Chapter Text
Ever since the day Mr. Keating made his class stare at photos of former Welton students, Todd has considered his life in relation to theirs.
Did they know about the cave? Did they once sit there, in the cold and the dark? Did they ever try to eat with their left hands, or audition for plays, or spin around on the dock? Did someone else ever sit on the radiator, when Todd and Neil's dorm belonged to some other two boys?
Todd considers his life in relation to Jeffrey, too. Good old Jeffrey Anderson. Does he have friends like Todd does, that read poetry to each other and run in the rain? Does he have a roommate at college that he whispers secrets to at night? Does he feel like Todd does: the same fear, desperation, dread?
Of course not. Jeffrey is the good, normal son. The one who scales poetry on a graph and wears raincoats so he doesn't get sick and miss two days of classes, like Todd does. The son who sleeps at night and doesn't spend hours in the dark mulling over his feelings, because Jeffrey is normal and Todd is not.
Todd feels nauseated whenever he thinks about reciting a poem for the Poets. His chest tightens when he looks at Neil for too long, the way his hair falls across his forehead in the low light of the cave.
"And is this your heart arithmetic?
This is the way the wind measures the weather."
Meeks finishes reading his poem— How Much? by Carl Sandburg—and sits back down to applause from the rest of the Poets.
Neil nudges Todd's knee. "Did you see the flyer on the board?" he asks. "A bunch of alumni are coming next week to give speeches and stuff."
Todd hums in acknowledgment, picking orange pith out from under his thumbnail.
"Jeffrey Anderson is first on the list."
That makes him look up—he hasn't spoken to his brother at all since he left for Harvard. Not that he spoke to him much before that, anyways. They weren't—close. Which is why he can't help the sting when Knox says, "You've gotta introduce us! We were only in ninth when he graduated."
"He probably won't get a chance to talk to me," Todd says with a shrug. There's a smattering of protest from the other Poets, but Todd brushes it off, because they don't get it. Todd doesn't even think he's called his brother Jeff since he hit double-digits.
They move on as Pitts gets up to read The More Loving One by W. H. Auden:
"But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast."
Todd lets himself forget until lights-out, but in the quiet nighttime, it comes back to haunt him. He doesn't want to think about it—he's tired and he wants to sleep—but his brain seems intent on making him miserable. It's all desk sets and second best until—
"Todd?" Neil whispers into the darkness.
“Yeah?” He may be exhausted and spiraling, but it’s Neil. He can’t ever ignore Neil, not with his voice all quiet and the moonlight striking across the floorboards.
“Jeffrey's a dick."
Todd startles so hard he almost falls out of his bed. "Why would you say that?" he sputters.
"He's back at Welton and he's not even gonna visit his brother? Visit you?"
"Why would he visit me?" Todd scoffs.
"Because, you're... you're a joy to talk to, Todd! And you're his brother!"
"Barely, Neil. I don't even know him. We don’t talk, or send letters or anything.”
Neil is silent. Then: "So he's a dick."
"If he's a dick, then I'm a dick. It's both of our faults that we don't talk."
"I guess. You are sort of a dick, Todd." He can hear the smile in Neil's voice, and he knows he's right, so he lets it slide. His face still heats up, though.
"Goodnight, Neil."
"G'night."
Next Monday, there's a mandatory assembly after class. Nolan tells the students that there will be more throughout the week, because all of the graduates have wisdom to share, especially our first speaker, Jeffrey Anderson .
As he steps up to the podium, Todd realizes it's the first time he's seen his brother since the summer, and the first time he's really looked at his brother since long before that. Everything about him is sharp: the sound of his shoes on the tile, the way he shakes out his paper, his diction. Someone lets out a low, barely-audible whistle. Todd doesn't have to look to know it's Charlie.
Todd can barely even pay attention to the speech, too focused on the quiet whispers of laughter and the side of Neil's foot pressing against his own.
"I'm honored to have the opportunity to return here. Welton was my home for six years, and it has made me into the man I am today."
Todd feels Neil shift, their knees knocking together. He relaxes a fraction.
Jeffrey finishes his speech and returns to his seat. One of the older alumni leans over and says something, probably cracking a joke. Jeffrey smiles and laughs, and Todd can't tell if it's genuine or not.
Todd briefly loses Neil after they slide out of the benches. It always happens after assemblies: the short, terrifying moment of being alone in a crowd of teenage boys. He waits it out until most of the students filter out of the room, then looks around. Charlie and Cameron are over by the board, bickering over some paper that's been posted. Knox, Meeks, and Pitts are whispering around the windows, probably people-watching. And Neil...
Neil is talking to Jeffrey.
Todd feels sort of stupid, still standing there in the middle of the room, so he goes over to them. Not because of the easy smile on Neil's face, or Jeffrey's hands resting in his pockets like he knows what to do with them.
"That's great, oh my God," Neil is saying. He turns to Todd. "You didn't tell me he was studying to be a history professor!"
Todd nods, eyes deer-in-headlights wide, unsure of how else to respond.
"Todd," Jeffrey says with a smile—it's halfway, but Todd thinks it looks genuine.
"Hi, Jeffrey." Todd tries to settle his face into an appropriate expression. There's a heavy silence as Neil looks between them expectantly, as if he's waiting for them to embrace, or start crying.
Jeffrey just puts a hand on Todd's shoulder—Todd nearly jumps out of his skin at the contact—and says, "Well, I better go. Thanks again, Neil." Then, to Todd: "Talk soon, okay?" He walks off quickly, shoes tap-tap-tapping on the tile.
Neil grins. Todd is still shaken from the show of brotherly affection ( he's never done that before. What was that supposed to mean? Nobody's ever really done that before. What? )
"Todd, I have an idea," Neil says, grabbing Todd's hand and pulling him forward. Todd stumbles to keep up in his half-catatonic state.
"Wh-what?"
"Jeffrey should come to the meeting on Wednesday."
Todd stops walking. Neil almost falls over.
"He—what? But—"
"You were going to read a poem, right? C'mon, show off a little!"
Todd feels ill. He was planning to read Love the Light-Giver by Michelangelo Buonarroti—written for a Tommaso: "My words begin to breathe upon your breath" . But with Jeffrey there—it would be too personal, too obvious .
"I can't," is all he says.
Neil looks at him—he's always looking at him like that, some mix between thoughtfulness and pity.
"Think about it."
Todd does think about it.
He thinks about it until it drives him crazy. He looks out their dorm window and sees Jeffrey walking along the lake. It's six in the morning on a Tuesday and Jeffrey is out walking by the lake. Todd is only awake because he's got a Latin test first thing and he needs to memorize a passage from Metamorphoses so he can "translate" it. He watches as Jeffrey stops, stands, looks out at the lake with his hands in his pockets.
Todd slips out of the room.
Todd calls out to Jeffrey as he jogs towards him, holding up a hand. Jeffrey turns, his expression startled for a brief moment before it melts away to a polite smile.
“Todd,” he says, offputtingly composed.
“Hi,” Todd says. He didn’t really think this through—he blinks at Jeffrey for a moment, trying to figure out how to ask him about the meeting. Embarrassment rises on his face.
"So,” Jeffrey says slowly, “How's Hell-ton treating you?"
That gets a surprised laugh out of Todd. Jeffrey Anderson, calling it Hell-ton —there was a small part of Todd’s brain that worried Jeffrey was a Mr. Nolan: that Welton had successfully sucked the soul out of him, and he was now eager to inflict the same torture onto the next generation. But this reminds him more of Mr. Keating on the first day. Maybe he gets it .
The possibility strengthens Todd’s resolve slightly, but still—if it was Hell-ton for a Harvard-bound Jeffrey, what does that mean for Todd? Are you a man, or an amoeba? Todd backpedals.
“Welton’s alright,” he says, coining the overstatement of the century for the sake of his own pride. He can’t find it in himself to elaborate, and the conversation almost fizzles out and dies right there, until—
“That kid I was talking to—Neil—he’s your roommate, right?” Jeffrey prompts. “You’ve got good friends, at least. That helps.”
“Yeah. Neil was in a play over break—Henley Hall did A Midsummer Night’s Dream . He was Puck. He was—really good,” Todd says, catching himself before he gives himself away with a wonderful, or a captivating, or God-forbid, an enchanting .
"Sounds like a good friend,” Jeffrey says.
"He is. He really is. Hey," Todd starts, before he can talk himself out of it. "We—Neil and I, and some of the other guys—we go out to the old cave. You know the one?"
"The one just past the stream, yeah?"
"Right. We go out there and, uh, well... we read poems. Mr. Keating, the new English teacher, he used to do it when he went here, and, well—the next meeting is on Wednesday. You should—Neil wanted you to come. You should come."
Todd feels the furious heat of embarrassment crawl up his neck as he waits for Jeffrey's response. He's studying history, for God's sake, he doesn't give a shit about poetry . And what's Todd going to read? He can't just sit out, not if everyone else reads, not with Jeffrey there. “Freeze in the sun, burn 'neath a frosty sky.”
"I'll try," Jeffrey says with a conspiratorial smile. "Do I have to read, too?"
"You don't—you don't have to," Todd says, but there's a part of him that hopes he will. That hopes he'll pick one that really means something to him, that gives him a glimpse into the mysterious life of Jeffrey Anderson, golden boy of Hell-ton Academy.
"We'll see,” Jeffrey says.
Todd is pretty sure he bombed the Latin test, but he doesn’t really care. All day, the only thing he can think about is what poem he’s going to read, what poem Jeffrey might pick—counting down until Wednesday night. The other Poets notice his leg bouncing under the table at lunch.
“What’s got you all worked up?” Meeks asks, kicking him lightly under the table. Todd jumps.
“Nothing. Just… I invited Jeffrey to the meeting tomorrow. I hope you guys don’t mind, I just—Neil suggested it, and I was talking to him, so I figured…”
Cameron perks up, obviously thinking up obnoxiously pedantic questions to pester Jeffrey with. Neil’s mouth curls into a smile as he looks at Todd, proud in a way that doesn’t feel patronizing.
The table erupts into chatter about Jeffrey (“D’you think he’d tutor me?” “You’re a lost cause, Charlie.”), but their attention spans are short, and they move onto another topic quickly (“Okay, Meeks, you do it then!” “I do !”). Despite his anxiety, there’s a part of Todd that’s eager for Jeffrey to meet his friends—it’s impossible not to like them. Even Cameron, in his own annoying way, is enjoyable to be around. And even in the worst case scenario—if everything with Jeffrey goes to shit—Todd will always have the Poets. They’ll clap after he reads his poem, even if he stumbles over his words and even if he doesn’t manage to finish and even if it’s one of his own and it objectively sucks. They’ll still clap.