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Alexander Hamilton’s foster parents were going to be disappointed in him, which was a quite new experience.
He got good grades, managed to stay out of enough trouble so he could walk the hallways of Mt Vermont High School without getting jumped by some jock.
He was smart enough to survive the school and thrive in it, but he had the fattest mouth ever which got him into a lot of trouble
An example of trouble was yelling, “This isn’t what happened during the Trail of Tears!” then attempting to teach his history teacher his own class because he obviously wasn’t capable enough to do it by himself.
He desperately tried to believe that he wasn’t a know-it-all, he was simply trying to educate others.
“You can’t give me a detention!” Alexander argued.
The woman he was speaking to didn’t waver, she just shrugged lightly and continued writing something down on that annoying pink slip of paper.
“What happened to my freedom of speech, huh? Or does it not apply when it isn’t in your favour?”
The woman blinked slowly, before focusing back on the paper. “You can exercise your free speech outside of this classroom.” She drawled, her voice annoyingly snarky.
“But that’s unconstitutional!”
He had hardly gotten his last word out of his mouth when the woman shook her head and slid the paper with ‘DETENTION SLIP’ written on it to his side of the desk.
“You can leave now, Mr Hamilton.”
He glared. “I will.”
Once he left her office, he had hardly taken a few steps before he was rammed into a nearby locker, the metal bit scraping his bare arm painfully.
“Sorry, dude!” A boy that Alexander recognised yelled before sprinting down the corridor.
And now, onto Laurens.
Laurens had got into a bit of trouble in his American football game when he accidentally rammed his fist into someone else’s throat during a game.
His coach had temporarily pulled him off the team and he had to go to Saturday detention every day until graduation.
Laurens had been absolutely terrified of his father getting the news that he might have murdered someone on the pitch, but his father was off on a business trip and he only had a few days left until he came home.
He was sent to speak to the guidance counsellor about what he did on the pitch while she issued a nightmarish detention slip for him. John Laurens. Straight B student. Top athlete. He was sacrificing a whole Saturday in detention.
Of course, while he was two seconds away from almost killing someone, he didn’t notice someone else lighting a firecracker and throwing it into the crowd.
Charles Lee never could keep himself out of trouble for too long, he mused.
—
In that very moment, Alexander knew he was going to die.
He had only entered the classroom they were going to be using for his and other’s detentions, but once he surveyed the other people who were going to he serving it with him, he felt all the hope he had left for his survival slip out of him.
There was John Laurens, top athlete who was in here for nearly killing someone. Charles Lee, nutcase who was two seconds away from being locked up. He was probably here for throwing a firecracker at the crowd in the football game last week.
Thomas Jefferson, his high school’s prince. He got everything he wanted and never had to work for it. Practically everyone seemed to love him and he was never in trouble, well, until now.
One person there surprised him, though. James Madison, complete basket case.
Everyone knew him, it was hard to miss a short boy wrapped in what seemed like fifty layers of warm clothes, coughing every five words and always tried to avoid speaking.
People also remembered him as the kid who had a seizure in the first day of school.
“So.” Someone said from behind him.
Alexander twisted around and struggled to hide his scowl. He had minimum respect for teachers, and a new one he hadn’t spoken to before wouldn’t be much different.
“I’m Mr Washington and I would be overseeing your detention.” He introduced.
Jefferson rolled his eyes. “Wow, aren’t I excited.”
Washington ignored him and instead surveyed the students around him.
“How about we introduce ourselves and tell each other why we are in here?” He suggested, his tone abnormally soft.
Laurens leaned backwards in his chair. “I’m John Laurens. I’m in here for accidentally punching someone in the throat during the last football game.”
“I understand that it’s a contact sport but you mustn’t take it so far, Laurens.” Jefferson scoffed, his eyes shining with something akin to glee.
“Charles Lee. Threw a lit firecracker in the crowd of his football game.” He grinned in dangerous satisfaction and Madison flinched.
“Thomas Jefferson,” he drawled, placing his hands behind his fluffy hair. “Threw a globe into the window and broke it.”
“I’m not going to ask.” Alexander muttered. He was sick of this whole thing already and he just wanted to go home.
“James Madison,” he said softly, shuffling in his seat. “Stuck a shock pen into someone’s ear.” Jefferson grinned and high fived him.
“Alexander Hamilton,” he introduced. “Yelled at a teacher and attempted to teach his subject for him.”
Laurens glanced at him. “Which teacher?”
He looked just about ready to fight someone, his eyes bright with something like determination and his freckles looking so fucking cute.
“Mr Jackson.” Alexander said.
“Trail of Tears?” He asked sympathetically.
Alexander nodded. “He always finds a way to mess up that part of history.”
“Man, fuck Jackson.”
Washington cleared his throat. “If we could get back on topic, please.”
He pulled out a handful of pens and sheets of paper from a shelf in the corner before setting them down on the table.
“I have a task for you.” He told them.
Jefferson managed to look even more offended than he originally did. “Do we have to?” He whined.
Washington’s eye twitched. “Yes,” he passed everyone a pen. “Your job is to write an essay on who you think you are.”
“Why the fuck is that even necessary?” Lee complained.
Jefferson snorted. “I didn’t know you knew what ‘necessary’ meant.”
Lee stood up quickly. “I’ll fuck you up, bro.”
Jefferson leaned back in his seat, even more casual. “Try me, bitch.”
Madison and Alexander watched the exchange of insults with wide eyes before Madison decided to quickly nudge Washington.
“The point is,” Washington explained. “If you write about yourself from the way you see yourself, not the way anyone else does, you may be able to cool your head and remind yourself of your true purpose here and why you wouldn’t want to do something idiotic.”
A pause.
“What a load of bullshit.” Lee commented.
“No, no, I think he’s right.” Alexander said. His respect for Washington grew with every word that came out of his mouth.
Washington smiled at him before passing round the sheets of paper and sitting at the front of the classroom.
“You can ask each other for help. It might help you get along better. And you have to finish it today or you’ll have to come back in to continue.”
Alexander nodded before turning back to his piece of paper and pressing his pen against it. He was about to write something, anything, then his grip faltered.
He didn’t know what to write.
For the first time, Alexander ‘Non-stop’ Hamilton didn’t know what to write down. He had always written about things that happened, things about others, nothing about himself.
He didn’t know himself. And that stung.
Laurens tapped his shoulder. “Confused?” He whispered, grinning, a dimple showing in his cheek.
Alexander nodded. “Yeah.”
“Do you think we should get help from the others?” Laurens suggested. “But you can ask Lee, I’m terrified of him.”
“We can skip Lee,” He said. “I’ll ask Madison, you can ask Jefferson.”
“Of course you get the easy guy.”
Alexander stared at him in disbelief. “Madison stuck a shock pen into someone’s ear. A shock pen. An ear.”
Laurens leaned closer, his breathe fanning Alexander’s face. “Do you think he still has the pen?”
Alexander laughed quietly before twisting around and nudging Madison gently. “Should we help each other?”
Madison blinked. “If you’d like to.” He spoke quietly, as if he was afraid that if he talked too loudly something might hurt him.
Laurens set up four chairs in the corner and sat on one, still smiling widely. “So. How about we talk about ourselves?”
Alexander grinned. “Finally, something that Jefferson is good at.”
Jefferson shot him a look which genuinely looked hurt. “I’m not obsessed with myself,” he complained. “Why do y’all think that?”
Madison spoke up. “Maybe it’s because you get whatever you want without working for it and you always prioritise yourself over others and you probably have a crush on yourself,” he said before sneezing. “That’s just a thought.”
Jefferson looked even more hurt. “I don’t have a crush on myself. I have a crush on you, Mads.”
“Don’t say that like its a new revelation,” Madison laughed. “We have been dating for three years.”
“You’re dating?” Alexander said before he had a moment to think it over in his head.
“I took him to prom, Hamilton,” Jefferson said disdainfully. “How many more signs do you want?”
Laurens decided to step in. “What Alexander is trying to say is that we all thought you were homophobic.”
“What?”
“You kind of give off that vibe, Thomas.” Madison said gently.
Jefferson shook his head before writing something on his piece of paper. “I’m done.” He said proudly.
“Well, what did you write?” Alexander asked impatiently.
“‘I am not a Southern stereotype.’” Jefferson quoted.
“Me next!” Laurens said. “Some one ask me something about myself.”
“How does one accidentally punch someone in the throat?” Madison wondered out loud, his voice still quiet.
“Anybody except for James Madison ask me something about myself.”
“Are you really into sports?” Alexander asked. “Because when I see you running on a pitch, you don’t look that into it.”
Laurens blinked. “It’s my father, I suppose. He doesn’t consider art as something I should do. Calls it ‘gay’.”
Jefferson wrinkled his nose. “Sounds nasty.”
“You should know something about being nasty.” Alexander said before his head could even process his own words. He really needed to think before he spoke.
Jefferson ignored him and Laurens smiled nervously.
“So what should I write? ‘I am not into sports’? ‘I like art a lot’?” He wondered.
“You should probably write ‘I am not my father’s child,” Madison suggested. “Because you may be related but you sure as hell wish you weren’t and that’s not what a family is,” he blinked. “That’s just a thought.”
Laurens smiled. “That’s a good idea,” He said before writing something down. “I’ll expand it later. Madison?”
He looked up. “Yes?”
“Your turn.”
Madison seemed prepared. “I am not a basket case.”
Jefferson immediately wrapped his arm around his shoulder, glaring around them. “If any of you called him a basket case I will murder you.”
“We didn’t.” Laurens said, putting his hands up in a surrender position.
“I kind of figured that on my own,” Madison said gently. “Most people think I’m useless because I can’t function without medication and I prefer not to talk in situations in which I don’t need to.”
Jefferson shrugged. “Alright. You do you.”
“I guess I’m next, huh?” Alexander laughed nervously. So this was his near death experience. He thought it would be a little more interesting.
“I’m more than a loudmouth immigrant bastard who inwardly dies in social situations,” He took a deep breath. “And even if I was so I should be treated negatively because of some characteristics that I have little to no control over because we are apparently in the land of the free and the expensive unnecessary items which means we have a little thing called freedom of speech and freedom of self expression which means I can do whatever the fuck I want as long as it does not hurt others.”
Laurens clapped and shot him a grin that made Alexander’s heart ache. “Now all you gotta do is remember it and right it down.”
“I will.” He was already halfway done with it.
Madison read over his. “This is cool and all, but I feel like something is missing.”
Jefferson leaned over and whispered something in his ear while blatantly ignoring the other students.
Laurens leaned closer to him. “After this do you want to get a coffee with me?”
Alexander smiled. “Sure.”
Madison spoke again. “The little ‘essays’ sound... off.”
Laurens extracted another sheet of paper. “I’ll write one for all of us,” he offered. “And we can compare them to the ones already written.”
“Go ahead.” Jefferson said.
Laurens began to write something on the paper, while reading it at the same time.
“Dear Mr. Washington:
We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong, but we think you're crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us... In the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a little more than a ‘brain’ ... ...and ‘athlete’... a ‘basket case’... ...and a ‘prince’. But we don’t need to tell you any of this since you and I are separate people. Does that answer your question? Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Club. (Lee not included).”
Jefferson laughed. “The Breakfast Club? You memorised the whole thing? That was your inspiration?”
“They knew what they were doing with this,” Laurens said defensively. “Plus, it was similar to our situation.”
Alexander grinned and let Laurens intertwine their fingers together. “I suppose it was.”