AN) Hi, Robindanewsie here with a brand new story! I love theatre, so I'm jumping in the musical fanfiction pool! Wish me luck!
Normal kids didn't keep their clothes in suitcases. Normal kids didn't go through four foster care homes in three months. Normal people just couldn't handle him he guessed. He was too energetic. Too loud, too interested in politics. He played his music too much.
His trumpet was his mother's. The only thing that had survived the hurricane. It had barely survived, dents and chips all over it. Of course he learned how to play it. So he sat and played, every night, until the foster family got so fed up they stopped him.
Another reason the Washington's were so different. Martha loved to hear him play, bringing out her saxophone and trying to play a duet. Mr. Washington (he refused to call the man George) had sheet music. And not like piano sheet music. He had trumpet sheet music, whole band arrangements, and brass trio pieces.
It was kind of nice. Mr. Washington was the assistant band director at the high school he would be attending. So of course, Washington had signed him up.
"I'm sorry we have to go in so early Alex, but Mr. King's never there and a few kids want to come in early and practice."
The man gave an apologetic smile to the fourteen year old sitting in the passenger seat. The boy's hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, Alex never wanting it to be cut. He wore a fading pair of jeans, his shirt looking baggy on his thin frame. Washington had wanted him to look 'presentable', so Alex did the opposite. He didn't look terrible, but he didn't look like he had the money and care his 'family' offered.
He shrugged, trying to wake up. Martha had given him coffee, but it had been downed in the first three seconds he was in the car. The ride wasn't long, Alex didn't even know the car had stopped.
"Alex." Washington tapped on his window, already outside the car. "Get a move on son."
Alexander bit back the remark burning on his tongue. He wasn't anybody's son. His father was a piece of horse crap and his mother was dead. He did as he was told though, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Maybe staying up past midnight writing wasn't the smartest idea.
He was surprised to see a boy standing by the band door already, the kid looked about his age. His skin was a light brown, his head sporting almost no hair. He wore a pair of khaki jeans, a button down shirt tucked into his belt.
"Good morning Aaron, you're here early." The boy, Aaron looked up from his book.
"Sorry Mr. Washington, my grandpa had a church retreat so he had to drop me off early."
"It's alright son." Washington cast a glance over his shoulder, almost saying 'make friends' as he unlocked the door. "I've got to run copies of Mr. King's new show, you're in charge if anyone else shows up Aaron."
Aaron nodded, picking up the small instrument case by his feet. Alex had been lurking by the car the entire time. He sighed, opening the trunk and getting his trumpet out.
The band room was dark, only a few lights on. There were seven rows of chairs set up, drums in the back. A small set of doors led to what Alex thought was the cubby room. Aaron's stuff was sitting in the second row, the teen grabbing a stand from the rack.
Alex walked toward the stands, Aaron looking puzzled.
"I'm new." He grunted, grabbing the music stand.
"Aaron Burr." He smiled, offering out his hand.
"Alexander Hamilton." He shook, smiling faintly.
"Did you come in with Mr. Washington?"
He nodded, "my foster dad."
Aaron set the stand down, Alex decided to sit next to him. "You're so lucky, Washington's the best."
"He's okay."
Alex wasn't one to make attachments. "So…what instrument do you play?"
"Trumpet." He held up the case in his hand as he sat down. Flipping the lid open.
"Cool, I play clarinet." Burr gestured to the contents of his own case. A lot more pieces and parts to put together, Alexander noticed.
A silence enveloped the two, Alex pausing before looking at the music Washington had given him. He was behind by one show, so learning show two was his priority. He was two weeks to do so. And…it was boring.
'Fired Up', 'Lassie: Theme' and 'Theme from E.T.' okay, so E.T. wasn't so bad, but Alex wanted to scream with how many whole notes he was playing. The trumpet was supposed to be loud! Not play fricken whole G's for seven measures!
As he and Aaron played, their notes winding together in an ugly song, Washington had reentered. Sitting at the director's stand he watched them.
Alex though he heard the doors open, but he was too busy trying to memorize the E.T. song. Suddenly, there was a loud war cry. A booming bass drum began to play. Both boys whipped around.
A boy with dark skin and a bandanna wrapped around his head was screaming and just pounding on his drum. He wore a thin army jacket and ripped jeans. A skinny boy with curly brown hair pulled back and freckles all over his tan face was standing next to a quad, and he too began to hit the drum randomly and shout. His baggy sweatshirt sleeves pushed back and bouncing around his elbows.
A third boy with bushy black hair, pulled back as well, began to run around the room with cymbals in his hands. He was dressed strangely. A leather jacket and a t-shirt with the American flag covering the front with worn out sneakers.
"Mulligan, Laurens, Lafayette!" Washington shouted, two out of the three boys stopping. "Lafayette!" but still the kid ran and shouted in what Alex thought was French. Washington stood up. "Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette!" He shouted.
The boy froze. "Eh…qui?" He asked, the other boys snickering.
"You three know the rules. Get your own instruments."
"But she's my baby!" The boy threw himself across the drum.
Freckles raised his eyebrows. "Herc, you named it a girl…and you ba—"
"That's enough Mr. Laurens." Washington sighed, Freckles—now Laurens—smirking impishly.
"Idiots." Burr mumbled under his breath, turning back around.
"What?"
"They're idiots. Don't take anything seriously—they're too loud."
"Who are they?" Alex had to admit, those three—were a lot cooler than Aaron.
"John Laurens!" The freckled boy grinned down at him. A long case in his hand. "And that's—"
"Hercules Mulligan!" Bandana shouted and hit the drums. "And I need no introduction Johnny!"
"Come at me." John snarled.
Alex watched the third kid, the cymbal crasher saunter out of the cubby room. His eyes light up and he smiled, walking briskly over to Alexander. He somehow got the teen to stand, placing a hand on each shoulder.
"Bonjour mon nouvel ami." He said, leaning in close and planting a very quick kiss on Alexander's left cheek before switching to the next.
He stood in shock. Physical contact wasn't high up on his list. Especially from someone he had literally just met. The Frenchie smiled, patting Alex's cheek lightly—finally taking a step out of Alexander's bubble.
Mulligan was in stitches, laughing so hard Alex wouldn't have been surprised if he stopped breathing. Laurens was trying to hold it together, but a few little laughs slipped out. Even Burr looked amused, and Washington was—of course—chuckling silently to himself.
"…what?"
"Et qui suis-je?" He already knew who the kid was, some really long name in French. Wait—did he ask for Alex's name? Or was he…why didn't he take a foreign language in eighth grade? "Je m'appelle Lafayette."
Ok, so now he had introduced himself. "Can you speak English?" He felt a little rude asking, but then again the guy had fricken kissed him on the cheek without permission. So many people had asked him if he spoke English. Yes, yes he did. Yes, yes he knew he had just used Saint Kitts Creole.
"Yes, mon ami. English is just…eh how you say… complique- complicated!" He beamed, so proud to have found the word.
"Yeah, so—who you?" Mulligan called from the back of the room.
"If you could please stop talking while I'm trying to practice?" Aaron snapped, glaring at the duo standing before him.
Mulligan straightened up. "Was that Burr? Burr!"
Aaron groaned. "Mulligan please."
"Alright, let's leave Mr. Clarinet to his music." Laurens snickered, he grabbed Alex's stand and carried it away.
"That's kind of mine?" Alex wasn't putting up with crap on his first day of school. He would've cussed the guy out but Washington was right there and he didn't like cussing.
"Are you not sitting with us?" Lafayette asked with an insanely thick accent. He wasn't moving, looking to Washington for support. But the old man had other ideas. 'Make friends' his eyes said. Alexander glared, not wanting to make friends, not with Mr. Kissy and Mr. Stand Stealer—but Washington was like a tree, you needed something pretty sharp to cut him down. So he sighed, grabbing his case and instrument to sit next to Laurens and Lafayette in the back.
Friends were stupid. All he needed was a printer, laptop, pen, pencil, paper and coffee and he had everything the world needed him to have. Not friends, not family. A brain and something to say. He was Alexander Hamilton, and Alexander Hamilton didn't need friends.
Breakline
…Alexander Hamilton might need friends. He hated to admit it, but he liked the guys.
Mulligan was Lafayette's host brother. He was a freshman, they all were. Laff, as he said Alex should call him, had come over from France after his father passed away. He would probably be staying for good, he had decided.
Mulligan was rough, he talked loudly and had a barking laugh. He was into sewing, which had been revealed as Laurens teased him about it. Laurens was probably the best of the bunch. He was a trombonist, and had the humor to match. He almost always and a grin on his face, and was extremely excitable. They could've talked for hours, but Washington made them leave for homeroom—but Burr stayed.
Alexander and Mulligan discovered they had three periods together, two of them with Laurens and one with Laff. Laff and Alex only had one with each other, and he and Laurens had four together. Leaving Alex alone for the last three periods. He had homeroom with Laff, then he had English with Mulligan.
The two boys sat together, Laff running a commentary Alexander only got half of because Lafayette would slip in and out of his first language. Alex was absent mindedly looking through his notebook—glancing at essays and creative pieces he had done over the years. He glanced up, eyes freezing on the doorway.
A tall girl with caramel skin and frizzy brown hair was coming. Her tan skin was accented by the light pink sweater she wore and the white skirt the swished around her knees. She seemed to glide in her heels, glasses perched upon her forehead. Behind her trailed a boy with crazy bushy hair. He reminded Alexander of Laff. The kid wore a sky blue button up shirt with his collar popped up tucked into a pair of faint pink dress shorts with a black belt. He wore what looked like leather moccasins, and trailing behind him was a boy with short black hair and bright brown eyes. He looked a little more normal than his friend, with jeans, a graphic tee and a flannel shirt covering that. The last boy's arms were laden with books.
Alex scowled slightly as he realized the kid was carrying his own books and Bushy Hair's. Not really cool. He wasn't too big of a fan of people who made other's do stuff for them. He snapped his attention back to the girl, who was sitting across the room, her nose buried in a book.
"That's my seat." Alex looked up to see Bushy Hair looking down at him.
He shrugged."Get a new one." The teacher had told him to sit anywhere, no seating chart. As the kid crossed his arms, Alexander knew they were going to have problems.
AN) Review! If you haven't listened to Hamilton, listen to it! Best musical ever! Well…Newsies still ranks number uno for me. Maybe I should try my hand at that? Well, thanks for reading! Violet out!