Hello! Just as a heads up, this story is a sequel to Even Rotten Apples Have Their Uses.

"Neil! Neil! Mr. Perry, c'mon!" Charlie pled as he strode toward the car. Todd eddied along behind him.

Neither Perry slowed to accommodate Charlie's call, and a look back was all the acknowledgment he received before Neil ducked into the black car.

Mr. Keating seized Charlie. "Don't make it any worse than it is," he warned.

Todd drifted to a stop beside Mr. Keating, watched dazedly as the car drove off with Neil and his hangdog expression.

He couldn't look away. Even when the car turned the corner, Todd's eyes were left there like roadkill in the middle of the street. It wasn't until he felt a bump at his back that he realized what he was doing, scarcely heard Charlie ask Mr. Keating, "Is it okay if we walk back?" But it was Charlie's pushing, "Captain," when Keating didn't answer that finally reeled him into the present.

Todd turned in time to see Mr. Keating nod, but that wasn't the answer Todd was hoping for. He stared at his teacher, waiting for him to clean up the chaos that just ripped through the crowd at Everett Theatre. Instead he was met with an equally lost expression just before Mr. Keating looked back to the road.

Charlie, undaunted, patted Todd's chest in summons and swept off to the others. "Knox," he called.

"What?" Todd heard Knox return.

Todd paid them no mind. He continued on with his head down, set for home.

Charlie led the way, with the other Poets a blister in the middle of the group, and Knox and Chris taking up the rear. They plodded down the white-dusted sidewalk, uncomfortably mute. All sound came from the laconic cars and buzzing of the theater-goers back down the way.

They made it to the end of the block in that silence, but once they reached it, Charlie rounded on them.

"Alright, Charlie," Meeks cut in before the other boy could speak. "What's up your sleeve?"

"We've got six spry, young gentlemen," Charlie began. "Some tall, some brainy, all athletic. All staging a coup." And then he started off west of where they would find the road to Welton.

He dropped his idea like a leaf, but it hit like a bomb.

"What does that mean?" Cameron was the first to burst out, with a squall of equal sentiments from the others. They halted, and the street light glared down at their rowdiness.

Pitts said, "You don't mean we're going after Neil."

"That's exactly what I mean, Pittsie."

"Are you crazy?" Cameron asked.

"Did you see Neil? He needs a hand, so I figure we'll give him one." Charlie said. "Now, who's in?"

The snow and incipient breeze suddenly pressed into Todd enough to suffocate. His stomach spun with the whirlwind of thoughts that took shape in his mind. What will happen if we get caught? What will Mr. Perry do to us? What'll he do to Neil? What will my parents do? We can't. We can't. We can't. We can't.

But a truly heady need pulled at his tongue, weighed on his jaw. He was the first to say, "Okay. Y-yes."

It was the most he could say. Any more and he thought he might start regretting it aloud, but a large part—the largest part of him—didn't want to take it back. It wanted to find Neil and rid him of that mutated expression.

"Damn it," muttered Knox. "Alright, me too."

"Yeah," Meeks agreed, and Pitts nodded.

"No!" Cameron said, as though their heads were screwed on wrong. "This is nuts. What are you gonna do, Charlie? Tell his dad to back off? That'll go over real well."

"He's got a point, Charlie," Knox added.

"Listen, unless we screw it up, we aren't even gonna see Neil's folks. We'll wait until the lights are out, find Neil's window, and throw a couple of stones at it." Charlie stuffed his cold-ruddy hands in his coat pockets. "We're just gonna talk to him. That's all."

"That's all until his father hears you and comes outside," Cameron countered, then turned to the curb and sneezed.

"We'll cross that bridge if we come to it. You all still in?" Charlie gazed into their faces.

When Todd and the others sounded their agreement, Cameron squared his jaw and said, "Fine. You guys can risk your lives on this, but I've got a good one ahead of me. I'm out. See you in class." He started off.

"Hey," Charlie called. Cameron spun back. "Don't you rat on us."

"As long as no one asks," Cameron snapped. Then he crossed the barren street, coughed, and disappeared around the general store.

"Yeah, well, six is a crowd anyway," Charlie said, then his eyes landed on something over Todd's shoulder. "Unless you wanna come along," he added. Todd turned.

Chris looked like a deer in headlights, addressed as suddenly as she was ignored. "No, I agree with you," she said. "I don't think it's my place to go after your friend. Besides, Chet was expecting to see me after the play." Guilt flavored her words. She turned to Knox, their hands still tucked together. "We'll talk later. Do you still have my number?"

"Yeah. Sure." Knox turned so they faced one another and muttered, "Sorry I can't walk you home."

"It's okay. Good luck with your friend. Tell him he did a great job in the play." Todd caught the squeeze she gave Knox's hand before she waved at them, and left in the direction of the theater.

That left Todd, Charlie, Meeks, Pitts, and Knox to crunch through the snow-powdered town, pushing back against the sputtering wind, and bearing soaking shoes. Every crunch closer to Neil's house made Todd queasier.

There was a voice inside Todd that whimpered for him to turn back, but he couldn't. Neil left so closed off so suddenly, despite how he shined on stage during the final bow, or the pleasure that had but a moment to wash over him when Mr. Keating tried to praise his talent. Todd felt something was jostled too far out of place this time, and Neil needed them. So he walked on, for once keeping pace with Charlie at the front in his desperation to get it all over with.

Because of that, he was grateful to see that the lights in the Perry house were already out by the time the Poets came upon its drive.

There were no streetlights to illuminate their path, but the moonbeams reflected off the snow enough that they could see their way as they trod over the lawn, past the compass window on the far front of the house, and up to the side where Pitts claimed Neil's window would be.

They followed memories up to that window. First, Charlie's fading memory of dropping Neil off one final school-year day. That led them to the house. The other came from Pitts; remembrance of a muggy summer dinner party held at the Perry's, where a handful of friendly families were invited. Meeks had been there as well, but he couldn't recall the layout of the house, save the dining room.

So it was with second-guessing trepidation that they stood below Neil's wide open window. It was high above them on the second story, just above the sprawling trellis that stretched from the compass window to the edge of the house.

They stared upward for a long moment.

"Gotta do it sometime," Meeks whispered from Todd's left.

Charlie took a readying breath and nodded. "Alright." He cupped his hands around his mouth and whisper-shouted, "Neil!"

They held their collective breath. No response came.

"Louder," someone egged.

So Charlie put more voice in it. "Neil!"

Still, no one answered.

Charlie dropped his hands and looked around them. "Pittsie," he said at last. "You got the best throwing arm." Charlie ducked down for a handful of snow. (Todd noticed it wasn't melting much as Charlie crushed it into a ball. His hand must have been cold enough to match it. Todd knew his certainly was.) "Here."

"Oh, sure," Pitts said sarcastically as he accepted the snowball.

"You can do it, Pittsie," Knox put in quietly.

Pitts weighed the ball in his palm and Todd realized then that he took heart in the shuffling, twitchy bodies of the other boys around him. They didn't keep an every-man-for-himself attitude when it came to each other, so none would get browbeaten alone.

It must have been that which got Todd to whisper-cheer, "Yeah, come on, Pitts."

Pitts' eyes jumped over to Todd

He didn't comment, just clutched the dribbling snowball tighter, pulled his arm back, and hurled.

He appeared to be aiming for the top of the window where the glass was pushed up, but it fell short and arced into the bedroom.

"Oops," Pitts said.

"That's alright, Pittsie."

They tensed up, eyes glued to the gaping window. Nothing happened. Nothing moved.

"One more."

Pitts set to forming another ball.

"What if we can't get his attention?" Knox asked. Pitts launched the second snowball.

Again, nothing came of it.

"We'll have to climb up," Charlie decided.

Todd decided that was a horrible idea.

"What if—what if that's his parents' room?"

"It's not, though, right Pitts?" Charlie asked.

"Charlie..."

"I trust your brain, Pittsie." Charlie said. Then, "I'm going up first."

Todd blinked a few times and looked around.

The property was free of any neighbors' view, what with the congregation of trees that stood sentinel on three and a half sides. The nearest of the trees—a stretching maple—appeared to have rebelled against the others, as it was the only one to have wandered away from the treeline. It took root just far enough from Neil's room that climbing onto it wouldn't be worth the risk.

Essentially, there was no way for Charlie to climb up.

"How are you gonna do that?" Todd asked exasperatedly.

Charlie pointed ahead of them. "That."

"Charlie—you're crazy."

Charlie went up to the trellis, gripped it, and gave it a test wiggle. Oh, did it wiggle.

"I'm gonna need you guys to push on it," Charlie said. He fisted another part of the white framework and looked back at them. "C'mon."

And they did. As the young man wobbled his way up the trellis, they pressed on it with all the might they could muster in the thriving cold.

After Charlie disappeared over the lip of the sill, they stepped back.

He popped out over the sill after a minute, whispering harshly in the need for them to hear, "Neil's not in here, but it's his room. Next one's up."

Somehow Todd found himself with his fingers threaded through the lattice along with the black corpses of ivy that shriveled up and down the trellis. He wedged the toe of his shoe into the first diamond gap, put all his thoughts on Neil, or tried, and lifted off the ground.

His suit jacket didn't lend itself much to the climb, but it was easier than with his overcoat, which had, he realized faintly, disappeared in the hem-haw of deciding who would follow Charlie.

The jostling didn't help, either. Each time one of the boys below moved, the trellis juttered, clapping against the house, and mashing Todd's fingers between it.

But just as he thought he might have to scurry back down and claim weakness, Charlie's arm was under his, pulling him up onto the sill. Todd looked down, discovered the true height of what he just ascended. Suddenly he could do nothing but cling to the mullion as though it were his only lifeline.

"I know. Don't look down again," Charlie said from Todd's right. Inside the room.

Something kicked on in Todd's brain, and he scooted away from the window, over Neil's desk—which was bare except for his costume crown—and into the firm safety of the bedroom. A sepulchral thon reverberated off the walls.

"Easy," Charlie said with panic. He steadied the large globe that Todd had bumped in his slide off the desk.

"Sorry," Todd whispered, which felt just as loud in the following silence.

"Take off your shoes," Charlie mouthed, pointing at his already suede-free feet.

When Todd crouched to take them off, he felt, more than saw in the darkness, the chilly wet spots in the knees of his slacks where the snow on the windowsill had sunk in. The marks felt damning.

Charlie put a knee on the desk so he could lean out and whisper-call down to the others. "Nobody else! We're already too loud. We'll find Neil and be back out in a few minutes. Sorry, pal." Charlie mouthed the last bit to Todd only, who nodded.

Charlie climbed back in and they looked around.

There wasn't much to be seen of Neil's room without any lights, but if the outlines provided by the moon-glow were any indication, there wasn't a whole lot in there anyway. A bed, a desk, a globe, a chair, two doors, a closet, a bedside table and lamp, something that looked like an airplane stuck to the wall, and Puck's crown, which had stray snowflakes nesting in its tines.

Somehow the sight relit a fire under Todd, and his need to find Neil welled up and overflowed. He shuffled to the door on his right and carefully turned the knob. It unlatched as silent as a breath.

Stepping into the hallway, in contrast to the cold of Neil's room, seemed to hold an open flame to their faces with its heat. They basked in it as they adjusted, then padded to the nearest door.

On the far wall of this room was the second story's compass window, and before it rested stacks and stacks of boxes. A storage room.

"Neil?" Charlie whispered into it.

No response.

Their socks swept over the floorboards with a hair more impatience when they came to the next door. Charlie pushed it open. There came a loud snort, and before whoever it was had the chance to sink back into their snoring, Charlie had the door shut. They found the parents' bedroom.

The two of them shared a long look, then turned to the door. Charlie pressed his ear to it.

After a lifelong minute, Charlie pulled back and shook his head. Apparently, they were still asleep.

The next door was down a hallway, and to that hallway's left was the staircase. Charlie elbowed Todd, pointed down the stairs. "You go that way, I'll take the hall," he said. "If you hear me shout, scram." Todd hoped it didn't come to that, but he nodded and tiptoed down the steps.

Somewhere between the kitchen, which sat empty beside the stairs, and the dining room across the way, Todd concluded that being in the silence of a foreign house that is occupied is a painfully eerie experience. There is no comfort in such a place.

It was in the eerie silence that Todd caught the tail end of a noise from one of the rooms down the hall. It was one of the two closest to the front door. The other had no door, and was, Todd assumed, the living room. He peeked into the latter for a quick scan, just in case, then turned to the room from which the noise spat.

As he neared it, the acrid smell of smoke licked at his nose in its desperate need to cake everything in its vicinity. He ignored it and came upon the crack in the door. It was wide enough to fit a fist through. Todd pushed it open.

Only a handful of things slipped into Todd's attention; the smell, of course, and the still-present darkness. There was also the trio of ashtrays littered throughout the room—the source of the smell. Then there was Neil at a desk, straight-backed in a straight-backed chair that seemed to bend more than he. His head was tipped down, expression devastatingly blank as he stared at a swaddle of cloth on the desk. His hands rested on either side of it.

He was bare from the waist up, so far as Todd could see, all pale pink in the blue moonlight.

"Neil," Todd said. Neil did not stir. He continued to stare at a bundle of cloth, one Todd wouldn't have noticed otherwise, that lay white on the mahogany desk.

Todd couldn't make out what it was until he stepped closer, slow as honey; slow, as though afraid to scare an animal. Something felt off to him.

The bundle, he made out some feet from the desk, was a t-shirt. It wrapped around something small, something silver that was too dull to twinkle in the moon beams. It had a dark hole at the end.

Suddenly Todd realized what he was looking at. A t-shirt wrapped around a gun.

"N-Neil," Todd said again, this time louder.

His friend's head snapped up, all attention zeroing in on Todd.

"Todd," Neil said.

"What are you doing?" Todd asked. He blindly inched toward the desk, despite a surge of fear that splashed his heart. Not a fear of Neil, but of the gun.

"Todd." Neil stood, stumbled around a corner of the desk. Todd met him halfway, and they collapsed at the short side of it. "What are you doing here?" Neil asked. He sounded so different, as though everything was a plea.

Todd couldn't find an answer to his question. Instead he whispered, "N-Neil, what were you doing?" He felt like he was begging in return; 'Please tell me so I know it's not that. Don't let me think it's that.'

Neil seemed to choke on the answer. His eyes jumped around them as he thought. He said, "My parents—they want to send me to military school. I can't—I can't do that. I can't be a doctor. I won't be living, not the way that I want to."

"They can't," Todd argued.

"That's the thing, they can. My father thinks I'm ruining my life. He thinks—he called it 'this acting business', like it's a phase. But—but it's not, Todd. I love acting. I felt so alive on stage. Like—like—I was so happy. But they don't care. He said I'm overreacting, but I finally did something I wanted to do. But they don't care. My mother didn't even try—she told me to go to bed. Give up and go to sleep," he broke off in a dry sob.

Todd sat on his knees, with Neil's trembling arms under his sweaty palms, and he was clueless. He didn't know what to say, and he almost loathed himself for it. If it weren't for the fact that Neil needed his attention, he probably would have done, too. As it was, Todd racked his brain for any deep words of wisdom, any Keatingisms that might help. Anything that could fix Neil's problem, but there was nothing but fragments of we-can-do-this-or-this-or-this's.

Todd's heartbeat sped up like a motor, and his head began to spin. His breaths tried to come in gulps.

He was drowning with Neil, he realized. His panic was taking over, and it wouldn't help either of them. So he took a deep breath, one that did less for his fear than he had hoped it would, and forced himself to say the first thing that came to mind. "There's gotta be something we can do about it."

"No," Neil said. "No, I tried. My father will never listen to me. I-"

"Neil, there has to be something. There's always something. We'll just..." Todd tried to think, but his thoughts were a whirlpool, and he could fish nothing out. "I—I don't know, but we'll figure it out."

"I can't..."

"Mr. Keating will help, or maybe if you talk to your dad again he'll listen."

"I could have said something to him," Neil said, like a confession. "I said, 'I've got to tell you what I feel.' I could have told him, but I didn't. It wasn't even passive; I actually said, 'nothing.' I'm a coward.

"And I keep thinking about our mantra. I don't want to look back on a life I never wanted to live. Why would I? But tonight I was Puck. It was exhilarating," Neil told him with a horrible, broken smile on his face.

Out of the corner of his eye, Todd caught Charlie peeking in. His brows were drawn together like a thread pulling fabric too tight. He did nothing. Todd let him, and went back to Neil.

By this point, Neil was gripping Todd's forearms in return. His fingers were shivery and danced around the crook of Todd's elbow. It tickled, but he didn't mind, and it's not like he could focus on it long anyway; he was still trying to hold still his twisting stomach.

Again, Todd was struck by his ineptitude. He scoured his mind for anything, any verse that could be remotely helpful, but there were none. He may well have forgotten every poem he'd ever known. He couldn't find a fix-it word. There was nothing.

But I won't leave Neil's side, he thinks, and that has to count for something.

So this time, instead of offering blurry answers, Todd goes for something more tangible.

"Well—well—well we can talk to Mr. Keating tomorrow and he can help you talk to your dad. He'd do that for you, Neil. You know he would," Todd said.

"I can't..." Neil breathed.

"O-or we could—we could get you out of here. Go back to Welton and get Mr. Keating now. He's probably not even asleep yet."

"All of this is impossible, Todd."

"Bullshit. Nothing's impossible."

That seemed to get his attention, because Neil's drooping eyes shot up to meet Todd's. He looked somehow sadder and more enlivened at once.

Todd found it in himself to say, "There's a way to fix this, we just—we just have to figure out what it is."

"Todd..."

Todd wasn't ready to rack his brain again. He just wanted to keep Neil alive. There was so much good in Neil that the world, that Todd, couldn't lose. He was a great young man, and Todd's best friend, and so much had happened to him because of Neil.

"Things change," Todd said, and for some reason it felt like a revelation. "Neil, so much happens in a short time." It wasn't much, no long speech fit for warriors, but he hoped his point made it across.

Of course, it was Neil, and points often made it to him. They seemed as attracted to his personality as everyone else was.

Neil swallowed, and his Adam's apple bobbed. "Yeah," he murmured.

Something hot flowed through Todd then. It unknotted his stomach.

Just as Todd was going to look around for him, Charlie crossed the study and knelt beside them. Neil gaped.

"Charlie," he said. "Is everyone here? How'd you guys get in?"

"Your window," Charlie said offhandedly. "Listen, pal, we're getting you out of here for a little while."

"No, Charlie, my parents-"

"Don't worry about them right now. You've gotta clear your head." Charlie stood. He went around the other side of the desk and took up the swaddle of gun. He carefully set it back into its drawer. They heard the click as he turned the key. "Where does this go?" He asked Neil, holding up the key, glittering silver in the light.

"In the last book on the bottom shelf," he answered, pointing to the biggest bookshelf across the room. Charlie followed his finger and threw over his shoulder, "Get upstairs and start packing for a few nights."

"What? Charlie, I can't," Neil protested.

"Come on, Neil. I've got a plan."

"We can't—"

"Neil," Charlie said, firm. "Let us help you out."

They had to take Neil's silence as acceptance.

Todd's earlier suspicions were confirmed when they got up to Neil's room and gently turned on the lamp: there wasn't much flavor to the décor at all.

The only surprise was, indeed, the airplanes; some pinned to the wall like dragonflies, one corn-yellow on on the bedside table. He never would have guessed.

He didn't pause to ask about them, though, as it was clear Neil was sinking into the tenebrous depths of his mind. And anyway, Todd wanted out of that house as soon as possible.

So it was as he began his assignment, ignoring his hazing eyes and fogging head. The toils came not from exhaustion, but the knowledge that any clatter could be the one to wake the slumbering catalysts two doors down.

He had only just pulled a duffel bag from the closet, (under the fading direction of Neil,) when Charlie padded in.

"Okay. Clothes, shoes, coat, toothbrush, comb, glasses," he listed lowly. Then, along with Todd, went about packing in organized chaos. Neil sat, hunched, on the edge of his bed. Todd almost wished he could do the same, if only to settle his churning stomach.

"Neil, where're your glasses?" Charlie asked eventually.

His friend was too beleaguered by his thoughts to answer.

"Neil, hey," Todd tried, and Neil pulled away just enough to look up. His eyes were big and confused. Todd pressed, "Where's your glasses?"

"At ho—uh, Welton. There's a spare in the nightstand."

Todd's breath had caught with Neil's when he cut himself off. There was a warming comfort in knowing that they shared that sentiment for Welton—an otherwise stuffy place but for the freedom and friends it offered.

"Nightstand," Charlie whispered to himself. He dropped them into the lumpy duffel. "Anything else?"

"Uh." Neil looked around. He reached out and took up Puck's crown. He brushed reverent fingers over the twigs, then laid it in the bag.

Charlie was already moving on. "Alright, shoes, shirt. Coat." Todd passed over what was nearest to him: his coat, hung on the knob of the bed, and his shirt from the play. It was pooled at his feet where he hovered around Neil.

"How about some real pants," Charlie commented. Puck's long johns wouldn't save him from even a shiver, let alone the full-blast chill outside.

Charlie dug around in one of the dark-wood dresser drawers and came back with a pair of jeans.

Neil slipped them on over his costume, and that was that.

From there, Charlie herded them back down stairs, all milder than mice, and through the sliding glass door in the study. He locked it behind Neil and Todd, let the tawdry, floral-print drapes sway back into place, and left them to stomp through the gathering knolls of snow behind the house as they made for the others.

When they reached them, Knox patted Neil on the back with his icy, shaking hand. The other two, who seemed to sense Neil's melancholy, only offered a quarter smile each, which Neil found in himself to return.

A hoarse "hey," from above tugged all eyes up to Charlie, who was already half on the trellis. His coat hung around him like a hero's cape.

The boys rushed forth to press the wobbly lattice against the house as he came down, black cape swinging.

As soon as he touched down, the questions came.

"What are we doing, Charlie?"

"This is too dangerous."

"What's going on? What happened?"

Charlie shushed them. "Hold on." He set off, back the way they entered the property.

Not another word was uttered—despite the tempted looks on their faces, and the way their mouths gaped as though preparing to speak—until the Perry house was out of sight.

Once, Todd looked back, unsure and dreading what he might find, but too curious not to. Catching the movement, Neil did the same. All there was was their shoeprint sumps, filling with snow. Todd tucked his thumbs into his fists.

At the last house on the street, Charlie broke the silence. "Okay, Neil needs to hide out for a few days. Any ideas?"

"Charlie, I told you, I can't stay-"

"Look," Charlie snapped. "It's the only option we've got right now, and it beats yours. So, ideas?"

Knox thought.

Pitts puffed a steaming breath into his hands.

Todd faltered.

But Meeks had an offer. "My parents have a carriage house you could use."

"Yeah, but how would we hide it from them?" Pitts asked.

"Well, we wouldn't have to," Meeks said. He lifted his hood against a strong gale. "They understand what you all have to go through with your parents. And they're always saying they would help out if they could."

"No good," Knox said. "If someone catches Neil, your parents could get put away for housing an underage runaway."

"Runaway?" Neil repeated, voice squeaking. Todd's fists squeezed tighter around his thumbs. (He faintly wondered if they would snap.)

"Sorry pal. It's for your own good," Charlie said, and for what it's worth, he did sound genuinely rueful.

"Geez," Neil breathed. His slimy bog of thoughts bubbled up once more, and Todd watched it happen; watched his face blanch and fall, his lips pull down and throat lurch.

He felt something trumpet up, distressed and wild inside him until he said, "My—my parents—" He stumbled when a light flickered on down the street. For a brief moment he thought it was the signal of a police officer, come for their heads. But it wasn't, and he had all the Poets' attention, and he couldn't say "never mind," and he most certainly couldn't leave Neil stranded. So he found the words to say, "My parents are out of town. They—they're away a lot, so... I mean, it should be safe—you know, for us to be there. There's food and water..."

"Are we staying with him?" Meeks asked Charlie.

"No, but if Todd wants to... Probably for the best anyway, having someone there with him."

Todd paused over their words. He did imply that, didn't he? Somewhere along the line he just assumed he would be staying with Neil.

He looked at said boy, who caught his glance and looked back. Todd swallowed hard.

"Uh—yeah. Sure. Yeah."

He was beginning to think he should keep his mouth shut.

"Alright. We've got a plan," Charlie said. He stepped out of his position on their imaginary path, saying, "Well, Todd, lead the way."

So in the cadence of how swiftly their plans changed, Todd found himself at the forefront of their troupe, with Neil to his right, and Charlie wavering between his left, and behind with the other three boys.

He warily led the way back into downtown—the only starting point he knew from which to find his parents' house. The entire way he jumped at the occasional extra loud grind of snow under their weight (tires on gravel, his brain insisted) and loud sniffles (sirens, his nerves lied), but not a car was seen until Main Street, where the snow drifts were already battered into the crooks of the sidewalks.

They passed reaching oaks and supercilious firs, soft-lit houses with windows like eyes staring, judging, waiting for authority to take them away so they can say, "I knew those kids were up to no good."

Todd toyed with his scarf under their imagined gazes. The hem holding the two colors—gold and red—together was frayed, unzipping further under his fidgety fingers. His eyes jittered around again and again, waiting for the trees to be proven right.

On one scan around, he caught sight of Neil—hands shoved in his pockets as deep as they could go, with his jaw clenched against chattering teeth. Todd looked down at himself. He was chilled to the bone, sure, but...

He peeked at Neil's bare neck.

The wind wrapped its cool fingers around his neck as he unraveled his scarf. He pulled at the freed thread that twirled down to skim the snow. It slipped from each stitch until all that was left was two strips of colored cloth and a thimble-full of thread. The thread fluttered to the ground like so many leaves before it.

"Here, Neil." He held out the gold strip.

Neil looked over, still dazed, but his eyes sharpened when he realized that, yes, Todd was addressing him. He took the gift and rubbed the chevron weave between his fingers. A little hint of true Neil was in his smile, then.

He wrapped the scarf around himself and grinned at Todd (though there was something in his eyes still tinged wrong). And somehow, despite everything he must have been feeling, he said, "We could use some big sweaters about now, huh?"

"I'll second that," Charlie chirped while Todd blinked, baffled at the change in Neil. He couldn't help but quirk a smile back.

From then on though, the screaming in his mind that condemned him for putting himself in the line of fire remained, but there was a balm. It was the knowledge that he would—and could—handle all of this for the sake of his friend.

Neil slowly sunk away once more.

Despite the ache in his feet—suede dress shoes were, of course, not made for hiking—Todd wasn't all that pleased to see his family's house when they arrived.

The street lamps on the road lit the front, the oval driveway, and the garage to the right of the house. The garage was painted white to match the house's trimming; the gutters and edges and the wraparound porch that ran from the front to the side, pressing against where the dining room rested. All the surrounding land was bosky, and the yard inbetween was empty save for a few craggy boulders matted with moss.

And the core color of the house, typically sagebrush green, looked at that moment just the shade of ill that Todd felt.

Up the short bump of porch stairs, Todd stopped before the door and examined the two potted trees on either side of it. Both were as naked and wiry as the night was glacial. Todd went to the left one.

"Uh..." Pitts was nearest to him, so he beckoned him over, saying, "Could you—grab the trunk." Pitts and the others were obviously befuddled, but he did as he was asked. "Pull."

He did. Instead of the expected spray of crumbling dirt, the whole tree scraped free of the clay pot. It was fit snugly inside a second one of plastic.

"Huh," Pitts said to the tree.

Todd got to his knees in a mushy cushion of the tree's decomposing leaves and reached blindly into the clay pot. (Once more, the spots on his knees felt like condemnation.) He came away with dirty fingertips and a brass key.

"Ooh, fancy," Charlie jested, and Todd unlocked the front door.

They trailed in slush and bits of leaves on their shoes, so they toed them off in the foyer, and plopped their sopping socks down with them.

They found their way into the parlor one by one. After everyone else, entered Pitts and Todd. Todd, at the last minute, had remembered to stow away the key once more. They saw, through the darkness, Neil in the recliner by the window, Meeks and Charlie on one of the two loveseats nearest the entryway, and Knox furthest away at the bookshelf wedged between the long sofa and deep-cleaned fireplace.

Pitts took a seat on the arm of Meeks and Charlie's couch, while Todd made sure the curtains were shut tight, turned on the lamp at the coffee table between the loveseats, and stood alone in the middle of the overplush carpet. Overplush in the sense that it was obvious by the springy fibers between their toes that it never felt much lived-in pressure.

That's why Todd wasn't surprised when Charlie commented, "Away a lot, huh?"

"Yeah, uh, my—my parents like to travel." Then, "Charlie," he said, new tone desperate, "What are we gonna do now?"

"Well, the way I see it," he started, kicking his feet up into Meeks' lap. ("Gee, thanks," Meeks muttered.) "Neil needs a little while to think things over. So in a few days you guys will come outta hiding with an idea how to talk to his father."

Todd took some solace in Charlie's phrasing—his pushing for one particular solution, as the other two, (running away for real, or completing Neil's earlier task) were unthinkable.

Charlie glanced at Neil, who stared into the carpet. "Neil, pal, listen."

Todd added his own, "Neil".

"Hmm?" Neil looked up, blinking. "Oh, uh—yeah. Wait, but what about you guys?"

"We're heading back to school to cover our tracks," Charlie answered.

"How will we communicate?" Pitts threw out.

That seemed to trip Charlie up. His brows furrowed, then he offered, "Secret knock."

"Sure," Meeks agreed.

"Maybe a-" Charlie reached around to knock the coffee table in a seven beat pattern.

"Throw in a door bell at the end, that way we know for sure," Neil said. Todd felt molten relief at hearing him say something without first being addressed.

"Fine." To set the example, Charlie knocked six times and ended with a flat "ding". "Everyone got that?"

They all murmured their affirmations.

"So, one of us'll drop by in a couple days," Charlie clarified. "See what he's come up with."

And then there was little else to say. The air was heavy with their plans. Eventually, Meeks stood, after pushing away Charlie's legs.

"I guess we'd better get going, then," he said. Charlie got up next, agreeing. Soon enough Pitts and Knox were with them.

Neil inflated somewhat, saying, "Somebody's gotta get Five Centuries out of my desk. If someone finds it, we're all done for. Oh, and Keating's school annual's on top of my closet. You'll need to get that, too."

"What, does it got our names on it?" Charlie half-teased.

Neil pursed his lips and shrugged. Everything about him radiated a guilty "yes".

Todd knew why, and where, their names were, too. He remembered The Night of Dancing in Big Sweaters down to the color the room blurred into as they spun. It was no wonder he recalled the letter to future Dead Poet Society members that fluttered from the annual that night. Neil typed up all their names at the end. The only thing that didn't implicate them was their missing John Hancocks.

Charlie agreed to find the books when he returned to Welton, and then led the way back to the door where all of their shoes sat in puddles.

After the four boys squelched back into their uncomfortable shoes, Neil thanked them with all his usual sincerity.

Todd only saw Knox clap Neil on the shoulder and say, "Take care, pal," before Charlie drew Todd's attention with his own shoulder clasp.

Charlie, lowly, said, "You guys'll be alright. I doubt he'll try again."

Todd nodded.

"Good luck." Charlie's grip tightened. They shared a look holding all the ample weight of knowing a friend almost ended his life.

Then, before Todd was ready—How would he be ready? He'd never be ready for this, he thought. They'll find us first—the door clicked closed behind the others, leaving Neil to hover, and Todd to fumble for the deadbolt.

He turned to Neil.

"...So," Todd said.

"So," Neil replied, just as lost.

They did nothing but walk until the Anderson house was a ways behind them, and the town thickened into less affluent suburbs. They traveled down a long, wide stretch of road that cleaved through the rows of houses, ending at the front gate of Welton Academy.

They passed the first string of houses when Pitts piped up.

"So what are we gonna do?"

Meeks said, "I assume there will be lying involved."

Charlie rubbed his hands together in a futile attempt at creating heat. He began, "When they ask-"

"Which they will," Pitts said over a strong gust of wind.

Charlie went on, "Neil went with his dad, Todd came back with us, and he was gone before any of us woke up. Didn't say anything about leaving."

"I'll have to talk to Drake," Knox noted, mostly to himself.

"And Cameron?" Meeks threw out.

"Knox, you talk that roommate of yours, and I'll talk to mine," Charlie said.

Suddenly they were trapped in the beam of headlights coming from behind. They hunched their shoulders against it, hoping, somehow, that despite them being the only people to be found on the lane, they wouldn't be spotted.

Charlie thought fast, dredging up an excuse for their tardiness at school, and for their missing friends, but the lights, though slow, did not stop for them. Instead, it turned down a branch of street to the right, sending not a single honk their way.

They sighed in relief, but maintained a tenseness about them.

They were like that until they reached Welton's gate, whereupon they traded tenseness for full-blown anxiety.

The muddy brown gate was far too tall and unclimbable, but Charlie had expected that. Interestingly enough for Charlie, considering his history with rule bending and rending, he had never been outside of the school grounds past curfew, and therefore didn't know for certain where they could hop the fence. He did have a guess, however. He nudged Knox.

"There's a low section down that way," he said, pointing to the right of the gate.

Knox shook his head. "Nolan's place is down that way. Besides, there's a lower spot this way." He pointed the opposite direction.

"You would know," Charlie teased.

Meeks, eager to get to his bed, cut in to tell Knox to "Lead the way." And he did.

They sidled between burly, wind-shivered bushes and the stone wall, which raised and lowered in certain sections, until they came upon a piece of wall that stopped a head above them.

With the boost of Pitts, who each of them remembered to thank before he gave them their little leg up, they got over the wall. Snow smeared their shirt bellies and pant legs as they climbed over the barrier. Charlie thought he would have been more crabby about it if he wasn't already chilled head to toe. In fact, he was more cross about the tangle of brambles he had landed in. He had grunted, and was pulled to his feet by an all too amused Meeks.

"I guess I should have warned you," Meeks had said, and he just about sounded sorry. Charlie took the revenge for what it was (the question is, revenge for which incident?) and let Knox and Pitts know about the nasty surprise on their side, not that they had any choice but to land in it.

Sticking to the shade of the trees as much as was possible, they kept lakeside of the main building.

Halfway to the door with the broken lock (the one they used to get to their late night meetings) Charlie veered off course, set for the lake.

Pitts made an irritated little sound. "Charlie, what..." He couldn't find the energy to complain, so he simply followed his friend.

"Go in if you want," Charlie said to them, but all followed.

At the edge of the lake, with his insides writhing against the cold, Charlie took his sweaty hand from where it was fisted in his pocket. He shifted the thing in his fist to his fingers, then paused to view the fat snowflakes as they began to fall. They were extraordinary snowflakes; the kind that, simply because of their size, one can't help but watch in wonderment. But his socks were so soaked as to leech what little heat his body could forge, as were his coat and pant legs. So with a hard thrust of his arm, he flung the object as far into the lake as he could. It glinted silver in the moonlight, and hit the water with a high thwop.

It was that thwop which shattered the silent agreement they had made just after leaving the Perry house.

"Charlie, what happened in there?" Knox asked from behind. "Why are we doing this?"

There were things he couldn't say, secrets that were not Charlie's to tell, but he had to give an answer. So he said, "Neil's folks want to ship him off to military school, effective immediately, because of the play. He tried talking to them, but they wouldn't listen, so we figure he can have a few days to think it over, maybe give them a few to see how serious he is, and when he comes back, Neil'll make them see some sense."

Pitts said, "But isn't this going too far? Surely he could just tell his parents-"

"He tried, Pitts. You know how hard it is to stand up to them. They're our parents. They think they own us," Charlie said.

"Alright," Knox sighed. "Alright."

"Let's get inside."

That was easier said than done. Almost as soon as the heat from the inside scorched their frozen faces, they had to turn tail against Hager's dog. She got out a single growl before they set out, trudged around outside, dug through the snow at the edge of the forest for minutes on end. Finally they made it past her with the bribe of a thick chunk of tree bark.

They each made for their rooms with scarce goodnights, while Charlie found the books Neil asked for, and passed them off to Meeks for safe keeping.

In his room, Charlie changed into blessedly dry pajamas, the warmest he could find. He decided, in his exhaustion, to grill Cameron in the morning.

He didn't even remember falling asleep.

Standing at the sink in the bathroom, Todd coughed up a storm that felt harsh enough to rival the one outside. The last of his tolerance for it died when he gagged, so he gulped down as much water as he could from the faucet. His face was red from the fit, but he knew Neil wouldn't mind. He probably heard all of the coughing, anyway.

When he wandered back into the living room, Neil was laid out on the long sofa, with the blanket from the back of the couch wrapped around him. Todd half expected him to be asleep, but Neil's eyes were wide open. He stared at the radio across the room up until Todd slipped in. Then he blinked and turned them to Todd.

Neil said quietly, "My grandfather used to tell me to go to sleep, 'cause things'll be better when I wake up. But what if—what if things aren't better?"

Trying not to panic over an answer he didn't think he had, Todd replied, "We'll make it work. We'll make it better."

Slowly, Neil smiled, surprising Todd. "Yeah. Night."

"Night."

Todd slumped into the nearest loveseat and laid awake in the darkness. He was almost afraid to close his eyes, just in case something happened to Neil. So Todd decided, between gaping yawns, that he would stay awake through the night. Just in case.

AN: I'd just like to put out there that any feedback and/or constructive criticism would be sincerely appreciated.

Enjoy your day, my friends.