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We are dreaming of salvation, Will wrote diligently as he scrambled for the next empty and emotionless line of his poem for Keating's class. When salvation isn't-
No. That was stupid.
Surrounded by the crumpled up pieces of torn up notebook paper and eraser shavings that littered his bed, he scoffed and scribbled out the line. He had to read this in front of the entire class tomorrow, so it had to be perfect. As frustration bubbled inside him, Mike came bounding into their room, startling Will; he quickly flipped his notebook over.
But Mike wasn't interested in Will's lousy poem. He was clutching his own paper and sporting a wide grin. Will adored the way Mike so effortlessly and unabashedly displayed his emotions.
Mike giggled- giggled?- as he knelt down next to Will's bed and presented the prized piece of paper.
"I found it." The joy was radiating off of him.
"Found what?" Will couldn't help but grin as he turned over the... flier?
"What I wanna do right now," Mike explained, nearly vibrating with excitement at this point. "What's really, really inside of me."
"'A Midsummer Night's Dream'?" Will read aloud, unconscious of the disbelief dripping from his voice.
"This is it," Mike murmured. He was definitely vibrating.
"What is that?" Will asked lamely.
"It's a play, dummy," Mike teased, laughing and leaning closer.
Will rolled his eyes, still caught in Mike's infectious mood. "I know that! What does it have to do with you?"
"Alright. They're putting it on at Henley Hall," Mike explained. "Open tryouts... open tryouts!"
"Yeah, so?"
"'So?'" Mike smacked the bed and jumped up, unable to contain himself. He paused a moment, dramatic as ever, and sauntered away. With a flourish, he whirled back around to say: "I'm gonna act."
Will's smile grew and grew as Mike let out an excited noise and pulled a blanket over his shoulders like a cape. "Aha!" He jumped up onto his own bed. "Yes! Yes!" And then Mike did what Mike does and words were barreling out of his mouth faster and faster as his elation swelled. "I'm gonna be an actor! Ever since I can remember I've wanted to try this! I even tried to go to summer stock auditions last year, but of course, my father wouldn't let me." He leapt off the bed like a superhero. "For the first time in my whole life, I know what I wanna do." Diving to the ground, he scooped up a stack of loose papers. "For the first time, I'm gonna DO IT!" He tossed the papers over Will like confetti. "Whether my father wants me to or not-" He sprang onto Will's bed and repeated the mantra Mr. Keating had gifted them on the first day of school: "CARPE DIEMMMMMM!"
"Mike. Mike," Will interrupted, gathering up the papers- his trig homework. "Hold on a minute. How are you gonna be in a play if your father won't let you?"
Mike's face fell, but only for a second. Then he and his blanket cape were on the move again, hopping off Will's bed. "First I gotta get the part, then I can worry about that."
Mike advanced toward the window while Will organized the last of the make-shift confetti. "Yeah, but won't he kill you if he finds out he went to an audition and didn't even tell him?"
Mike turned back to Will. "No, no, no. As far as I'm concerned, he won't know about any of this."
"Well that's impossible."
"Bullshit. Nothing's impossible."
"Well why don't you just call him and ask him and maybe he'll say yes."
Mike tossed the blanket off his shoulders. "That's a laugh." All his enthusiasm from before had dissipated. He turned to the window again. "If I don't ask him, at least I won't be disobeying him."
Will sat up. "Yeah, but if he said-"
"Jesus Will!" Mike snapped. "Whose side are you on?"
Startled, Will felt the guilt of crushing Mike's excitement and dreams creep in. The anger disappeared from Mike's face. Will wasn't the one he was mad at.
Mike snatched the play flier back and sat dejectedly on the radiator. "I mean, I haven't even gotten the part yet." His voice was soft, beat. Will longed for the giddy excitement he had so foolishly beaten down. "Can't I even enjoy the idea for a little while?"
Will shifted awkwardly as Mike swung his legs up and rested his feet on the radiator. Besides the ruffling of papers, there was silence- the kind of silence Will loathed, especially when it hung in the air between him and Mike.
Apparently Mike found no joy in either because he broke it with a statement that felt more like a pleading question: "You're coming to the meeting this afternoon?"
Right. The 'Dead Poets Society'. "I don't know." Once Mike got an idea in his head, he wouldn't let go of it. All thoughts and tangents and conversation led back to it. "Maybe."
Passionate Mike was back; he shot up from his perch, leaning forward. "Nothing Mr. Keating has to say means anything to you, does it, Will?" He accused.
Taken aback, Will spluttered, "W-what is that supposed to mean?"
"You're in the club!" Mike stood up. "Being int he club means being... stirred up by things. You look about as stirred up as a cesspool."
Will wasn't sure what to say to that, so he countered with the first thing that came to mind. "So you want me out?"
"No!" Mike moved closer. "I want you in. But being in means you gotta do something, not just say you're in."
"Listen. Mike... I appreciate this concern, but I'm not like you, alright? You... you say things and people listen. I'm not like that."
"Don't you think you could be?"
"No!" Will shook his head. He was never good with words. Not like Mike who let his emotions flow freely from his mouth without caution or care. "I- I don't know, but that's not the point. The point is that there's nothing you can do about it. So you can just butt out. I can take care of myself just fine, alright?"
Mike stared at him. Just stared. "No."
"What do you mean 'no'?"
The corners of Mike's mouth shot into a smirk and Will realized too late that he'd issued Mike a challenge, one he that could never refuse. "No," he said again, then, before Will could blink, snatched the English notebook from Will's lap, shitty poem and all.
"Give me- Mike. Mike, give that back-" Will cried desperately, but the chase had begun.
They raced around the room as Mike read Will's poem out loud. "'We are dreaming of a-' What is this? POETRY!" Mike shrieked. Will crashed into him in an attempt at a tackle. "I'm being chased by Walt Whitman!"
Mike was cracking himself up and Will, grabbing at his roommate's sweater, found himself giggling, too. He knocked the book from Mike's hands as they jumped on a bed.
"Okay, okay," Mike called out in surrender as Dustin came barging in, Lucas not far behind.
"What are you guys doing?" Dustin demanded. Mike had spotted his next victim, who payed that devilish grin no mind. "You see this chemistry-?"
Mike pounced off the bed and snatched the science textbook out of Dustin's hands.
"Hey! Gimme the- Mike! Gimme- don't be immature!" Dustin joined the parade around Will and Mike's room. "I need my-"
"No!" Lucas shouted from the doorway, jumping up and down. "Give it to me! Give it to me!"
"Lucas!" Mike hollered and tossed the book.
They were all running, wrestling, yelling, whooping, and laughing. Mike caught Will's eye, winked, and tossed him the book, smiling in the way that never seemed to give Will's heart a rest.