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❝funny how it seems like yesterday as i recall, you were lookin' out of place gathered up your things and slipped away no time at all, i followed you into the hall❞
— cigarette daydreams, cage the elephant
—
LATE AFTERNOONS were one of the only times when Florence got any peace. During the day, her teacher nagged at her work. At nighttime, she stayed up studying for her future lectures. The times of four to six PM were considered her break time or her favorite part of her day.
Florence sat at her desk, rereading the letter her parents had sent her this morning. It wasn't a pleasing letter to read — it was almost forcing her to ask her to return to London. The letter contained messages that implied that they wanted her to have an unenjoyable time at Welton, hopefully, to learn her lesson that her life in London was better. Their method backfired, however. She's never been more comfortable. Now that she had her uncle, Neil, Charlie, and the rest, she didn't plan on begging her parents to pick her up.
The girl picked up a ballpoint pen from her bag and began writing her letter, talking about how she'd like to stay — including a couple of lies. She wrote about how they let her "perform" a violin solo, something her parents should be pleased about. While running her tongue over the bottom of her lip, she completed the note, folding it neatly and slipping it into an envelope, preparing to send it tomorrow morning.
Checking the clock, she noticed it was almost time for dinner. She got up from her desk and fixed herself in the mirror, brushing out the ends of her hair that stuck up.
A light knock came upon her door — she noticed her friends loved to visit. Someone from the group never fails to knock on her door at least once during the day. She wasn't mad about it, though. She enjoyed the company.
Opening the door, she wasn't surprised to see Neil Perry standing before her, holding a book. Florence tilted her head to the side, attempting to read the title.
"Hey, mind if I come in?" He questioned, the corners of his mouth turning upwards.
Florence returned the smile. "Not at all." She moved out of the way so Neil could enter. He sat on the bed awkwardly as she followed.
"What do you need?"
Neil swallowed. "I'm thinking of starting our own Dead Poets Society. You know, like Mr. Keating's. We'd like you to join our first meeting tonight. Everyone's coming."
That offer made her heart leap for joy. Even though she had been hanging out with them for weeks, she enjoyed them inviting her to events— especially Neil.
