Diana Bennet, the Welton-famous pessimist has had an interesting time at the prestigious academy she attends. But with a new English teacher and an alter in rivalry things begin to change.
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"To Chris," Knox began, trembling as he clutched the sheet of paper in his hands as close to his chest as possible.
A random sea of mumbles spreads through the classes, most of them asking who Chris was. I felt bad for my friend, but gave him a supportive smile and thumbs up when he looked my way.
"I see a sweetness in her smile. Blight light shines from her eyes. But life is complete; contentment is mine, Just knowing that..."
A variety of students begin to snicker, off-putting him as he finished his sentence.
"Just knowing that she's alive," Knox finished, crumpling his piece into a ball and looking down at the floor.
"Sorry Captain, it's stupid."
"No, no, it's not stupid. It's a good effort. It touched on one of the major themes, love. A major theme not only in poetry, but life. Mr. Hopkins, you were laughing. You're up." Keating instructed, smiling sympathetically at Knox as Charlie slapped the boy hard on his back.
I watch as Hopkins walks to the front of the class, unfolding an oddly small piece of paper. He glanced up before reading, smirking at us all from his spot at the front of the room.
He cleared his throat before speaking, "The cat sat on the mat."
All his friends burst into laughter, while the rest of us let out a small chuckle or just waited for our teacher's reaction.
"Congratulations, Mr. Hopkins. Yours is the first poem to ever have a negative score on the Pritchard scale. We're not laughing at you, we're laughing near you. I don't mind that your poem had a simple theme. Sometimes the most beautiful poetry can be about simple things, like a cat, or a flower or rain. You see, poetry can come from anything with the stuff of revelation in it. Just don't let your poems be ordinary. Now, who's next?" Keating surveyed the room, scouting for his next victim.
I avoided eye contact, staring at my desk as if I was pre-occupied with something.
"Ms Bennet, would you do us the honour?" Keating asked, smiling innocently at me.
I muttered a variety of profanities under my breath as I pulled out the piece of paper I was told to bring. I stood up from my desk, tucking in my chair and making my way towards the front. I avoided eye contact with everyone, staring at the sheet in my hands so hard I thought if I were to blink it would evaporate in front of me.
