Hi guys, Samuel Seabury here with my first Hamilton Fanfic. It's Jamilton, so if that offends you, go away. This is me asking nicely, but if I have to be rude I will. Don't let it come to that. On a more friendly note, if it's in bold, assume it is an author's note. I probably wrote the start of a lyric without realizing it then finished it in bold. Also, can you assume the students are all the same age…
Thank you to my amazing beta reader, Snowcrystal of Thunderclan, for joining me on this wonderful journey!
Finally, I do not own Hamilton, but I do like it a lot. Does that count?
Now, onto the story!
I sit fidgeting in my chair as I watch people go around in a circle. I am starting College, and I sit in a dorm meeting, the first one for my dorm. We introduce ourselves, our age, our hometown, and our major. As the turn comes closer and closer to me, I don't grow nervous. I like that about me, that I never grow nervous because it allows me to speak my mind.
"Hello, my name is Alexander, Alexander Hamilton. I am 17 years old, I skipped a grade, and I am originally from Charlestown, Nevis. I am majoring in Law and Creative Writing," I say. I stop listening to the people going and I begin to wonder if I will meet my roommate here, as I know I will be with another boy. I'm at a dorm meeting for all the people in the dorm. I haven't gone to my dorm, instead, I will go there next.
"Hey Y'all, I'm Hercules Mulligan," say the next student. His voice has a slight Irish burr to it, but it's barely noticeable. "I'm majoring in Costume and Set Design. I am 18 years old and I am from Coleraine, in the UK."
"We know where Coleraine is, dumbass." The newest speaker is a southern male and just another in the crowd. I try to pick him out in the mass of people, but I can't.
"I'm just saying it for the people who don't know," says Hercules.
"They're at Princeton, of course, they know."
"Okay, okay." Hercules pacifies the southern man. I still don't know where he is. More people go, and I try to remember their names, but all I get is an art major named John Laurens and a Diplomat's son majoring in Law and French named Lafayette. He said his name was something long, but I can't remember the whole thing. I assume the southern man went before me because he doesn't go.
After the meeting, I walk to my dorm. I know it is number 154, so I go there. When I get there, I knock on the door.
"Hello," I say. "I am Alexander Hamilton."
"Hi, I know," comes the southern voice from the meeting. A tan man opens the door. "I was actually paying to the meeting."
"Well, if it makes you feel better, I know where Coleraine is too," I say. He smirks at me and I feel relieved I managed to get off on the right foot with this man. "Can I come in?"
"Sure, if you want," he replies.
"That I do," I say elegantly, pulling a duffle bag behind me. It is red and has the words L.L. Bean on it. One zipper is clinking against the other from when I pulled it. He stares at it like it is the craziest thing he has seen.
"What?" I ask. I knew I packed too much, but I ask in an oblivious manner in case he isn't staring at the amount of stuff I have.
"Is that all your stuff?" he replies.
"Yeah, I know I overpacked," I trail off at the shake of his head.
"No, I mean, if I had used only those types of bags, I could have filled three," he says, looking at it incredulously. I smirk at his reaction. I take my eyes off him and look around the room. I see a TV set up and two couches facing it. I also see a small kitchen with a stove, dishwasher, and a microwave.
"Well, okay then. What's your name?" I wasn't paying attention to the meeting, so I ask him.
"Thomas Jefferson," he replies.
"Like the founding father?" I ask. Quickly I realize he wouldn't like that question more than I do when people ask me."Sorry, I get that question a lot too, because of Alexander Hamilton."
"It's okay," he responds. I smile at him, hoping there are no hard feelings. He smirks back at me, so I assume it is okay. After all, his smirk seems to be his favorite expression. "Do you want some help unpacking?"
"If you don't mind, that would be great," I say as I get to work. I look around and see that off of the main room there are three side doors, presumably one for each of us and a bathroom.
I look into one room and see it has already been filled with stuff. I assume it is Thomas' stuff. I quickly move into the next room. In it are one small bed and a desk. I get a cup from my bag and place it on the desk.
I place my clothes into one of the other two and my notebooks into what is now the only empty one. I place my pens into a small cup. I always write in pen, it's a cocky habit of mine because when I started writing I assumed I wouldn't have any mistakes. To be honest, even though I know I will have mistakes, I write with a pen to make sure I can at least try to not make mistakes, knowing it is harder to fix it in pen. Writing in pen keeps me grounded.
I leave out my most recent notebook and my first one so I can look them over. In my newest one, I have my favorite essays from my senior year, the ones I didn't rip out. I have a lot of space for my newest essays, but I might get a new notebook. After all, it's not every day someone starts college. In my first one, I keep all the letters I wish I had written to government officials and all the things I will do if I become a government official. That is one of my dream jobs, alongside being a journalist. I want to be one of those two jobs because they have the biggest effect on the public.
I look up to see Thomas still there, even though I have finished unpacking. I clear my throat and he looks up in fear and surprise. Even though it's quick, I don't miss the flash of alarm that shoots through him.
"What's wrong?" I ask, worried about him. This is ridiculous, the way I already care so much about him, even when I only met him two hours ago.
"Bad memories associated with," he trails off but continues after a second. "That."
"With… me clearing my throat?" I ask, not just idly curious but because I am still worried about him, even if I was berating myself about that only a few seconds ago.
He nods but frowns, as if he is thinking about some bad memories. I return the action, worried I have lost the only friend I have. I look back at him and see he has begun to shake. I gather my courage and walk over to him. Laying one arm around his back, I place the other on his side, gently enough that if he were to try and shake me off, I wouldn't be clinging to hard.
"Sorry," he says. "I wish I could control my emotions."
"Trust me when I say controlling my emotions was a lesson I had to learn fast," I realize I am willing to reveal a bit of my past to Thomas, but maybe not yet. I am sure there will be a time for that, but I doubt when we just met is it. We don't talk much after that, instead, I work on another essay I really wish I had the nerve to send and he types something on the computer.
"What's your schedule?" I ask Thomas. He rummages around in his bag.
"Debate and Literature on Monday, Debate, and History on Tuesday, History and Law on Thursday, Law and Literature on Friday," he says. "What about you?"
"I've got the same Debate and Law classes as you, but I have Journalism Monday and Friday, Literature Tuesday and Thursday," I respond. He looks at me for a second.
"So we have Debate together tomorrow? You ready to go head to head?" He asks playfully.
"Bring it on man," I shoot at him. It's certainly not my best comeback, but I know I will need to save that one. I turn back to my essay.
My newest essay is against gerrymandering (Look it up, it's a really interesting topic), sometimes known as redistricting. I write about how it allows certain people to stay in power even though they are not the best choice or the choice the public wants, similar to the way American presidency runs on the electoral votes instead of the popular votes. I write about the way it keeps the older people from both parties in without letting the new people learn how to govern. I continue writing for a while, running on the glorious thing known as caffeine. When I finally finish it is almost 12:30, so I turn off my computer and go to my room. I normally go to sleep a bit later, but I don't want to look more gaunt than usual tomorrow because I have my first class.
Time skip to Monday morning because that is when Alexander has his first class:
When I wake up, the first thing I do is grab my phone and see what I have to do. I look at it and remember I have Debate and History today. I check the time. I still have about forty minutes 'til ten, when the class starts. I start to get my stuff together, grabbing a pen, some loose leaf paper, and the textbook Mr. Brown assigned to us. I look over some of the notes from my old debate classes. I know I can do this.
My phone rings and I realize I have new messages. One is from Martha Washington. She is very close to me, almost my adopted mother, and her husband George is just as great about having me in the family. My 'sibling,' Jacky, is from Martha's first husband. We are very close, especially after Patsy's death. She was Jacky's brother, but she died from a seizure.
Martha's text says, have fun in Debate and History! Good luck at college!
I quickly reply, Thanks!
The other text is from my ex, Eliza. We were dating in High School, but we broke it off when she decided she wanted to go to Stanford to learn how to manage a small business. It was a mutual breakup, and we parted with no ill feeling. We simply didn't want the stress associated with being in a long-distance relationship. Her text said, Have fun in Debate!
I quickly replied I can't wait!
Skip to Debate Class (about 40 minutes later):
As I walk into the classroom, the first thing I see is the desks. I inwardly groan, I thought I left desks behind at with high school. The next thing I notice is that they're facing each other so that two people could debate while facing each other. I see two of the guys I remember from the meeting, John Laurens, and long-named Lafayette. Finally, I realized that the only empty seat was across from a man with black hair and grey eyes.
"Hello, my name is Mr. Brown. I am the debate teacher here at Princeton and an experienced debater." He walks around the desks, placing papers on each one. "This is your course syllabus. Please make sure to read it between the end of this class and the start of the next one, but not during this class." He continues his spiel about regulations and guidelines for a little bit longer. I try to pay attention but fail miserably.
"Now, introduce yourself to your partner," Says Mr. Brown.
"Hi, I'm Alexander Hamilton. What's your name?" I ask, looking over to my partner.
"Charles, Charles Lee," says the black-haired man. I smile at him, but his frown stops me. "We're adversaries, so don't be too kind and definitely don't go easy on me."
"Trust me when I say that is not very likely."
"If you're all done, let's get to the debating," says Mr. Brown. We all smile, more than ready for the debating. "First of all, the pro-side is the side facing the door and the con-side is the side facing that wall. You are going to speak in turns, with the proposition going first and then the opposition, for three minutes each. Then, opposition rebuts before the proposition. Each rebutting speech is one minute. You have half an hour to prepare your speeches. Your topic is simple: School uniforms benefit students. You do not need to provide evidence, simply assertions backed up with reasoning. Good luck."
Charles is sitting facing the door, so I am the opposition. I think about what I know about school uniforms. They are generally disliked by students, I also know they stop self-expression among students. I think they also force students to choose a gender, embarrassing students who can't choose a gender or believe they belong in both… I think I can build on that enough to make a good case.
I begin to write, forcing letters onto the page of my paper in front of me. As I write, I lose myself in the writing. When the thirty-minute timer goes off, I jump out of my seat. Charles looks up and gathers the beginning of his speech. I grab a blank piece of paper to take notes.
"In an increasing number of schools worldwide, students are wearing uniforms. There are many benefits to uniforms in student life, including encouraging discipline and respect and reducing peer pressure. School uniforms promote discipline because students who are allowed to wear what they want tend to think that rules don't apply to them because the rules aren't as strict. Enforcing a uniform policy shows them how wrong they are. Uniforms are easier to enforce than dress codes. This saves irreplaceable class time. Wearing uniforms enhances school pride, unity, and community spirit." Charles looked around when he was talking, using his hand and face to show his emotion. He continued to talk for about two more minutes until his time was up. Then, I got up.
"There are many reasons why school uniforms aren't as good as everyone seems to think. School uniforms force students to wear gender-specific clothing. They also make it harder for students to express themselves. Students also do not like uniforms. Some girls would rather wear trousers than skirts and tights, and schools are not accepting their want for their choice of uniform. Just because a girl isn't 'girl like' enough, or a boy isn't 'boy like' enough, doesn't mean we should discriminate against them. Every boy and every girl should be proud of who they are and how they express themselves no matter what anybody else says. When school uniforms are put in place students have a hard time expressing themselves through their own clothing and accessories. The First Amendment of the US Constitution guarantees that all individuals have the right to express themselves freely. With school uniforms, this amendment is no longer set in stone." I continued on about how students don't like school uniforms until the end of my time. My voice was passionate and engaging, especially during the parts of transgender people. I have some friends who are LGBT+, so I support it.
Then, it was time for rebuttals. I knew what I was going to say, and I knew how I was going to say it.
"First, I'd like to go over my opponent's claim that uniforms promote respect. This is untrue, the students who are disrespectful are probably going to be even less respectful if they have to wear a uniform." I continue to destroy Charles' arguments until my minute is up. When he stands up, I tense before relaxing. I know I have him beat, I have destroyed all but one of his arguments.
"My opponent claims school uniforms, force gender conformity, but he says this as if it is a bad thing. To be honest, choosing a gender and sticking with can't be that hard," starts Charles. I grow and stand up from my seat. How could anyone disregard a group of people, saying they were different simply because they couldn't choose a gender? It was a disgrace.
I draw my fist back, ready to show this idiot what I thought about his response. As I let it fly forward, I feel a rush of satisfaction in knowing that he would feel an immense amount of pain when my knuckles collided with his cheek. As I rammed my fist into him, I hear Mr. Brown call out.
"Mr. Hamilton, what are you doing?" he asked.
"Teaching this transphobic idiot a lesson," I replied.
"Mr. Hamilton, see me after class. Everyone else, get back to debating, the Pro still has time to rebut."
I hoped you guys liked the start of my newest story! I'll see you soon with chapter two, but first, a question from Thomas!
QOTC: What's your favorite color? Is it magenta? Please say it is!
~Samuel Seabury