Chapter 3
As soon as he sees the freshly polished floors and smells the distinct scent of a new paint job, Alex knows that this school is right for him. He walks down the halls in mild bewilderment, almost gleeful upon noting that none of the lockers are missing doors or handles. (At his old school, half the students were met with the decision of either carrying all of their supplies on their back at all times, sharing a locker with a friend, or dealing with the not-so appealing option of covering the gaping hole of their locker with a shower curtain and praying none of their stuff got stolen. Seeing that Alex had a grand total of zero friends and wasn’t trying to lose the textbooks he paid good money for, he ended up settling with hauling 75 pounds on his already bad back.)
It’s when he’s twisting the lock to his locker using the combination given to him on the school website that he spots Angelica from where she is bidding goodbyes to two girls that he assumes are her friends. While stuffing away the books he won’t need until later, he shouts her name and waves the girl over with his free hand.
“Hey, Peach Fuzz!” She’s slightly out of breath, and it would only take someone who was looking really closely to tell that she was rushing while applying her makeup (specifically, in the car on the way to school), but she still looks radiant.
“Yo, Angelica, what did I just tell you? Don’t call me that--I got a reputation to build here!”
She pouts, playfully. “Aw, I’m sorry, cupcake. I forgot who I was dealing with. Tough as nails Alexander Hamilton, right? Not the guy that hums to Ciara songs while doing my hair?”
He cringes. He may have gotten too into Body Party when it came on Ms. Martha’s small radio. “Are you making it your mission to ruin me before the first bell rings? Cause if so, that kinda puts a dent in our friendship.”
“I’m not that mean, Alex. I wouldn’t do that to you, especially after you got me looking all kinds of right today,” she makes a point of dramatically flipping her hair over her shoulder, eliciting an eye role from Alex.
“So, I’ll see you 2nd period for AP Lit?” When Angelica responds with a quiet “unfortunately”, Alex’s eyebrows raise. “What’s the problem?”
She shrugs. “Nothing, it’s just that the teacher for that class is a total asshole. For some inconceivable reason he was also teaching AP Gov last year, and he could not teach at all. Thankfully Mr. Washington is teaching it this year, so you’ll be in good hands.” She leans up against the locker next to Alex’s and sighs. “But Jesus, take the wheel, because English is going to be hell.”
“The guy can’t be that bad.”
“He showed up ten minutes late every class, plays favorites, and is a blatant racist. He had me listed as ‘Aunt Jemima’ on a list he was using to assign group projects once. Like, what the fuck?”
Alex already hated this guy. “That’s bullshit! Did you tell somebody?”
Angelica snorts, tapping out a quiet beat on the locker. “No point. The administration loves Adams, especially since the superintendent is his brother, or cousin, or something. Nothing will get that man fired. He could go running down the halls naked and stab the principal in the chest with a machete, and they would still let him work here.”
Alex ignores the imagery and implores, “But if he barely teaches, didn’t you all fail? Don’t AP teachers get fired if the students fail the test?”
“I don’t know. I mean, they should, but who knows. Besides, none of us failed. The class set up this amazing studying network where we exchanged notes, scavenged the textbook for stuff that was actually useful for hours, and begged kids from other schools to practically reteach us everything. Everyone in the class got a 4. Well, except for me.” She pushes off of the locker as the five minute warning bell rings and wraps an arm around Alex. “I got a 5.” She places a sloppy, lipstick stained kiss on his cheek, knowing that anyone who sees him will assume a parent did it. “See ya later, Peach Fuzz!” And with that, Angelica Schuyler is gone.
Alex shakes his head in semi-disbelief, before realizing what she’s done and frantically swipes the stain off his face. He shuts the locker, only slightly irritated, and is ready to go to his assigned homeroom when he hears his name being called from behind him. Had the voice belonged to anyone else, he probably would have considered continuing on his way, but he knows this voice, and turns around to meet the approaching form of a half put-together John Laurens. His dreads are loose, with half of them secured in a hair elastic while the other half swing free over his shoulders. His button-up shirt is misbuttoned, and only one leg of his khakis is rolled up. Though he wants to ask why he’s so dressed up, Alex cuts him some slack, as he figures this is probably the first time the poor guy hasn’t had to wear a uniform to school.
“Hey, what’s up? You look like you’ve been through hell and back.”
“I barely made it here alive. Even though I got my license a few weeks ago, my dad still won’t let me drive the car until I can ‘prove myself worthy’ or some shit. And, since this place is apparently sooo out of the way from his job, he had to send for one of his buddies to drive me since his daughter goes here too. But, the ass took forever to get to my house, and once he actually picked me up was driving like a madman. He made this one really sharp turn and I accidentally elbowed his daughter in ribs…” He rubs a hand on his neck, bashfully. “If you come across a chick named Martha who looks kinda pissed off, tell her I’m sorry.” Alex chuckles, ignoring the voice in the back of his head telling him to leave lest he be forever labelled as the tardy kid who doesn’t care about his studies. It’s just homeroom, and this is John. I can schmooze whoever the teacher is later.
John’s face turns from mild concern to legitimate anxiety. He leans up against a locker, the same way Angelica had, and bites his lip that Alex was unashamedly already staring at. Whoops. “But, uh, who was that girl you were talking to?” Alex stiffens at this. Shit, he had seen him with Angelica. Meaning he saw the kiss. Did he think they were together? Why would it matter if he thought they were, though? It’s not as if John was his boyfriend or anything, as much as he wishes he was. But, then why does John look like he just caught him cheating? That doesn’t make sense, right?
Right?
“Alex?” John prompts, eyebrows scrunching up. Alex’s face goes blank in realization. Oh, right, he had been asked a question. He really needs to work on covering up his internal crises.
“That was my friend, Angelica. She gets her hair done at Ms. Martha’s. She’s a senior.” John’s features visibly relax at this, which only serves to further confuse Alex. “She’s just kinda affectionate. Speaking of, I don’t have anything on my face, right?”
“Nah, you look good. I mean, your face. Looks.” He groans, squinting off into the distance. “No, there isn’t anything on it.”
“So, I guess I won’t be seeing you until lunch, huh?”
“Yeah, I know. It must be so hard staying away from this face, right?”
Alex can feel himself blushing again, because goddammit, he’s got a point. “Shut it, fucktool. But, seriously, you should’ve taken AP Gov with me! It’s not too late to request a change—“
“We’ve discussed this, Alex.”
“But it’s AP Gov! You’ll love it!”
“Oh boy, you’re one of those people that always feels the crippling need to mention that they’re taking AP classes, aren’t you?” John pivots so he’s still against the cool metal but facing Alex, who does the same, not unlike their positions during their first meeting.
“That would be me!”
“Well, unfortunately, we all can’t be you. I’m limiting myself to only one AP a year, so I chose AP Bio. Let me know when you finally start being crushed under the weight of your, like, five APs.”
Alex lightly shoves him. “It’s only three, fuckface.”
“These nicknames just get more and more endearing, my dear.” He kicks himself off of the locker and ruffles Alex’s short hair. “I s’pose we should head to homeroom, though, before we get marked as l--“ The late bell chooses this time ring, which Alex knows is just the universe’s way of saying “fuck you :)”.
The two boys make a dash for their respective homerooms, yelling, “Bye!” as they speed down opposite ends of the hall.
He’s only two minutes late when he finally reaches the classroom, but he knows that a lot can happen in two minutes. He quickly composes himself before he opens the door, hoping that perhaps the universe can actually help him out for once and let him sneak in unnoticed.
Nope, the universe definitely still hates him, as all eyes are on him as soon as he’s through the threshold. The teacher, a balding black man wearing an almost too crisp suit, is standing in front of the class, giving him a look that Alex translates as “sit your ass down,”. He licks his lips nervously and finds a seat in the second row. He slaps a palm to his forehead. So much for schmoozing.
“So, as I was saying,” the teacher begins. “I’m Mr. Washington and I will be your homeroom teacher for the year. We should be able to have a great time, as long as you follow the homeroom rules. “ He points at the various bulleted phrases on the board. “Be respectful, refrain from yelling, be on time,” he looks in Alex’s direction at this one, causing him to slouch slightly in his seat. “Eating is only allowed if you didn’t have breakfast already. And, yes, I know, there’s no way for me to prove whether or not you have, but I expect everyone in here to be honest with me. Speaking of honesty, I want you all to be able to talk to me about anything that is bothering you. I’m not the guidance counselor, but I feel that we should be able to forge a relationship where you feel like you can confide in me. But, don’t feel like you have to. My feelings won’t be hurt if you decide it’s too weird talking to a teacher about your problems.” He takes a seat and claps his hand together. A feeling of dread washes over Alex.
God, please no. Anything but the—
“So, now, I want each of you to tell me your name, what you did over the summer, and one special thing about you.”
The get-to-know-you exercise.
As each student goes through, Alex can feel shame rising within him. All the other kids talk about their summer in Guam or how they’re an award winning horseback rider, while all Alex can say for himself is that he might have carpel tunnel after doing so many micro-braids over the summer. The kid in front of him, James Madison, goes on about how they spent the break at a huge youth writing conference in Atlanta, and Alex decides that he needs to make up something and fast.
“Uh, I’m Alex Hamilton and over the summer I…” Think! Literally anything but doing hair! “Did an internship at the circuit court downtown?” It comes out more as a question, and the only reason he thought of it was because of one of the judicial system posters hanging up on one of the walls, but it sounds good enough. “And, something interesting about me is that I used to live in Haiti.” He doesn’t want to get more into it, and lets out a breath of relief when Washington moves on to the girl behind him instead of asking any questions like he did with some of the other students. He’s safe.
Well, that is until the period is over, and Washington stops him before he leaves the room. “Hamilton, was it?”
“Yeah, that’s me. Uh, did I do something wrong, sir?”
“No, no, not at all. I just found what you said about working at the courthouse to be the perfect opportunity to reach out to you about something.” Alex narrows his eyes. Did he know he was lying? Was this some sort of trap?
“You ever heard of Mock Trial?”
“Yeah,” Alex lies. He doesn’t want to sound as behind everyone else as he knows he is.
“Well, I think you might be a good addition to our team, since you already have experience. I run the team, and we meet up on Thursdays and Fridays. It’s not easy, and you can’t exactly be involved in any other after-school activities because of it, but, if you’re really interested in learning firsthand about the legal system, I think you should give it a shot.” He rests a firm, but surprisingly comforting hand on Alex’s shoulder. “If you want to sign up, I’d recommend doing it soon, since seats tend to fill up fast. People usually drop out a week into practices, though, so you shouldn’t have any problem getting in if you miss signing up for the interest meeting.” The bell rings, and Washington releases him. “You should head along now, Hamilton. Wouldn’t want you to be late to any more classes, now would we?” The tone of his voice tells Alex that he doesn’t mean this maliciously, and he smiles, bidding thanks as he rushes out of the door to his next class.
Alex is already sitting down at his desk in the front of the empty room when Angelica comes trudging in through the door. She has the face of a woman walking to her own funeral.
“Aw, don’t look so glum! At least you got me, right?” Alex asks, feigning the enthusiasm he wished he still had after the unbearably boring 1st period Trig class. Angelica glares at him, unamused, but nonetheless takes the seat next to him.
“Can you just talk me to death so I don’t have to go through this?” She requests before resting her head on the desk with a soft thunk.
Alex shrugs. “No guarantees, but I can try. What do you know about Mock Trial?”
Angelica’s head rises so fast Alex is surprised she didn’t get whiplash. “Mock Trial is awesome. I’ve been doing it since the tenth grade, so I can show you the ropes, if you want. It’s a lot of work, but it looks so good on college applications, trust me.” She starts twirling one of the many rings on her fingers. “Or, at least, that’s what my dad tells me. But, don’t just do it because of college, or you’ll want to quit after the first meet.”
“Sounds good. I’ll try to sign up during lunch.”
Alex always felt that law would be a good back-up option if politics don’t work out (which it will, he knows). He knows that it’s more than just arguing—even though he’s very good at arguing—and always wanted to prosecute the bad guys; the real bad guys, like Wall Street white collar cons and untouchable killer cops. He’s always wanted to give them a taste of their own medicine, as spiteful as that may sound. Mock Trial would be good for him; a nice first step into the world of justice. He's snapped out of his lamenting by the door slamming open, revealing a flood of students, but still no teacher.
“Bonjour, y’all,” greets a tall, pasty teen donning a snapback on his head. He’s followed by the Madison kid from earlier with a girl on his arm. The girl is petite with light brown skin and a look on her face that tells Alex that she’d rather be anywhere else but here.
“Oh boy,” mutters Angelica under her breath. “Get ready for some bullshit, starting in three…two…”
The guy, upon noticing Angelica slowly sinking in her chair, releases the girl in his arms and practically pushes her aside. “Well, hello, Angelica Schuyler! I feel like it’s been eons since I’ve last seen my sweet thang.” He swaggers over to where the two are seated, lifting his feet up so his shiny, brand new Yeezy's are in plain view. He leans over on Angelica’s desk, large hands splayed out. “How you doin’, girl? You look fifty shades of gorgeous. You still talking to that Church guy? ‘Cause, if not, I’m always available.”
Angelica takes a deep breath, and sits up high in her seat, looking the boy dead in the eyes. “Tom, I’ve been telling you this since sophomore year: you and me? Never gonna happen.” She places a bright, obviously fake smile on her face. “I see you haven’t changed much. Ain’t that sad? I don’t know why I thought living it up in the Alps over the summer drinking $1500 booze would change you.”
Tom lets out a surprised laugh. “Aw, I see you’ve been checking my Instagram, huh? France was lovely, thanks for asking, baby. The fam wanted to do a whole European tour, but I got ‘em to reconsider, didn’t I, Sally?” He directs the question to the back of the room, at the girl he pushed away, who is now applying a thick coat of foundation to what appears to be a hickey on her neck. She raises the corners of her lips in a failed attempt at a smile.
“Screw off to the nearest Waffle House parking lot, Jefferson. It’ll remind you of home.”
“Mm! Bless your cold, bitter heart, Angel.” He seems to notice Alex for the first time in the past few minutes, and turns to lean on his desk. “And just who is this? What’s good, brotha?” He slaps a hand on his shoulder, which Alex rips off with a quickness.
“Don’t fucking touch me. And, I’m not your brother.
“Ooh, there’s a temper on this one! Where you from, man? And, I don’t mean where you live, because it’s obvious from your attire that you frequent the crackhouse on 5th avenue, but where are you really from? Your accent is weird as fu—“
Alex is up in a flash, face so close to that of Jefferson’s that their noses are almost touching. “Listen, you wannabe Eminem, Colonel Sanders-sounding ass, MTV circa 2008-reject, don’t you dare, for one second think that I won’t blast your pale ass to the next century, where society may finally be progressive enough to indict you on all the counts of fuckery that my friend and I have had the misfortune to witness today. Please, do everyone a favor, and never talk to me again.” And just like that, he’s back in his seat, his eyes not leaving the other’s boy’s. The class is almost disturbingly silent.
Unfortunately, that is the exact time that the teacher decides to walk into the room. “Well, I can see we’re off to a good start.” The room comes alive again, with students in the back of the room cackling and typing away at their phones to spread the news about what just happened. Jefferson’s eyes narrow as he scurries back to his seat, silently fuming. Alex feels a smirk forming on his face until he sees the disapproving eye of Mr. Adams. “And, who would you be, young man?”
Angelica’s eyes are boring straight into his head, as if daring him to say some smart-ass jibe that could get him detention. (Which he wasn’t going to say, in the first place. Probably.) “Alex Hamilton, sir.”
Adams raises an eyebrow in disdain. “Interesting. It looks like I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Mr. Hamilton.”
Alex’s nostrils begin to flare up, but he doesn’t say a word.
Fuck first impressions.
The fire brewing inside of him as yet to subside by the time 4th period swings around. As excited as he wants to be for AP US Government and Politics, his interactions with both Jefferson and Adams have left him with nothing but rage. For the rest of the class, instead of going through the syllabus, or discussing their summer reading or something, Adams had yammered on and on about his own summer vacation, shooting Alex a nasty look every now and then. As much as he wanted to stand up and leave, he couldn’t risk getting in trouble on the first day. His foster dad would certainly not be pleased if he received a call from the principal’s office. He had spent the entirety of his 3rd period Music History class plotting Adams’ demise.
Needless to say, he’s more than a little pissed when he stomps into Mr. Washington’s room, all but throwing his books at the same desk he sat in during homeroom. He plops into the chair, and sends a quick text to Angelica as Washington hasn’t arrived yet.
A.Ham: im so fuckin mad lmao...but I came up with a plan to frame adams for arson so
Schuyler ;): Please dont do this. U cant become president if u have a criminal record remember?
A.Ham: ur point is??
The rest of the room fills up at this point, along with Washington in all his authoritative glory. Alex quickly learns that his homeroom demeanor isn’t much different from his teacher one, as he is just as quiet and commanding as he was earlier. He writes his name on the whiteboard in blocky letters, and turns to face the seated students.
“Hello, class. My name is Mr. Washington and I will be teaching you the logistics of the United States government. We will be learning about the institutions that make this country’s political engine tick. Though this isn’t a history course, history is necessary to understanding the past, the present, and the future, so we will be discussing certain historical events in detail.” He begins to pass out thick stacks of paper that Alex recognizes as the syllabus.
“As this is an advanced placement course, you all will be learning at a college level. I also fully expect you to be analytical, and ready for debate. There will be plenty of writing in this course, and you will see on the syllabus that I do not accept any late work. Do you think the president gets extended deadlines on proposals?” He begins to pace with his hands behind his back, making sure to stare every student in the eye at least once. When his eyes catch Alex’s, he gives a polite nod.
“I will be treating you all like the adults that you are soon to be. I will respect you and your opinions as if you are peers, and I expect you to give me the same respect in return. I know politics can be taboo, but I feel as if we can’t be open about it until everyone is prepared to actually listen to each other, not just wait to talk. You all are the future of this country, whether current politicians want to believe it or not. This is a class where you will learn about what you want from your country, and also, what your country wants from you.” He stops walking and takes a seat on top of his desk. “So, any questions?”
Alex’s hand shoots up immediately. He speaks before Washington can even give him the go ahead. “In regards to the writing, will we be doing mostly opinion pieces on contemporary politics or informative pieces on historical politics? I mean, both are fine, I guess, but if this is supposed to be helping us for the future, I think the contemporary would be better. Also,” without taking a breath, Alex begins to pick apart every single point in the syllabus (“Presidential outlines? No offense, but I see no point in that,”) and effectively causing everyone in the class to pray for 5th period lunch to be their saving grace.
Washington, true to his word, does not interrupt Alex so he can continue on with the class, despite how much he obviously wants to. He even answers most of the questions, when Alex pauses for long enough for him to get a word in. Though not all the answers satisfy him (“The outlines will help you in the long run, Hamilton,”), just the fact that Washington was listening to him at all was almost enough.
Alex is about to ask one more arbitrary question when the bell rings, which frees the other 21 students in the class. As they rush out of the room in a herd of hormones and grumbling stomachs, Alex takes his time to pack up his supplies, leaving him alone with Washington. The teacher erases his name off of the board, and starts to close his briefcase when he says, “Hamilton, a word?”
Fuck, he screwed up. So, maybe he had been talking too much, but they were all reasonable questions that anyone would have had! Alex swallows down a gulp and slowly steps over to Washington’s desk, gripping the straps of his backpack like a lifeline. He silently prays that he won’t be kicked out of the class for being a nuisance. He begins to apologize when Washington raises a stopping hand.
“Don’t be sorry, son. I like the fact that you care enough about the subject to be so critical. However, I would have appreciated it if you had saved those questions for after class?” Alex can feel himself stiffening at the word “son”, but he ignores it, for now. “Regardless, you showed initiative today. I can’t wait to see that same initiative in Mock Trial, if you still decide to join.”
Alex is practically bouncing with joy. He made a good impression on Washington without even really trying, and was probably going to be accepted into his good graces even more through Mock Trial. “Yes, sir, I plan on signing up soon, just like you said! I can’t wait to get started!” Washington chuckles at his enthusiasm, and sits back on the desk.
“You have any more questions, before I head out?” Alex nods, and proceeds to badger him with questions about the course, the club, and about Washington himself. He feels his phone buzzing in his pocket, but ignores it in favor of Washington’s insight.
He knew this was a good school (or at least a not completely shitty one), but Alex always felt as if the one constant of all schools, no matter where they were or how they were funded, was terrible, no good, very bad cafeteria food. His old school was a prime example. The hotdogs had a shade of yellow to them, the baked beans were putrid, and the pizza tasted like cardboard covered with spray cheese.
So, imagine his surprise when he’s faced with possibly the most appetizing public school dining options tax dollars could buy.
They’re serving burgers that looked…fully cooked? And fries! Alex didn’t even know that schools served French fries. He’s in heaven. It’s only when one of the lunch ladies clears their throat that Alex realizes he’s been staring at the food for at least two minutes.
“Hey, Alex! Over here!” His attention switches from the surprisingly not-disgusting food to Angelica’s form waving him over from a table not too far from the lunch-line. She’s sitting with the girls Alex had seen her with earlier that day, and he watches as one of them, a rather disgruntled Filipina, seems to tell her to stop being so loud. The other girl, a short Native American, is scribbling words onto a Chemistry worksheet at the speed of light, nearly knocking down her can of soda every time she reaches the end of a line. Alex feels a chuckle rising in his throat—he can tell when someone’s assignment is due next period.
He gives Angelica a salute of acknowledgment and quickly pays for his food, ignoring the look of contempt the lunch lady is giving him for taking so long. He runs the few yards to the table, and settles down at the chair directly across from Angelica.
She leans forward in her seat. “So, how was Gov?”
Alex sighs. “Everything I’ve ever dreamed of and more.”
“I’m gonna assume you liked Washington?”
“He’s a genius! Honestly, after dealing with that walking dildo Adams earlier, I was seriously reconsidering the competence of the staff here. But Washington is like…” For once he finds himself speechless.
“Everything you’ve ever dreamed of and more?” She quotes, an amused glint to her eye.
“Exactly!”
Angelica laughs as she pushes aside her lunch tray. “Alright, Alex’s mancrush on Mr. Washington aside—“
“I do not have a crush on—“
“I don’t think any of you have been acquainted! Alex, these are my baby sisters Eliza and Peggy,” she indicates which one is which with a nod of the head. “Girls, this is Alex Hamilton. I may have mentioned him once or twice as the ‘loudmouth hairdresser with the bug-eyes’?” The three girls start cackling at this, causing Alex to cross his arms.
“You won’t be saying that next time I’m in charge of doing your hair. I hear that the whole shaved look is in these days.” He smirks as Angelica’s eyes widen in horror and her sisters laugh even louder.
“Don’t you dare--you’re kidding!”
“I’m deadass serious, Angelica. Dead. Ass.” He pauses in his taunting when something clicks in his head. “Wait, you’re all sisters?”
With a roll of the eyes, Angelica begins, as if she had to explain this numerous times before, “If you must be technical, we’re half-sisters. Our dad kept shooting blanks so our mom turned to a sperm bank. Peggy’s our dad’s only bio-daughter. That answer satisfy you?”
It did. Despite the different shades and facial structures of the three girls, there’s something eerily similar about them. They share the same pointed, long nose, bushy eyebrows, and incredibly dark eyes. However, even where they are the same, they’re different, as Eliza’s eyelids are covered in a light pink eyeshadow and eyeliner that appear to have been drawn on rather painstakingly. Angelica’s eye makeup is dark and smudged, while Peggy’s glasses cover up any possible evidence of makeup at all. Still they stare at him with one raised eyebrow each, terrifying Alex in the process. Yes, definitely sisters, he concludes.
(Angelica will later inform him that the kids at school used to call them the “rainbow children”. That was, until she punched one of the kids in the face. Ever since then, people usually keep quiet about their ethnicities.)
Alex takes a bite out of his burger, and is suddenly awash with bliss. Dreams do come true, he thinks to himself as he looks around the cafeteria. He spots a condiments station on the other side. Perfect. In the meantime, he also notices the amount of tables that are overflowing with friends, with some people choosing to sit on another’s lap instead of just sitting at a table farther away. “How come y’all only sit with each other?” It’s out before he’s able to put his already faulty brain-to-mouth filter to use.
Peggy shrugs as she erases an equation from her sheet. “Because of what happened last year.”
Angelica’s mouth falls open. “Peggy!”
Eliza bristles, clearly uncomfortable by the whole ordeal. She quickly supplements with, “It’s not that we don’t have friends, it’s just easier if we stick together at lunch, is all.”
“Oh, sorry, yeah, I get it. Uh,” he looks down at his burger as an awkward silence falls over the table. “So, I’m gonna get some ketchup for this bad boy, aight?” He scurries away quickly with his tail between his legs. Angelica takes a break from giving Peggy the eye to notice that Alex is gone.
“I told you he was cute,” she mutters, staring at her acrylic nails rather than gawk at the retreating form of Alex Hamilton like her sisters are (or, at least Eliza is. Peggy hasn’t looked up from her paper once).
“I call first dibs,” whispers Eliza, eagerly.
“What? How do you get first dibs when I’ve known him for a whole year longer than you?”
“Well, of course you’ve known him longer! You’ve been hoarding him all to yourself at that hair salon. Y’know, after the first time you told us about him, I had half a mind to storm the place.”
“Honey, no offense, but you don’t exactly have the hair texture to be waltzing up into Ms. Martha’s.”
“I mean I wouldn’t necessarily be getting my hair done, but who’s to say that I couldn’t just be in the neighborhood, supporting my sister in one of her six hour endeavors?” Eliza takes a pointed sip of her watered-down lemonade. “If you’d just been generous enough to give me the address…” The teen thinks to herself for a moment. “Plus, you have Church, don’t you?”
Angelica rolls her eyes, sticking her hand in front of Eliza’s face. “Anyway, what do you think, Peg? I have all rights to Alex, right?”
“Look, if I don’t finish this by the end of lunch, Franklin will kill my ass. Literally.” She brushes a strand of light brown hair out of her face. “He’s cool but, he’s not ‘turn in your twenty pages of summer work anytime you want!’ cool. Go figure out your weird custody battle later.”
Angelica huffs. “Fine. You shouldn’t have waited so long to start your summer work anyway.”
Peggy looks up from the paper for a split second before returning her attention to it once more. “Is this really coming from you? You’ve had senioritis since middle school.”
Eliza nudges her in the side. “She’s got a point, Angel. Remember that time you didn’t start your science fair project until the morning it was due?”
“Yes. I also recall that project winning 1st place, so both of you shut up.” She leans in closer to whisper to Eliza, “He’s still mine until further negotiations can be made.”
The middle Schuyler sister nods curtly, just as Alex makes his way back to the table, bouncing with energy.
“So, how come you didn’t tell me the food here was so good?”
Peggy stops writing. “This shit is considered ‘good’?”
Eliza shakes her head at her sister’s bluntness. “What Peggy means is that, compared to our last school, the food here is a little subpar.”
“Not to sound like the spoiled rich girl I am, but I miss baked ziti Tuesdays,” Angelica frowns, staring dejectedly at her tray.
“Baked ziti Tuesdays? What, did you have shrimp scampi Wednesdays too?!”
Eliza lays her hand on her cheek, smiling softly. “No silly, Wednesday was Empanada day. Shrimp scampi was served on Fridays.”
Alex returns the smile. “Well, pardon me. Here I was getting all excited to eat something that’s actually edible for once, while you’ve been eating like royalty. Where’s your old school and how soon can I transfer?” Eliza giggles, her nose scrunching up in a way that Alex can only define as adorable.
Angelica, always observant, can see the look in his eyes. Perhaps negotiation will have to take place sooner than she originally thought.
Eliza is in the middle of telling him more about her prep school days when Alex checks the large clock on the cafeteria wall. “Shit, I gotta go sign up for Mock Trial before lunch is over. I’ll see you lovely ladies later.” Though he is talking to all of them, his eyes rest on Eliza, who is staring back at him with heart eyes. Angelica rolls her eyes for what feels like the thirtieth time that day.
“Peace out, Peach Fuzz. Don’t get into no trouble!” She grins as he walks away, saying “dammit, Angelica!” and pushing through the doors of the cafeteria.
Alex finds the sign-up sheet easily enough. It’s tacked in the middle of a row of several badly decorated bulletin boards. He stares at the Comic Sans type of the words and decides that not even George Washington is above using questionable means of gathering a following.
HAVE AN INTEREST IN LAW? ENJOY PARTICIPATING IN THEATRICS? ABLE TO PARTAKE IN CRITICAL THINKING?
WELL, MOCK TRIAL MAY BE THE CLUB FOR YOU!
INTEREST MEETING AFTER SCHOOL ON THURSDAY IN ROOM 1-776
BE PREPARED TO TAKE NOTES! :)
Washington hadn’t been kidding when he said that people sign up fast; the sheet was already halfway filled. As soon as he’s done writing his name in rather large, sinewy font, he feels a tap on his shoulder that initially makes his blood run cold.
He spins around, fists up, to meet John’s freckled face.
The taller boy puts his hands up in defense. “Whoa, who are you squaring up to, it’s just me!”
“Sorry, sorry.” Alex clears his throat, embarrassed. “I’m not the best person to be sneaking up on.”
John makes the “OK” sign with his hands. “Duly noted. So, how’s your day been? You get my text?” Alex shakes his head—he had been too busy talking to Washington. “I was telling you to swing by room 212 for lunch. You make any friends yet?” Only enemies, he wants to reply, but then he’ll sound like one of those “I came here to win” types from a reality show. Which, he is, on the low, but John doesn’t need to know that just yet.
“Not really, unless you count Angelica’s sisters,” he says instead.
John snorts. “Nah, man, fuck that. Let me introduce you to two of my friends. You’re gonna love these dudes.” John leads him down the hall and into a small, empty office where two students are sitting atop a cherry wood desk. The taller of the two, who has to be at least an inch or two over six feet tall, leaps off the desk and grasps Alex’s hand.
“Allo,” the teen says. “My name is—“
“Really long, don’t bother wasting your breath on it, babe,” interrupts the other one. He slides off the desk as well. “This is Lafayette. But, if you get on their really, really good side, you get to call them Gilbert.”
“No one gets to call me Gilbert, tu bite,” Lafayette says in a thick French accent. Alex brightens at this, but he can tell that the senior is probably from a European francophone country, if not France itself. “But my mate is correct. My only expectation is that you refer to me using your ‘they’ and ‘them’ pronouns. I am nonbinary. I know that this will take getting used to, but I implore that you try your hardest to adhere to my wishes.”
“Hold up, what?” It’s not that Alex hasn’t heard of people dropping the skewed concept of the gender binary altogether, because he has. However, he’s never met anyone in real life who was nonbinary, and even if they were, they were never so open about it.
John frowns. “Hey, please don’t be an asshole about this, Alex.”
“I’m not! But you called him—fuck, them, ‘dude’.”
“I call everybody ‘dude’, dude.”
Lafayette grins, good-naturedly. “It is alright, you do not need to worry about it, mate.”
Their English isn’t bad, per say; it’s just incredibly formal, and the occasional sliding in of a British slang term leads Alex to believe that Lafayette learned the majority of their English out of a British written, French school-mandated text book.
The guy next to Lafayette is short and stocky, wearing a blue bandana Tupac-style around his head. Alex worries for two seconds that it’s gang-affiliated before remembering what side of town he’s on. He silently prays that the guy never decides to go over to the east side with it on, unless he’s packing.
“The name’s Hercules Mulligan, no if’s, and’s, or but’s. Call me anything but my name and you’re catching these hands.” He makes a point of this by cracking his knuckles while staring dead into Alex’s eyes. Shit, maybe he is packing.
“Why would anyone call you anything else? Hercules is a boss name.”
Mulligan’s façade falls quickly, his face morphing along with his dimpled smile. “Thank you! I’ve been saying that since the kids in my fifth grade class kept calling me the name of every other mythology hero but Hercules. Do I look like a Hermes to you? Or a fucking Hades? It’s plain disrespectful.”
Lafayette pats their friend on the back, seemingly accustomed to Hercules’ name-despairing. Their hand falls when Hercules gives them a look, nodding indiscreetly toward Alex and John. Though perplexed at first, recognition dawns on their face and they step even closer to the two. “Do either of you wish to participate in theater?”
Alex snorts. No fucking way, he thinks to himself. Plays always made him want to fall asleep and musicals usually made him beg for sweet release halfway through the first act. John, on the other hand, is nodding vigorously.
“Hell yeah! I was in a production of ‘The Merchant of Venice’ last year. And, the year before that, I was Seaweed in ‘Hairspray’.” He refrains from telling them that he only got the role because he was the only black guy in the entire school that was interested in theater. He still was the best fucking Seaweed Westwood Preparatory School for Boys had ever seen.
Hercules freaks out at this, “Oh shit, me too! I mean, I wasn’t Seaweed, or actually in it, but we put it on at my community theater and I was in charge of the costumes. I do that here, too, so if y’all get roles in our next show, you can count on me to make you look sexy as hell.” He pauses for a second. “Or, if you piss me off, I can put very inconveniently placed holes in your costumes that you won’t notice until opening night.”
Lafayette giggles. “It is true. He did the same thing last year when we performed ‘The Importance of Being Earnest’ and the lad playing Algernon called him useless.” They cover their mouth with a hand to hide their large teeth. “Let us just say that it is a good idea to leave Hercules alone.”
“Damn straight,” he wraps an arm around Lafayette’s waist, pulling them closer. Alex’s eyebrows rise, taken aback by the open affection. At his old school, the only openly out gay kid ended up transferring to a different school because the bullying was so bad. Hypermasculinity was highly encouraged, meaning that any male friendship that was even slightly considered affectionate was immediately bashed by the masses. Were Hercules and Lafayette always like this, or was it just because the only other people around were two new students that no one really knew? He desperately wants to ask if they’re a thing.
“What’s the show?” He finds himself asking instead.
“We’re doing Little Shop of Horrors, one of my favorites! And, after begging the theater department head, they’ve allowed it to be a student-run show! Since it is my final year, I will be acting as the director, of course.” They preen a bit at this, rubbing their painted nails over their chest. “So, I am also in charge of casting. You need to audition, both of you. To be frank, we need as much help as we can get.”
John’s head tilts to the side a bit. “What do you mean? Y’all don’t get big turnouts for auditions?”
Lafayette waves a dismissive hand. “Not at all! We have no problem with getting a full cast. But the casts we have had in recent years have been, well…” They put a closed fist to their chin, face deep in concentration, as if trying to find the words. “We are trying to, eh, diversify the theater department. It all came to a head when we put on ‘The Wiz’ for our spring show last year and only two characters were black.” They make a grimace. “I told the director that we might as well just do the ‘Wizard of Oz’, but he insisted. That is not happening again, I will make sure of it before I graduate.”
Though it was for a good cause, Alex honestly could not see himself being of any assistance. He didn’t do musicals. The only musical he’s ever seen all the way through was Dreamgirls, but that was just the movie and it was 99.9% because of Beyoncé. He wasn’t going to stand up in front of half the school in some ridiculous costume (despite how sexy Hercules may claim it would be) dancing and singing about his feelings when there was work to do. Plus, Washington had said it himself: if he wanted to be in Mock Trial, he would have to say goodbye to any other extracurriculars. As he prepares to say as much to Lafayette, John cuts him off with, “I got you, 100 percent. We’ll be there at auditions, right Alex?” He proceeds to fuck Alex up even more by flashing one of those Certified John Laurens’ Mega Watt Smiles (Guaranteed to Destroy Alexander Hamilton or Your Money Back!) and looks down expectantly at him. Alex’s entire world is moving in slow motion, and whatever excuse he was about to give dies in his throat. Goddammit.
“Yeah, you can count on us, don’t worry ‘bout it,” is what he hears himself saying, which somehow makes John’s smile grow impossibly brighter. He forces his eyes to break away from the tragically beautiful sight right before he is crushed next to John in a tight hug by Lafayette.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You have no idea what this means to me! Give me your numbers so I can text you when auditions are being held and so you can be the first to know when the cast list is up.” They release the pair and hands them both their phone for them to enter their contact info as Hercules watches on with fondness. Alex decides that he’ll ask one of them about their thing later.
For now, he has to figure out how the hell to get himself out of this.