5

After lunch the juniors assembled in the gymnasium for the required physical education class. 

"Okay, laddies," the gym master shouted, "we're going to make something of those bodies yet. Start running around the gym. Stop after each round and check your pulse. See me if you don't have a pulse."

 The girls groaned and began jogging around the huge gym. The master chuckled and walked to the edge, leaning against the wall to observe the runners.

 "Hastings, move it. We've got to get some of that gut off of you," he called to one girl. 

"Check your pulse. "Nice run, Osborne," he called out. "Good pacing." Katherine smiled and waved as he passed by the teacher. None of them thought they'd make it through the class, but by the end of the period, they'd surprised themselves.

 "I'm going to die!" Pierce gasped, standing in the shower after the class. "That woman should head a military school!"

 "Come on, Pitts, it's good for you," Collins laughed.

 "That's easy for you to say," Pierce shouted back. "The women didn't embarrass you to death."

 Pierce turned quickly to face the wall as the gym master strolled through the shower room, monitoring the activity.

 "How about a study group?" Mccall called out from the shower. "Right after dinner."

 "Great! Good by me," several of the girls agreed. "Pick up the soap, Harrison," the gym master called out. 

"You there," he pointed at another girl, "hurry and dry off!"

 "Sorry Mccall, I can't make it," Katherine said. "I have to sign out to have dinner at the Pertersons' house." 

"Who are the Petersons?" Pierce asked. "Whew! Big alums," Collins whistled. "How'd you pull that?" 

Katherine shrugged. "They're friends of my dad. Probably in their nineties or something." 

"Listen," Nore laughed. "Anything is better than the mystery meat we get here."

 "I'll second that!" Charlotte agreed. The girls finished getting dressed, tossed their gym clothes in their lockers, and headed out. Talia sat silently on the bench, slowly pulling up his sock.

 "A penny for your thoughts?" Nora laughed, as he sat down next to Talia.

 "Not even worth that much," Talia said, shaking his head. 

"Want to come to the study group?" Nora asked.

 "Thanks, but … I'd better do history," Talia smiled. 

"Okay, you can always change your mind," Nora answered. She gathered up his books and headed out of the gym. 

Talia watched her leave and then stared into space again. She put on her shoes, picked up her own books, and walked slowly back to the dorm.

 In the distance Toalia saw the fiery-red sun sinking behind the green perimeter of trees that enclosed the sprawling campus. 

"It's big, but it's so small here," she sighed, looking around.

 Inside the dorm, she smiled at several girls in the hall but walked into her room and quickly closed the door. 

She put his books on the desk, sighed again loudly, and sat down.

 "I can't believe all the work I have to do," she said as she flipped through the stack of books. He opened his history book, took out a notebook, and stared at the first clean sheet of paper.

 Absently, he scribbled SEIZE THE DAY in big, black letters. 

"Seize the day?" he questioned aloud. "How?" 

He sighed again, ripped the page out of the notebook, and threw it into the wastebasket. He turned a page in the history book and started to read.

"Ready, Osborne?" Dr. Brown asked, as he walked into the Honors Room, where Knox Overstreet was once again studying the pictures of old Welton students. 

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," he answered as he followed Dr. Hager out to the school "woody" station wagon parked in front of the building. 

The changing colors of the Vermont autumn were muted by the darkness. "It's beautiful when the colors change, isn't it, Dr. Brown?" Katherine asked enthusiastically.

 "Colors? Oh, yes," Brown mumbled as he drove the old wagon to the rambling mansion where the distinguished family lived.

"Thanks for the ride, Dr. Brown," Katherine smiled. "The Petersons said they'll bring me back to campus." 

"No later than nine, my dear," the old teacher said solemnly.

 "Yes, sir." She turned and walked to the door of the large, white, colonial house and rang the bell.

Two hours later, Katherine staggered into the lobby of the dorm where Nora, Collins, Davis Mccall and Pierce were studying math. Mccall and Pierce worked on assembling a small crystal radio as the study session progressed. Katherine collapsed onto a couch.

 "How was dinner?" Charlotte asked. "You look shell-shocked. What did they serve, Welton Mystery Meat?"

 "Terrible," Katherine wailed. "Awful! I just met the most handsomest guy I have ever seen in my life!" 

Nora jumped up from the study group and ran over to the couch. 

 "Are you crazy? What's wrong with that?" 

"He's practically engaged to Chloe Renfield," Katherine moaned. 

"Too bad," Piece said.

 "Too bad! It's not too bad, it's a tragedy!" Katherine shouted. "Why does this cruel world want me to die alone?"

"All the good ones go for jerks," Pierce said matter-of-factly. "You know that. Forget him. Take out your trig book and figure out problem 12."

 "I can't just forget him, Pierce. And I certainly can't think about math!" 

"Sure you can. You're off on a tangent—so you're halfway into trig already!" Mccall laughed loudly.

 "Oh, Mccall! That was terrible," Collins said, shaking his head. Mccall grinned sheepishly. 

"I thought it was clever." Katherinestopped pacing and faced his friends. "You really think I should forget him?" 

"You have another choice?" Pierce said. Katherine dropped to his knees in front of Pitts as though he were proposing.

 "Only you, Piericie," she implored, with an exaggerated sigh. 

"There's only you!" Pierce pushed her away, and Katherine slumped into a chair in the lobby as the girls resumed their math.

 "That's it for tonight, guys," Mccall said, breaking up the study group. "Tomorrow will bring more work, fear not." 

"Say, what happened to Talia?" Collins asked as they gathered up their books.

 "Said he wanted to do history," Nora said. 

"Come on, Katherine," Collins said. "You'll survive this chick.Maybe you'll think of something to win her love. Remember, seize the day!"

 Katherine smiled, got up from the couch, and followed the girls to their rooms.

 The following morning Todd Anderson sat in a chair beside his desk. His mood seemed serious and quiet. "Girls," he said as the class bell rang, "open your Pritchard text to page 21 of the introduction. Ms. Parker"—he gestured toward Nora—"kindly read aloud the first paragraph of the preface entitled 'Understanding Poetry.'"

 The boys found the pages in their text, sat upright, and followed as Nora read: "'Understanding Poetry, by Dr. J. Evan Pritchard, Phd. To fully understand poetry, we must first be fluent with its meter, rhyme, and figures of speech, then ask two questions: 1) How artfully has the objective of the poem been rendered and 2) How important is that objective? Question 1 rates the poem's perfection; question 2 rates its importance. Once these questions have been answered, determining the poem's greatness becomes a relatively simple matter. If the poem's score for perfection is plotted on the horizontal of a graph and its importance is plotted on the vertical, then calculating the total area of the poem yields the measure of its greatness. A sonnet by Byron might score high on the vertical but only average on the horizontal. A Shakespearean sonnet, on the other hand, would score high both horizontally and vertically, yielding a massive total area, thereby revealing the poem to be truly great.'"

Anderson rose from his seat as Nora read and went to the blackboard. He drew a graph, demonstrating by lines and shading, how the Shakespeare poem would overwhelm the Byron poem.

 Nora continued reading. "'As you proceed through the poetry in this book, practice this rating method. As your ability to evaluate poems in this manner grows, so will your enjoyment and understanding of poetry.'" 

Nora stopped, and Anderson waited a moment to let the lesson sink in. Then Keating grabbed onto his own throat and screamed horribly. "HHHHGGGG!!" he shouted. "Refuse! Garbage! Pus! Rip it out of your books. Go on, rip out the entire page! I want this rubbish in the trash where it belongs!" 

He grabbed the trash can and dramatically marched down the aisles, pausing for each boy to deposit the ripped page from his book. The whole class laughed and snickered.

 "Make a clean tear," Anderson cautioned. "I want nothing left of it! Dr. J. Evans Pritchard, you are disgraceful!"

 The laughter grew, and it attracted the attention of the German teacher, Mrs. Fedli, across the hall. Mrs. Fedli came out of her room and peeked into the door window as the girls ripped the pages from their books. 

Anderson strutted back to the front of the room, put the trash can on the floor and jumped into it. 

The boys laughed louder. Fire danced in Anderson's eyes. He stomped the trash a few times, then stepped out and kicked the can away.

 "This is battle, girls," he cried. "War! You are souls at a critical juncture. Either you will succumb to the will of academic hoi polloi, and the fruit will die on the vine—or you will triumph as individuals.

 "Have no fear, you will learn what this school wants you to learn in my class; however, if I do my job properly, you will also learn a great deal more. For example, you will learn to savor language and words because no matter what anyone tells you, words and ideas have the power to change the world. A moment ago I used the term 'hoi polloi.'

 Who knows what it means? Come on,Osborne, you twerp."

 The class laughed. 

"Abbot, are you a human or a statue?" 

The class laughed again, and everyone looked at Talia. she tensed visibly, and, unable to speak, jerkily shook her head. 

"No." 

Mccall raised her hand. "The hoi polloi. Doesn't it mean 'the herd'?"

"Precisely, Mccall," Keating said. "Greek 'for the herd.' However, be warned that when you say 'the hoi polloi,' you are actually saying, 'the herd,' indicating that you, too, are hoi polloi!"

 Anderson grinned wryly, and Mccall smiled. The teacher paced to the back of the room. 

"Now Ms. Pierce may argue that nineteenth-century literature has nothing to do with business school or medical school. He thinks we should study our J. Evans Pritchard, learn our rhyme and meter, and quietly go about our business of achieving other ambitions." 

Pierce smiled and shook her head.

 "Who, me?" she asked. 

Anderson slammed his hand on the wall behind him, and the sound reverberated like a drum. The entire class jumped and turned to the rear. 

"Well," Anderson whispered defiantly. "I say—drivel! One reads poetry because they are members of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion! Medicine, law, banking—these are necessary to sustain life. But poetry, romance, love, beauty? These are what we stay alive for! "I quote from Whitman: "O me! O life! of the questions of these recurring, Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill'd with the foolish, … What good amid these, O me, O life? Answer That you are here—That life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse!" Keating paused.

The class sat silent, taking in the message of the poem. Anderson looked around again and repeated awestruck, 

"'That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.'" He stood silent at the back of the room, then slowly walked to the front.

 All eyes were riveted on his impassioned face. Keating looked around the room. 

"What will your verse be?" he asked intently. The teacher waited a long moment, then softly broke the mood.

 "Let's open our texts to page 60 and learn about Wordsworth's notion of romanticism."