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Pitts, Cameron, and Todd headed back to the dorm together. They spotted Mr. Keating, wearing his sport coat and a scarf, walking across the lawn with an arm full of books.
    “Mr. Keating?” Neil called after him. “Sir? O Captain! My Captain?” Keating stopped and waited for the boys to catch up with him. “What was the Dead Poets Society, sir?” Neil asked. For a split second, Keating’s face reddened. “I was just looking in an old annual,” Neil explained, “and …”
    “Nothing wrong with research,” Keating said, regaining his composure.
    The boys waited for him to say more. “But what was it?” Neil pressed.
    Keating looked around to make sure that no one was watching. “A secret organization,” he almost whispered. “I don’t know how the present administration would look upon it, but I doubt the reaction would be favorable.” His eyes scanned the campus as the boys held their breaths. “Can you boys keep a secret?” They nodded instantly. “The Dead Poets was a society dedicated to sucking the marrow out of life. That phrase is by Thoreau and was invoked at every meeting,” he explained. “A small group of us would meet at the old cave, and we would take turns reading Shelley, Thoreau, Whitman, our own verse—and the enchantment of the moment let it work its magic on us.” Keating’s eyes glowed, recalling the experience.
    “You mean it was a bunch of guys sitting around reading poetry?” Knox asked, bewildered.
    Keating smiled. “Both sexes participated, Mr. Overstreet. And believe me, we didn’t simply read … we let it drip from our tongues like honey. Women swooned, spirits soared … gods were created, gentlemen.”
    The boys stood silent for a moment. “What did the name mean?” Neil asked. “Did you only read dead poets?”
    “All poetry was acceptable, Mr. Perry. The name simply referred to the fact that, to join the organization, you had to be dead.”
    “What?” the boys said in chorus.
    “The living were simply pledges. Full membership required a lifetime of apprenticeship. Alas, even I’m still a lowly initiate,” he explained.
    The boys looked at one another in amazement. “The last meeting must have been fifteen years ago,” Keating recalled. He looked around again to make sure no one was observing, then turned and strode away.
    “I say we go tonight,” Neil said excitedly when Keating was out of sight. “Everybody in?”
    “Where is this cave he’s talking about?” Pitts asked.
    “Beyond the stream. I think I know where it is,” Neil answered.
    “That’s miles,” Pitts complained.
    “Sounds boring to me,” Cameron said.
    “Don’t come, then,” Charlie shot back.
    “You know how many demerits we’re talking about here?” Cameron asked Charlie.
    “So don’t come!” Charlie said. “Please!”
    Cameron relented. “All I’m saying is, we have to be careful. We can’t get caught.”
    “Well, no kidding, Sherlock,” Charlie retorted sarcastically.
    “Who’s in?” Neil asked, silencing the argument.
    “I’m in,” Charlie said first.
    “Me too,” Cameron added.
    Neil looked at Knox, Pitts, and Meeks. Pitts hesitated. “Well …”
    “Oh, come on, Pitts,” Charlie said.
    “His grades are hurting, Charlie,” Meeks said in Pitts’s defense.
    “Then you can help him, Meeks,” Neil suggested.
    “What is this, a midnight study group?” Pitts asked, still unsure.
    “Forget it, Pitts,” Neil said. “You’re coming. Meeks, are your grades hurting, too?” Everyone laughed.
    “All right,” Meeks said. “I’ll try anything once .”
    “Except sex,” Charlie laughed. “Right, Meeks, old boy?” Meeks blushed as the boys laughed and horsed around him.
    “I’m in as long as we’re careful,” Cameron said.
    “Knox?” Charlie continued.
    “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t get it.”
    “Come on,” Charlie encouraged. “It will help you get Chris.”
    “It will?” Knox looked mystified. “How do you figure