom in her ear. Amélie wouldn't want to speak to her anyway, not after what happened in Latin. She turned on her heel and left.

   "Clement Blanc." Mr. Keating read from beside her. Amélie jumped in her skin, embarrassment flooding her face when he let out a small chuckle. "My apologies. Your father, I presume?"

   "Yeah." Her voice was distant, caught between a daydream and reality. "It's not as weird as I thought it would be, seeing him like that." She didn't know why she said it, and she knew she didn't want to say anymore. Mr. Keating didn't quiz her.

   "How have you been finding the school yet, Miss Blanc? I understand it's a big change for you and Miss Wells."

   Amélie paused and realised she didn't actually have an answer. Shit was too blunt. She liked this class, Miss Waters was kind, and Charlie seemed nice. But at the same time, good was too forgiving. The workload was insane, she'd have more freedom if she were a golden-caged canary, and she didn't know what was going on with Katie but she didn't like it.

   "I'm not too sure. It's alright, I guess. I'm trying to keep optimistic about everything but it's a bit difficult when you're treated like a zoo animal all day."

   "While I know I'm in no place to pretend to know the extent of what you're going through, I do know what it's like to feel like you don't have a place somewhere. I understand Miss Waters is your designated superior, but know my office doors are always open should you need someone to talk to. Please extend that to Miss Wells as well."

   Whether it was the dust, or the homesickness, or the genuine care in his tone that made Amélie want to burst out crying then and there, she didn't know, but she knew she needed to get out of there that minute before she actually did.

   "Thank you, Mr. Keating, really." She made her way to the doorway. "or rather, Oh Captain, My Captain."

   She hurried out of the room without waiting for his response, finally feeling like she could breathe again in the open corridors, grateful that her daze saved her from being mauled by the human stampede of boys rushing back to their dorms, or the library, or wherever else after final bell.

   Back at the English classroom, she saw a group of boys huddled by the door and an apprehensive fear made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge. That was until she recognised the back Pitts and Meeks' heads, they didn't seem the type to be involved in any badness. And then Charlie stuck his head out from in front of them, pointing an accusatory finger Amélie's way and a breath of relief escaped her.

   "You still up for the study group I mentioned before? 8 tonight." He asked, as if the pressure of six more boys staring her down in anticipation was nothing.

   "What are you covering tonight?" She asked, quickly ducking in to grab her bag from her desk.

   "Trig." One of the unfamiliar boys cut in. Amélie thought he was the one Keating found revelation in earlier.

   Maths was one of her worse subjects, and they seemed a friendly enough bunch, all welcoming smiles and endearingly nervous eyes. "Sure." Amélie nodded happily. "But what are your names again?" She asked, falling into step with the group as they walked towards the stairwell separating the staff quarters from the student dorms.

   Charlie, who made sure to stand by her side, seemed to take great pride in being the one to introduce the others. "That little genius is Steven Meeks." He pointed to the redhead who reached forward to shake Amélie's hand. He mumbled a small 'Nice to meet you'.

   "That tall drink of water is Gerard Pitts." The lanky boy only nodded briefly at Amélie, though the look on his face let her know their was no meanness in the action.

   "Then we've got Knoxious━"

   "Knox Overstreet." The boy corrected him, smiling at Amélie with a pleasant kindness that she returned from over her shoulder.

   "He likes to cut people off. Watch out." Charlie warned playfully, moving away when Knox threatened to lean across Meeks to hit his arm. "That's Neil." He pointed to the one who answered her a minute ago. It was difficult for her to see him, his silhouette hidden by Pitt's towering figure, but she could hear his 'Hello' and returned it with a 'Hi' of her own. 

   "Then there's Todd, he's new too!" The boy who sat beside her in English looked up to meet her eyes quickly, flashing her a smile that both looked and felt like more of  a grimace, then looing away again.

   "Oh, and that's Cameron." Charlie said with much less gusto than the others, gesturing lazily to the boy on his other side.

   "Hi." He said with much more tightness and reserve than the other boys had, and without the redeeming kindness of his face too.

   Amélie was about to break away from them, already on the first step of the stairs leading to her room when something dawned on her. "Wait!" She called out, they all turned around with different measures of alarm on their faces. "It's in your common room, right?" They nodded. "Make sure the grounds window is open."

   There was a mischievous glint in her eye that made Cameron fear she'd cause more trouble than she was worth, but before he could voice his objections, Neil was nodded in promise.

   "See you at 8!" Amélie beamed before waving goodbye and making her way upstairs.

   Katie was in the room already when she arrived, sat at her desk with her nose buried in her Latin textbook.

   The a heavy silence hung between them, the tension choking Amélie even after she pulled off her tie. "I like the English teacher. He's nice."

   The blonde didn't look up from her work. "He seems strange, but definitely interesting. He's passionate about it, at least."

   "He said to tell you that his door's open if we ever need to talk about anything. If it gets a bit too much, y'know?" They both knew this was as close as they'd get to talking about Latin. Katie took a deep breath.

   "That's nice of him, but I think I'll be okay."

   "I was talking to some of the boys earlier. They're not that bad. I could introduce you to them tomorrow if you want."

   "I'm fine."

   "Are you sure? I mean, a few friends never hurt anyone and━"

   "I said I'm fine, Amélie."

   The tension was back tenfold. Amélie folded her blazer over the back of her desk chair. "Right. I think I'm gonna go to the library to study for a bit before lights out tonight."

   "Okay."

   Any other words, any small and insignificant conversation starters died in Amélie's throat. She cut her losses, fell into her chair, and began her chemistry homework, counting down the minutes until 8 o'clock.

( author's note. . . )
my girls ☹️ also why did i have to remind myself so many times that this isn't a charlie fic guys i swear they're best friends they're too alike to be together