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Over the course of his teaching career, John has spoken with hundreds of parents. Most of them do care about their children. Some of them are even willing to listen when he suggests a career path they would not have wanted–and one that’s not included in the life plan they have laid out from before their child was even born. Others still are neglectful or rely on a switch, open palm, or a closed fist to do their parenting for them. Perhaps they favor one child over the other.
John has met many types of parents, and worked with their children. Girls with shadowed eyes and hunched shoulders, always trying to make their shirts and skirts a little longer. Boys who watch the world warily, as if one misstep will have the floorboards cracking underneath their weight. Children who are bright and eager and full of joy, of love, of passion, only for mere mention of a parent to shatter the facade.
Thomas Perry falls in the first category, to some degree, but not the second. John’s not sure where he stands on switches or open palms–Neil is a talented actor, and asking outright is not something he can do.
Neil Perry carries himself like he’s got the world figured out, at least while he knows someone is looking. He’s one of the most decorated students in his year, has some of the highest grades, has a solid group of friends with whom he can study and play; there’s no reason he shouldn’t.
Neil Perry slumps when eyes are off him. Not much, but John has developed an eye for these things. When it comes to his schooling, he tests each metaphorical floorboard he walks on with a well-practiced caution–one his passion can override, at times.
Neil Perry tenses when he gets his father on the phone, instead of his mother. His voice cracks. His friends hover closer, on those days. Charlie Dalton in particular, as if he knows something about Neil’s past that the others don’t.
John has never met a parent he couldn’t communicate with.
Until Thomas Perry.
They’re speaking in English, but they may as well have built the Tower of Babel for all that they understand each other.
Neil is the hospital, recovering from attempting suicide under his father’s roof, and all the man wants to do is determine how soon he can be shipped off to military school.
“Mr. Perry, I understand that you’re upset,” John says. “It’s been a trying weekend for you all, none so more than Neil. He misfired because he doesn’t know how to use a gun.”
“They’ll train that out of him at military school.”
“Or they’ll teach him how to shoot himself properly, and you’ll be receiving a call to collect his body. You saw the end of the play, Mr. Perry. You know what a brilliant actor he is.”
“Thomas, please.” Mrs. Perry says–John hasn’t gotten her first name. “If you won’t listen to me, listen to Mr. Keating.”
“Don’t contradict me in public.” Perry hisses, and John’s admittedly already low opinion of him drops even further. “The boys will want to see him anyway, I suppose, so you may as well go in with them. I won’t have an actor for a son.”
John waits until he’s out of their sight before he closes his eyes.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise to him. It’s something he’s encountered in countless parents–it’s the one topic he and Thomas Perry have a clear understanding on, despite their dissimilar positions.
The way Neil and Todd watch each other, at times, worries him. If John has noticed it, it’s likely another teacher has–one who is more willing to mention it to Nolan. Nolan, in turn, would inform the boys’ parents.
He can’t say what they do in their dorm, or on their trips out to the cave. The boys in front of him, pressed close together while they wait to be allowed into Neil’s room, would likely keep their secret.
“Only two at a time for now. He’s got quite the headache.” The nurse warns.
Charlie and Todd are shoved in by the rest of the boys.
“He and Charlie have been since they were little,” Knox explains. “And Todd’s… well, Todd.”
“I know what you mean, Mr. Overstreet.” John says. “I'm sure Mr. Perry will be happy to see all of you.”
“Are his parents coming?” Meeks asks.
“They're here, if that’s what you mean.” John will not tell them about the strange conversation he had with Thomas Perry. It’s not something they need to hear, and it’s not likely any of them would be able to translate for him.
George might, but that would require returning to campus, which he doesn’t intend on doing until all of the boys have seen Neil.
“What if they don't want us being in his room?” Cameron, ever the rule-follower, that one. Ripping the pages out of his with a ruler–that one had been a first for John. It had been difficult not to laugh. Charlie eating his paper had given him a good out.
“They could have told the nurses to keep us out, and we wouldn't have even gotten this far.” Pitts says. “Besides, you do wanna see Neil, don't you?”
“I do, I do, I just don't want to get in trouble.”
“If they blamed anyone, Mr. Cameron, it would be me.” John tells him. “I've spoken with them and they know we're here.”
Charlie and Todd exit in just under ten minutes–less time than John would have expected.
“I kept an eye on my watch so someone else could go in,” Charlie explains. “I don't know how long we have.”
“Until visiting hours end, as far as I'm concerned,” John says. “But his parents may want some time with him as well.”
“Why aren't they waiting in the hall, then?” Todd asks quietly, directing it to the floor. It's bolder than anything he would have said at the beginning of term.
“I can't say, Todd.” Pitts and Meeks go in next, though John can see that Knox is getting antsy.
“How is he?” Knox asks Charlie.
“How do you think?” Charlie scoffs. “Broke his collarbone and gave himself a concussion. Say, Captain, where were the Perrys? I want to talk to them myself.”
“I don't know that that's a good idea, Mr. Dalton.”
“Do you think the nurses would give me some paper, then? If I can't tell them what I'm thinking face-to-face, I'm going to do it somehow.”
“You can ask.” John may just ask to read the letter over before Charlie hands it over. If it's anything too inciting, he'll have to nix the idea.
“I won't write anything too abrasive, sir, I promise.” Charlie sits on the floor too write.
“Big word for you, Charlie.” Knox mutters. “Think I could add a little, too?”
“Write your own damn letter!” Charlie bats him away.
Cameron remains standing stiffly by his side, eyeing Knox and Charlie like they're animals from a land he's never seen before.
Todd, on the other hand, pulls a notebook out of his bag.
“Dude, why didn't you say you had paper?” Charlie asks, reaching over to whack at Todd’s knee.
“It's my English notebook.” Todd says, sliding down the wall next to Charlie. “I'm going to write Neil something.”
“That’s a good idea, too.” John tells him.
Pitts and Meeks come back into the hallway, and Knox doesn't even wait for the door to close before he’s inside. Cameron follows more slowly.
“I'm writing to Mr. Perry since I can't go confront him.” Charlie says. He looks a good bit younger than he is, his legs splayed out over the floor, his eyes damp and wider than normal.
Meeks and Pitts join Charlie and Todd on the floor, Meeks resting his head against the wall as he cries silently. Pitts keeps his legs tucked tight to his chest as he stares off into the distance.
They're all so young–John would have been at Welton, still, when they were born.
Some of his students are the children of his former classmates, but none of them are the ones who looked up his school annual.
“Neil wants to see you, sir.” Cameron says when he and Knox step out of the room, immediately glancing away from him. Knox meets his eyes straight on, as if daring him to say anything about the tear tracks he hasn’t yet wiped away.
“We'll behave.” Charlie promises, but it’s not half as brash as it normally would be.
“Neil.” John stays by the end of the bed until Neil waves him closer with his good arm.
“Hey, Captain. I'm sorry for all the drama.”
“It's hardly drama when it's your life, Neil, no need to apologize.”
“You still have to supervise students on a day off.”
“Let me tell you a secret, Neil: When you teach at a boarding school, you don’t get days off.”
“Have you seen my parents?”
“I spoke with them briefly. They haven't come to see you yet?”
“No.”
John wants to sigh, but he'll save it for another time. “Would you like to hear my review of the play, then?”
“Yes, please.” Neil leans forward a little. “The others, they helped, they're good at making me feel better, but they don't know what to say, either.”
Neither does John. He simply has more practice hiding it.
Neil will know if he's too praising in his review, especially of his performance. Luckily, the praise he has to give is all honest truth.
“You really think I can do this?”
“I think only a fool would try and stop you,” John says. He shouldn't–it's not the Welton way for him to speak against a parent's known wishes–but he can't help himself.
“Do you think Charlie’s letter will work? Knox said that he’s writing one.”
“It may help.” John forgot to check his watch when he came in; he must be past ten minutes by now.
“Do you–would you write one, too, sir?”
“I don't think anything I have to say will be taken seriously.” Thrown out, rather, if not burned.
There's a knock at the door before Neil can respond.
“Can I come back in? I have something for Neil.” Todd says.
“Come in, Todd.” Neil straightens up, and John adjusts his pillows so that's easier on him.
“Not up to any trouble out there?” John asks, only half-joking. If the Perrys had walked into the hallway, he would have heard yelling by now.
“No, Mr. Keating. Charlie’s got his letter ready and Knox is writing one with Meeks and Pitts, they don't want to repeat the same things four times.”
“And you?” Neil takes Todd’s sleeve as soon as he's near enough, drawing him to sit on the edge of the bed.
“I wrote you something, instead. You'll appreciate it a lot more than your father.” John takes their fond faces as a cue to leave–they don't even notice as he opens the door.
He may have to warn them about being more cautious with their affection, but they're safe enough with Neil in a hospital.
“Captain, do you think you could take these to Neil’s father?” Charlie holds out folded pieces of paper.
“I will.” Luck is on his side, because the Perrys are in the same waiting room they had their stilted conversation in earlier. He steps to the side and skims through them–there’s nothing egregious, nothing that anyone could call out of line or rude.
“Mr. Keating,” Mrs. Perry greets him. “Is Neil… is he awake?”
“He is. The boys wanted to write you letters, Mr. Perry.” He holds out the refolded papers. “These are the people who know him best.”
“They think some letters will change my mind?” But he takes them, and opens the top one without further prompting.
“I would beg for mercy on your son’s behalf if I could, Mr. Perry.” John says. “I’m the last person you want to discuss this with, and I understand that.”
“What would you have said, if you’d written a letter?” Mrs. Perry asks, looking at him desperately.
“You have a talented son, one who tries his hardest to please you in every respect. He’s a leader within Welton, and well-liked by his peers. He’s achieved high grades this term despite the time he put into preparing for the play. Whatever he wants to do, he will be able to do it easily.” It’s not all he wants to say, but John knows better than to test the boundaries with already upset parents.
“I suppose he may as well finish out the term at Welton.” Mr. Perry says. “I will reevaluate his continued education there after we receive his end of term exam results.”
It’s the best John can hope for, right now. “I’m sure we can arrange for his exams to be done here or at home if necessary.”
“I’ll contact Principal Nolan for that discussion, thank you.”
As he heads back toward Neil’s room, he realizes that none of the boys are in the hallway.
Terror runs through him briefly as he considers the fact that they may have all snuck off somewhere as soon as his back was turned, or perhaps were escorted out of the building by a well-meaning orderly.
“Neil seems to be doing much better after you’ve been visiting, so I let them all go in at once.” The nurse says. “You know, I’ve never seen a father bring so many of his son’s friends around before.”
“Oh, I’m not–I’m not his father. I teach all of the boys at Welton Academy.”
“Are his parents traveling in from out-of-state?”
“No, they’re a local family. They’re in the waiting room.” John gestures behind him
“How kind of you, then, to be here for so long. You can go in, too, as long as it doesn’t get rowdy.”
Rowdy is a good way to describe them at times.
“I’ll see that it doesn’t,” He assures her.
Charlie, Cameron, Knox, Pitts, and Meeks are standing in a semi-circle, blocking the bed from his view. John knows better than to think it’s not on purpose, though an unsuspecting nurse–or parents–may not.
“I gave Mr. Perry your letters.” He says, turning around to shut the door behind him, to give the boys time to move if they want. “He hasn’t read them yet, so I can’t say what his reaction was.”
Todd is sitting on the edge of the bed when John joins the other boys at the foot, but he has a good guess as to where he was before that.
“He did say, Neil, that you’ll be finishing the term out at Welton.”
“I have time to convince him, then,” Neil says, like he’s trying to be heartened by the news. “I don’t suppose any of you brought your schoolbooks?”
The boys all laugh as if it’s the best joke in the world. John hears the door handle turning.
“Not too loud, now.” He says, in case it’s that nurse again.
“I’d like to sit with Neil.” Mrs. Perry says. “Your father has gone to speak with Nolan, darling, to get your exams arranged.”
“We should be getting back for lunch soon, anyway.” John ushers the boys out, pretending not to notice how Todd lingers like he’ll be the exception to the rule.
“Can we use your classroom to make study guides for Neil?” Meeks asks.
“As long as I’m in my office, yes.”
Once word gets out, it’s not just Neil’s closest friends who attend–at one point, John has the entire junior class in his classroom on a Sunday afternoon.
George stops by, shakes his head, and makes them tea.
“Nolan doesn’t know what to make of it.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Think Neil will be back?”
“I hope so.”
In the new term, Neil walks through the doors with his arm still in a sling and Todd at his side.
John’s not the only one who’s been watching. Knox and Charlie, whom he suspects arrived early for this very reason, rush to them.
“You’re back!” Charlie throws a careful arm over Neil’s shoulders. “Missed me, did you?”
“Are you sure we have to sleep across from him?” Neil rolls his eyes at Todd, and Charlie gasps–perhaps he should be trying for a place in the theatre as well.
John watches, as is his habit.
Neil Perry carries himself with the grace of Puck, the confidence of youth, his eyes shadowed a little darker for all that he’s seen. Shoulders back, footsteps light, and still, there are times when John thinks it’s more of a rehearsed dance than an active choice.
Neil Perry’s poems and essays grow more passionate with each passing week as he finds his way into Henley Hall yet again. His grades are the best they’ve ever been, a difficult feat for a boy who has never fallen below an A-minus in any class at Welton.
Neil Perry tenses when he gets his father on the phone, instead of his mother. He spends those days picking at his fingers, rubbing at his bad collarbone. His voice breaks, and Todd or Charlie or Knox becomes his spokesman; Meeks, Pitts, and Cameron try to keep others out of their circle when possible. They hover, as a mother does at her child’s first bout of illness. Todd Anderson in particular, for he and Neil share a bond far too many will never try and seek to understand.
John does his best to keep the lights low and their class quiet on those days. If he happens to have tea or chocolates at the ready, well, that’s just part of being a teacher.
It’s not an easy path, the one Neil is walking. John’s terrified for him, for all of those boys. He can’t change the world, nor can he prepare them for all it will have them face. He can give them a soft place to land, if their parents won’t.
It’s not an easy path, but John will be damned if he doesn’t find a way to make it easier.