Hello! So, this is my first ever completed-and-published Hamilton fic... yippee! It's being posted in honor of a friend's birthday- if you're reading this, my sister, sorry it's late. Anyways, please, please, PLEASE review... thank you! I don't own Hamilton... sigh. Happy reading :)
"The French Revolution was a rebellion against France's rulers that, ultimately, failed. However, there was much more to this revolt than it is often given credit for. Now, you will learn about the causes and effects of the French Revolution," Alexander read, his thick American accent making him a bit difficult to understand. Despite this, his reading was smooth and slow enough that I could just decipher his words- unlike those of some other classmates. Some spoke so quickly that their statements sounded like gibberish, but I suppose they would say the same about me.
The teacher called on another student whose name I did not know to read, and he did so very- how do you say it? Speedy?- before ending off his paragraph and waiting for the teacher to choose the next reader.
I didn't raise my hand. You see, at the time I had just arrived from France- about two weeks before- so my accent was still very thick and my English was not very good. As much as it hurt me to admit it, I was scared that my fellow students would make fun of me for my speaking being less than the best. As a result, I stayed quiet as much as possible. That may not have been the best method for learning a new language- what is the phrase? Find out from experience?- but I thought that as long as I stayed silent it was not a problem.
"Alright," the teacher hummed, tapping a finger to her freckled chin, "I think I want to hear from someone who hasn't been saying as much this time."
Je t'en prie, non, was my immediate thought. However, I quickly pushed it out of my head. Just because Madame Robertson wanted someone quieter to read didn't mean she would choose me, correct?
All of the hands that had been in the air dropped quickly, but the teacher only smiled and shook her head. She turned her gaze slowly across the room, until her eyes settled on me. My own chocolate-colored ones widened, and I bit the inside of my mouth to stop myself from outright shaking my head at her. However, she immediately turned on a big grin and began to speak.
"How about we have Lafayette read this paragraph?" she said like it was a suggestion, though we all knew it was more of a command. I gulped and nodded slowly, turning my eyes to the page. I was glad to find that the section was short, but that didn't do anything to settle the churning in my stomach. Despite this, though, I cleared my throat and slowly began.
"Th-the French were dreaming of life without their monarchy," I managed, feeling my cheeks turning hot. My accent seemed so obvious in this room full of American-sounding classmates. I sounded… weird, compared to them. But, there was nothing to do but continue. "Eventually, this horrible u-unrest would lead to o-o-o-"
I stopped, staring down at that word. It was unfamiliar as most of the people in this room- except for Alexander, of course. Anarchy, the page said. I bit the inside of my cheek again, face flushed with the heat of terrible embarrassment. I'd been quiet for what was likely about ten seconds, but to me it felt like centuries.
"Lafayette?" came the gentle voice of Madame Robertson. "Do you need help with-"
"Non," I quickly interrupted, before feeling my face coloring even further. "I mean, no. The unrest lead to… stupid accent." I had mumbled the last part under my breath. I couldn't get help from the teacher. That would make this even worse, and I would become the boy who needed assistance from Madame Robertson to read a few sentences. I took a deep breath and sounded it out. "It lead to awnarchy," I finally said, shoulders relaxing as I finished the section.
There was silence for a moment, before Madame Robertson clapped her hands one time. "Very good. Alright, who would like to read next?"
At that point, I must admit that I stopped listening. Having spent my entire life up until a few weeks ago in France, I had learned about the French Revolution years ago and had no great want to learn it again. Besides, I was too embarrassed to listen to anyone anyways.
What were the odds that I would be the only one who sounded funny in our entire class? I mean, sure, I hadn't heard everyone talk, but no one… seemed like they had accents. I mean, sure, maybe I didn't look like I'd have an accent either, so that wasn't very good logic, but… that's not the point. I sighed and rubbed my eyes, leaning back in my chair.
The bell rang and I sprang up, eyes widening in relief. I shoved my book into my bag, then ran to catch Alexander as he walked out the door.
"Hey, Laf? You having some problems with English?" he asked gently. His eyes that were usually so teasing looked sympathetic, and I quickly shook my head.
"Non. I am fine," I replied, shoving a stray curl back out of my eyes. "It is nothing."
Alexander nodded slowly, then looked at me again. "Well then, I won't say anything past this: that word is pronounced anarchy."
Oh. I flushed again, my walking feet suddenly becoming very interesting. "Thanks," I mumbled. "I… I do appreciate that."
Alexander bobbed his head up and down, then spotted John Laurens, his best friend, and bounded ahead, leaving me in the dust.
I was about to slip my history and science textbooks into my locker, when suddenly a light hand tapped at my arm.
I whirled around to see a girl of about medium height- maybe a bit shorter- looking up at me. She had jet black curly hair that fell down her back in spirals, and trim bangs which came down just above her eyes. Clunky black glasses were on her face, while her arms were full of books and notebooks.
She smiled shyly, absently twisting a silky curl around her finger. " I don't think your accent is stupid." And with that, she ran off, joining a girl that I recognized as Eliza Schuyler next to a locker a ways down the corridor.
The words repeated themselves in my mind again and again. I don't think your accent is stupid. I closed my eyes, listening to them as they played over and over.
It wasn't what she had said, exactly, though that was appreciated. It was her voice, her accent, the beautiful, lilting, bell-like tones of her French accent. I closed my eyes, shutting my locker and leaning against it, basking in the remembrance of her voice.
"Hey, Laf! You coming to lunch or not?"
The sound of Alex's yell snapped me out of my reverie, and I straightened up, eyes snapping open. "Hm? Oh, oui," I replied, hurrying down the hall towards my friends. However, even as I was pulled into a conversation about Herc's latest mission "spying" on the rival school, London High, I couldn't quite get the echoes of her words-her voice- to leave my mind.
I don't think your accent is stupid.
It was beautiful.
Anyways, that's all for this fic! And one more thing: I was thinking that maybe I'd expand this into a multi-chapter story, if anyone would like that. It'd be romance, obviously, and this particular scene would be from another character's POV. Please review and let me know :) Thanks!