#because my room is tiny ans so is my desk and it was definitely not designed for TWO 24’’ MONITORS A PC GINAT KEYBOARD AND A MOUSE

[dnptheinfinity]

can’t believe its not even 3 pm yet wtf

[lostinmymindpalace-m]

The Light of Knowledge

Chapter one, part 2/2, in which the thoughts are free

I want to make good use of my time and get a general idea of the material, so I return to my room directly after dinner and skim through the school books. They seem to be quite advanced in English here and the topics in mathematics and chemistry look more complicated than anything I have done so far, too. I take a deep breath, rub my glasses clean on my blazer and start taking notes. Outside it's getting dark and I have to turn on my desk light to be able to read my tiny, compendious  handwriting. But I manage to make connections between the new topics and my body of knowledge. Now that's not looking too bad. I surely won't be easy, but I think I can handle the work load. Finally, I take my diary out of the drawer and write down what happened today. The words are flying so fast my hand struggles to keep up, but I feel more relaxed with every sentence. When I put the pen away, there is just half an hour left until lights-out, so I put on my pyjamas, take off the glasses and go to the bathroom. Fortunately, it's empty. I brush my teeth, stare into the mirror and think about tomorrow. The class representative Neil and the other guys seem really nice, I sat with them during dinner and they treated me very well, better than I'm used to. But I assume they were raised to be more polite than the boys at my old school. Hopefully the rest of my classmates are the same. Hopefully I get good teachers. What if they treat me different because I'm a girl? Only the foam that's running down my wrist from the endless brushing bringst me back to reality. 

The next morning I jump out of bed at the first ring of the alarm clock. Put on a fresh uniform and admire it in the bathroom mirror as I fix my tie. The only one I recognize during breakfast is Richard Cameron. He is sitting alone and reading and I intend to do the same. Just like last night, students start to whisper when I walk by, some of so younger ones even point fingers at me. It makes me feel like I don't belong here and I can't let that happen, therefore the book. I have the right to be here and go to an ivy league college and so do so many other girls. Just get used to it. My first class of the day is chemistry, so I get my school bag from my room and head for the chemistry building. I'm way to early, but the laboratory isn't locked. I push the door open carefully and sit down in a row of tables in the middle of the room. A teacher comes in from the secondary room and, before I can say a word, tells me to hand out a thick pile of papers. While I walk around and put a project list on every table, my classmates enter the room in small groups. Neil and Todd are the last ones to arrive, they scurry into the lab just as the bell rings. As soon as class begins, I stop looking left ans right and note down what Mr. Hartley tells us. A laboratory experiment every five weeks, 20 questions due tomorrow. I make a note to read through the project list later today. The rest of the lesson is a lecture about acids and bases. When the bell rings, I have to shake out my hand. I grabbed my pen so hard it started cramping. Next is Latin with Mr. McAllister, a man with a Scottish accent who is walking up and down in front of the class, repeating diffrently conjugated and declined words that we have to echo. I hardly manage to write them down. What a stupid way to teach us the conjugational and declinational classes I think as I examine my poorly legable notes. There is a system that the words follow depending on their basic form. It's easy enough, but not when you just repeat random words. I scribble nominative, genitive, accusative, ablative, dative and singular, plural onto the page and decide to copy all of this again correctly. Math class on the other hand is no problem for me. Dr. Hager makes us stand up and recite definitions and methods of solutions from memory, but since I prepared myself last night, the questions aren't too difficult. When I repeat the definition of a cosine correctly, he gives me an approving look. Then he announces that any missed assignment will cause the subtraction of one point on our final grade. I quickly note that down and underline it twice. Not that I planned on not doing my homework, put this does increase the pressure. All in all, I'm a bit stressed when I sit down in the English classroom. The teacher, Mr. Keating, is sitting in front of the class, looking outside of the window and ignores us completely. That's kind of weird, but a nice break. I clean my glasses and try to relax a bit. Mr. Keating got up by now and is pacing around the room. Meanwhile he's swinging a ruler through the air and randomly points it at students. They look just as confused as I feel. „Ha! You flexible young brains!“, he suddenly shouts, which doesn't really help to clarify the situation. Then he jumps onto his desk and recites loudly: „Captain, my Captain!“ The others exchange looks. „Does anyone know who this is from?“

After the lesson, when I follow the stream of students to lunch, Keatings words are still stuck in my head. He made us go to the entrance hall and look at the pictures of former students while Gerard Pitts read out a poem. Infront of the walls I wished my picture upon just yesterday, he talked to us about our own finiteness. That was... something different. We are food for worms... I can hardly wrap my young and flexible head around it. I eat lunch, but whatever it is, it leaves no impression on me. Carpe diem, seize the day, make your lives extraordinary. I feel like this should move something inside of me, make me wiser, somehow. But all I can think of is that I am working to make my life extraordinary, that one day, my picture will be among these boys in the entrance hall. I only have two years here, assuming everything goes as planned. I can't let my concetration slip, not on my first day, not ever. So I take Mr. Keating's insistend words, open a little drawer in my head and lock them away.

The sports lesson in the afternoon helps me to shake of the memory of English class. All we do is run rounds in the hall and when it's finally over, and I'm done changing in the bathroom, my legs are wobbly, but my mind is free. I once again register how beautiful the school grounds look in the sunlight, so I take my homework and sit down on the lawn at the lake. I wonder what's going on at home. It's hard to believe that I've only been here for a day. How are Mom and Dad? Do James and Betty miss me? Ich shake my head. It doesn't matter. Thinking about them will only make you miss them and that won't help anyone. So I take a deep breath, watch a bunch of seventh graders throw someone's homework in the lake and start studying. By the time I'm done with math and chemistry, the air has cooled down considerably. I stroll back to the housing and think about my plans for the rest of the day. My Latin notes nedd to be rewritten. Should I do that in the common room? Other people will be there. But it's surely going to be loud. But you'll have to make contact eventually.Or not. They will only distract me. I'm still working on this question at dinner, when a tipping on my wrenches me out of my thoughts. It's Neil. „Do you have any plans for tonight, Diana?“, he asks kindly. „We are doing a study group later, you're welcome to join us if you want.“ Some of the other boys are peeking in our direction, their clearly hopefull expression makes me smile. But I refuse. „Thanks for asking, but I think I would rather do my homework in my room. Maybe another time.“ So I spend my first full day at Welton exactly how I planned it: With undistracted studying. I finish my work and write in my diary, then I put on my checked pyjamas and read poems from my English book before I go to sleep.

The next days proceed just the same: The classes are hard, I am prepared, Mr. Keating's lessons are extraordinary. Each one is fascinating and thrilling, but I'm not sure I like that. Sometimes I almost back of a little, as if too much contact with Mr. Keating's way of thinking could cause some kind of harm to me. Once, he makes us rip pages out of a school book. I hesitate for a moment, because as funny as this idea is, I can't afford to get in trouble. As if to confirm my foreshadowing, Mr. McAllister enters the room just when I'm tossing the introduction into the understandig of poetry by Dr. J. Evans Pritchard PhD into the dustbin. Thanks to Mr. Keating aren't in trouble, but my heart still misses a beat. I just hope we learn everything we need for exams.

I do my repetitions and the homework in the afternoon and fill the remaining time with exercises, reading and studying. As time goes by, I feel more and more at home at Welton, the boys seem to start accepting my presence, some of them I really like by now. My extracurricular acticities are interesting and I attend every meeting, thus I frequently spend my afternoons in the company of Meeks, Charlie, Cameron, Knox or Todd (I don't really get why some of them are referred to with their surname, but whatever). The pupil's magazine is my favourite. We have a lot of fun every time and I really like writing articles. Charlie says, I could easily make the team of chief editors, but I don't want to. Writing is amazing, but I would rather prepare myself for my classes than go to two extra meetings a week. Sometimes, when I'm done with my school work and the sun is just setting, I go to the entrance hall to look at the awards that are illuminated by the last warm rays. In these moments, I feel like my heart will explode with happiness and pride. I'm so excited for the future.

It's a paticularly autumn day, I sit with my back against a tree, let she sun warm my face and work on my translation for Latin. Or at least I try. But something keeps distracting me. It's not the boys playing soccer and cricket on the school grounds, that's for sure. I sigh and read what I unconciously scribbled on the edge of my paper.

The powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse

That's what Mr. Keating told us at the end of class today. It has been stuck in my head ever since. Or maybe it has been bouncing up and down in my brain, messing up my vocabulary and causing the throbbing pain behind my temple. I shove the Latin book away and rub my eyes in frustration. I want to contribute a verse. I really do. That's why I'm here, that's why I study every day. I have been given the opportunity to be so much more than I could ever hope for. To be able to contribute a verse when I'm done with school. I will be the girl that gave generations of female students the opportunity to attend the best preparation school in the USA. If I only work hard enough, the project will be successfull. It has to be. So why do I keep thinking about these words? I slowly open my eyes and notice my former welcoming committee rushing across the lawn. They talk to Mr. Keating and show him something. Is it a book? Maybe they had a question about something we did in class. Whatever. I put my glasses back on and give Latin another try. Honestly, what was Ovid thinking. A logical sentence structure never hurt anybody. The next time I look up, Mr. Keating is gone, but the boys are still huddled together for what seems like a heated discussion. I wonder what is going on. When the dinner bell rings, they move back to school, still talking vividly.

It starts to rain during dinner. But it's a study night anyway, so I pack up my books and go to what I call the big homework room. Dr. Hager is supervising and pollutes the air with his pipe smoke. Aside or that, I like study nights. Doing school work can get lonely in the long run and here I have company without getting distracted. Normally. There is a lively whisper coming from the table in the back. The guys seem to continue their discussion. They are bowed over something on the table and whisper so agitatedly that Hager looks up from his book and admonishes them to be quiet. Todd isn't with them. Usually, him and Neil are inseparable... I put the pen away and let my gaze wander over the bent necks. Actually, Todd is sitting a few tables apart from the others, looking up from his work every few minutes and watching the guys unhappily. What is going on? When Dr. Hager calls them to order again, I guiltily turn back to my homework. But just a few minutes later, a movement catches my attention again. Neil got up and is sneaking to Todds table. Whatever Neil is trying to convince him of, Todd doesn't seem to like it. Suddenly Neil jumps up and speeds to the others with a smirk. I watch Todd who is looking after him in a slightly desperate way and somehow our eyes meet. For a moment, we look at each other over the tables and open books, then I give him a small smile and go back to my work.

Shortly before lights-out, someone knocks at my door. It's Neil. „May I come in?“ „Yeah, sure, wait a minute.“ He closes the door behind him and I take my books from the desk chair and shove the candles and socks aside so he can sit. „What is it?“, I ask as I drop down onto my bed. Neil hesitates for a moment, then he says: „I just wanted to see if you're alright. I mean, you're always by yourself studying“, he smiles, but his eyes seek mine, „so we hardly get to see you. But Todd said you looked kind of sad tonight. You aren't afraid to hang out with us, are you?“ „No, of course not. What makes you think that?“ „Hm“, he says and absentmindedly lights one of the candles on my desk. „So if I asked you if you wanted to come to a club meeting in a cave across the river, let's say, tonight, you would come?“ I rise my eyebrows. „It's late and we have school tomorrow.“ He starts laughing. „It's Friday, Diana.“ „Well, it doesn't matter. I have work to do tomorrow and there is a debate club meeting I have to attend. I'm sorry. I really like you guys. It's just... I have to focus on school, you know.“ He nods slowly. None of us talks for a moment. „I heard you got a part in a play, how is that going?“ His face lights up immediately. „It's so great. We only started rehearsing like two weeks ago but“, he seesaws back and forth in excitement, „I love it already. Acting is great. Makes me feel alive.“ He looks away with a beaming smile and notices my diary on the desk, dangerously near the lighted candle. „You write a diary? About the fascination of Welton?“ I shrug and pick up the worn out notebook. „I used to, but I haven't written in a while, actually. I didn't feel like it I guess.“ I can feel his eyes on me as I stroke the cover with my fingertips. He gets up. „I'm glad you came by, Neil.“ For a moment, he stops, still looking at me pensively. „You know what you told me when I showed you around the school, on your first day?“, he asks. „The thoughts are free? Doesn't look like it to me.“ Then he leaves. I bite my lip and slowy sink down on my desk chair. Watch the flickering flame he lit. For a moment, I let myself wonder, patting the notebook in my hands. Then I take a deep breath and blow the candle out.  

The days go on and the weather keeps getting worse. The sun seems to drown in dark grey clouds and cold rain and I can't go outside anymore. So I do my homework in my room and read out poems to the ceiling until I know them by heart. I've gotten only As in all my assignments. The teachers seem satisfied with me. I should be thrilled. But the truth is, my mood is as dark as the sky outside. Maybe I miss my family. Right know, I'm not even sure what I feel. Kind of numb. I'm rewriting my notes from today's chemistry class under the light of my desk lamp. Outside of my window, a rainstorm is raging. Huge drops are drumming on the roof and I have several unmeant lines on my paper from when I winced at the thunder. When I finish a paragraph about aldehydes, the room goes dark in a flash. I try to switch the lamp back on, but it doesn't work. A riot starts in the other rooms. Seems like a blackout. Annoying, but what can I do. I take off my glasses and rub my burning eyes. I can't focus anyway. Once again, Mr. Keating's lesson is stuck in my head. I stand upon my desk to remind myself that we must constantly look at things in a different way. We stood on his desk today. It felt weird, but also... As if it could make you wiser, in a Mr. Keating way. For some reason, I find my dark room unsettling, so I take out a candle. As I light it, I suddenly remember Neil doing exactly the same. He told me my thoughts weren't free anymore... I frown, because that doesn't make any sense. In fact, I think I have never thought more than I do right now. But still... What he said touched something inside of me and I don't understand why. Try to see it from a different perspective. Carefully, I move the burning candle to the side and crouch on my desk. I can't stand up because the ceiling is too low, but it's a start. Unfortunately, I still don't get it, I just feel silly. What a mess. I really miss home. What happened to me? I used to be so excited about this school, about every single day, every single class. I try to listen for the joy, for the feeling of freedom, but my chest feels empty. And alone. I feel so alone and it's dark and my knees start to hurt from cowering on the table. Tears make the candle flame look blurry. I remember what Neil said about acting: It makes me feel alive. I want to feel alive. Crouching on your desk and sobbing in the dark doesn't. I remember the boys whispering at dinner, excited, planning. Maybe they went to this cave Neil mentioned, before the rain started. For a minute, I sit still, my mind racing. Then I blow out the candle, grab my coat and run out the door.

It appears that I have underestimated this blackout-causing thunderstorm, because I'm dripping wet by the time I reach the edge of the woods. But I don't care. I understand how stupid it is to run through the forest in a thunderstorm, looking for a cave you have never seen before. But I don't care. The rain is cold, but at least my body has stopped feeling numb. When I finally hear voices and stumble into the mouth of a small cave in the hillside, I am facing six dumbfounded boys. Pitts looks like he is choking on a cigarette. I can't blame him.

When the shock and confusion are over, I'm welcomed to sit next to the fire that somehow is still burning, but besmoking us all. Nuzzled into Knox' and Todd's jackets, I explain why I the hell I'm here. And while Charlie tells me this sounds like some hard marrow-of-life-sucking to him, while I watch the bright flames and take in deep breaths of smokey air, I feel it.

Free. Alive.