𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑

10. 𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒐 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒂

As of roughly twelve forty-five in the morning of November 12th, 1959, you were avoiding your father at all given costs.

As far as you were aware, no one had seen you enter his office or exit seconds later with the binder containing all of the answers to the chemistry midterm in your arms. And as far as you were aware, no one spotted you on your way to your room where you copied the answers into a notebook or as you handed off that very notebook to Steven Meeks, who committed them to memory before taking Charlie's lighter to the page and stomping it out on the patio of the library.

And although you were confident that your little stunt hadn't been witnessed by any nosey underclassmen, you still found yourself hiding on the roof of the dorm hall, watching Pitts and Meeks scurry around with the HAM radio they'd been building all semester.

Coincidentally, they were also hiding. Only they were just trying to avoid their bi-weekly physical education class, not possible expulsion.

From high above the rest of the buildings on campus, you could see virtually everyone and everything. Down on the lake, three long rowboats were gliding along the water's glassy surface, oars spooning up water and disturbing it's sleek appearance. You recognized a few familiar faces in the boats and waved down at Knox, who was loudly chastizing Charlie for splashing water down the back of his shirt.

Across the courtyard, you could see Todd standing awkwardly in the middle of the soccer field. He looked longingly out at the lake, miserably tugging on the hem of his soccer jersey. He wanted to do rowing with the rest of the boys, but everyone knew that once Nolan chose your extracurricular, it was yours until the day you graduated.

"A little bit to the left, (Y/N)."

You jolted back to the present so quickly that you almost lost your balance. You were standing on the ledge of the roof, a single fist balled in the fabric of Pitts' cable knit sweater, the only thing preventing you from falling. In your free hand you held a cold metal rod up to the cloudy sky. They grew tired of listening to you complain about how bored you were while waiting up on that roof so eventually they put you to work.

"Like this?"

"No, actually that's–" Meeks huffed in frustration. "Here," he said, still looking down at the clunky device in his lap. He reached up and planted his hands on the crest of your hips, carefully guiding you in the direction that he required as if you were just another piece of his equipment. You didn't even think he knew what he was doing until he drew back to mess with a collection of knobs and buttons.

You held as still as possible until Pitts let out a triumphant laugh and yanked you down from the ledge. "We got it!" He exclaimed. "We actually got a signal!"

Meeks pulled the chunky headset down around his neck and twisted the volume knob all the way to the right. Music; loud, staticky, and guitar-heavy filled the air of the rooftop. You barely recognized the tune, but you didn't care. Music was music. And this was perhaps the first time in history that anything resembling rock and roll had ever been played on Welton property.

"Radio free America!" Meeks hollered, no longer caring if any of the professors were to look up and see the three of you dancing on the roof of the boy's dorm. New-age music sounded different outside of the radio in Chris' bedroom. And so much better. 

Actually, you decided right then and there that there was only one true way to play music; blasting it through the headset of a handmade HAM radio on the roof of a boy's prep school in mid-November.

Riding the high of success, Pitts pulled you away from the top of the stairs and spun you around carefully until you were just as giggly and danced-out as they were. The song lasted a little over four minutes, and only when the final chords were strumming through the ancient headset did you hear someone calling your name from the ground below.

Meeks fumbled to unplug the radio, scurrying to hide it away from the ledge in case it was Hager who had come calling. But when you and Pitts peeked over the side of the building, you smiled upon seeing Neil beaming up at you from the grass. He was waving his arms frantically over his head, his grey crew neck still wet with lake water from his rowing trip. Was the period over already?

"But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and (Y/N) is the sun!" He called, laughing.

"And hello to you, fair Romeo," you snickered, leaning your elbows against the brick overhang. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Just come down! Quick!"

Neil smiled that same smile that he snuck your way during the ceremony. It was the smile that read—you'll never believe what's about to happen. And to his credit, you never did. 

You waved a quick goodbye to the guys, pretending not to notice their crestfallen expressions manifesting as you skipped down the stairwell. You had barely made it to the bottom step when Neil came thundering down the hall toward you, sweeping you up into his arms and spinning you twice in a circle for good measure.

You were a mess of laughter by the time he landed you back on your feet and thrusted a pale pink sheet of paper into your hands. "What's this?" you sighed, still trying to catch your breath.

"I found it." Neil's eyes sparkled as he spoke. Like he was casting a spell.

"Found what?"

"What I want to do right now. What's really inside me."

Prompted by his encouraging look, you slowly unfolded the sheet of paper in your hands until you were holding it open like a birthday card.

𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: 𝐀 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭'𝐬 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦

You had barely finished reading it when Neil grabbed you by the shoulders. He lowered himself until you were facing each other eye to unwavering eye. "For the first time in my life I know what I want to do and for the first time I'm going to do it. Whether my father wants me to or not! Carpe Diem!"

If it had been anywhere near curfew, his shout alone would have woken half the student body. But luckily it wasn't. The only person around for him to disturb was you. You finished reading the paper as Neil danced around you, mumbling about fairies and woodland creatures and William Shakespeare.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news," you squeaked, holding out the pink slip. "But it does say that you need written permission from a parent or legal guardian."

He deflated almost instantly and you regretted uttering a single word. "Dammit," he cursed, licking his lips. His eyes were downcast and you only needed to spare him a single glance to know that he was deep in thought.

There was no way in heaven or hell that a man like Mr. Perry would consent to something like this. He barely wrote off on Neil's summer schooling because he thought your presence was going to pose a distraction to his prodigal son.

Pinning your bottom lip between your teeth, you considered. There was a certain weight in your backpack—the weight of the binder that you kept meaning to return to your father's office. The binder that held his lesson plans and virtually every other important document he might possess.

"I can take care of that," you said, without completely thinking it though. Neil's eyebrows furrowed as you pulled your backpack off of one shoulder and sifted through your school supplies before producing a single sheet of cream-colored paper.

From The Administration Offices of Welton Academy was printed across the top in bold sweeping letters. The red and white emblem glared back at you as you held it out to Neil along with the crumpled pink sheet. "You're a writer. Go nuts."

He read the header almost a dozen times before his lips curled into an excited smile. "Perfect!" He exclaimed, carefully tucking it into his pocket before pulling you into a tight hug. When Neil pulled away, he didn't do so without presenting your forehead with a quick, mindless peck. "This means the world to me. Thank you."

"Of course," you beamed. You couldn't explain it, but there came such a rush with making Neil happy. Like you were somehow restoring order to the universe. You would do it again and again just to feel it. "Anything for you."

(A/N: This update came to me last night so I spent tonight editing. Sorry updates are so slow! I'm getting back on track once my college apps are in!)