CHAPTER 28
Alexander Hamilton
I wait outside the principal's office in one of the hard, wooden chairs that really ought to have a cushion. John had volunteered to accompany me, but I figure it's best to do by myself. After ten minutes of waiting, the secretary glancing up at me only a few times, Aaron Burr leaves the office with an incredibly smug grin. I contemplate giving him the middle finger, but with the secretary right here, I settle on a dirty look. Amazingly, Mrs. Langdon looks up from her computer at that exact moment and matches my glare, all the while typing meticulously. Incredible.
Principal Washington, as it turns out, is as calm as he is intimidating. A tall, bald man always wearing a crisp navy suit and black tie, Mr. Washington wears a constant pleased smile on his face. He's very tall, though, and his presence is often enough to scare students away from disrespecting him. With a glance at the cracked-open door and another at me, Mrs. Langdon speaks in a cold voice.
"Mr. Washington awaits your presence, Hamilton," she declares. Her voice is bored and impatient as if I'm the one taking too long to appear. I rise from the chair quickly and reach the principal's door, embellished with his first initial and surname, in a matter of seconds. I cautiously push the door open further, and Mr. Washington greets me with a tired smile and a beckoning hand.
"Mr. Hamilton," he says, leaning back into his recliner, "I believe you have requested an appointment. Please, sit down." I take a seat in the stationary office chair on the other side of the table between us. Then, reaching a hand into the front pocket of my khakis, I retrieve the field trip permission form that remains ominously blank.
"The issue, sir, is with the field trip." He raises his eyebrows, inviting me to proceed. "I don't have a guardian to sign the form." The man leans forward and clasps his hands on the table, all the while staring me intensely in the eyes.
"Let me make myself clear, Mr. Hamilton. It was I who invited you to this school, was it not? You were living in St. Croix without a family and unable to pay the tuition, but I ensured that you would be able to go here. I have no intention of prohibiting you from participating in any school activities. I must confess, son, that I think very fondly of you. Your teachers report to me your academic diligence and conscientiousness. I will be happy to permit you to join your classmates on the field trip without a guardian's permission. In fact, I will sign the form myself." I simply sit back in my chair in awe of the principal. I don't think anyone has ever spoken to me like this. It brings back memories of the letter I received in response to my essay I had submitted to the school. I remember acquiring a plane ticket with the help of Mr. Washington and my neighbors. I remember everything that led me to this school, to my friends, and to John.
"Thank you, I appreciate it so much, sir," I reply, trying to keep my voice even. Mr. Washington smiles and takes a pen from his breast pocket with his other hand held out for the form. I slide the paper across the table to him and watch as he scribbles out a signature. I can't believe I was so worried that I wouldn't be able to go on the field trip with John. All my classmates have been raving about the camping trips for weeks, and there I was, stressing over a blank line and the possibility of being left alone in the school. Of course, others would be here, like Charles Lee, who has in-school suspension for kicking someone's ass, but I can't say I'd like to find myself in their company.
Mr. Washington dismisses me from his office with another quiet smile, and Mrs. Langdon writes out a pass for me to go back to my last class. When I arrive in the class, John is drawing absentmindedly in his notebook and the teacher is writing on the whiteboard. I can't conceal the grin on my face when I reach my seat next to John's, and when he passes me a note asking the outcome of the meeting, I waste no time trying to find an articulate response. He grins back at me.
The students are dismissed for the day only seven minutes after my arrival in the class, and finally, finally, finally, I can plan for the camping trip. There's a packet of information attached to the permission slip, and my roommates and I converge in the living room to discuss it. The first page is asking who we would like to be put in a cabin with.
"Well, we could just ask to be put together like we are in the dorm," Lafayette suggests.
"Obviously. But then there are four more slots," Hercules adds.
"And they don't guarantee that we'll be put together." John furrows his eyebrows thoughtfully as he speaks, gazing down at the packet. I begin to pencil in the names of my roommates: Hercules, Lafayette, John… Who else? We all have to be one gender…
Lafayette sets his packet down, frustrated, and proposes another idea.
"We don't have to fill in all seven spaces. We can be surprised. Make new friends."
I wrinkle my nose at the idea. "That could go wrong a million ways."
But Lafayette has already flipped to the page that lists items we need to pack and is reading through the list. He glances up at the ceiling every few seconds as if accounting for the item in his head. That's another problem I may run into. I probably don't have all the camping supplies I need - I mean, what even is a tent footprint? It's not like I grew up buying a new thermal sleeping bag every month and going camping every weekend. I'm kind of new to this stuff.
John Laurens
We gather in a mass around the buses. The school hired three buses, nice ones, I am told, even for private school. The lawn is filled with aimless, excited chatter, and each student is weighed down with bags stuffed to their limit. I have a bag slung over each shoulder and a pillow folded between my forearm and stomach. Alex is clutching my only free hand with a childish elation. A few feet from us, I can spot our roommates whispering to each other and looking curiously at the faces that still continue to gather around us. The trip is for two nights and two days, and our carefully selected destination is three hours away by bus. The staff hasn't shed any light on our specific activities, but I have no doubt in my mind that they will be cheesy.
"How many more minutes?" Alex chirps anxiously to me for the second time in three minutes. By now I've come to understand that my boyfriend has not yet gone camping. But, even with that knowledge, his questions have begun to be quite vexing.
"Five, Alexander. Like two minutes away from last time you asked. Seriously, time doesn't go faster the more you ask. I know you're excited, but chill. We're not going to miss the bus. We are standing right in front of it. And they do a headcount before leaving. So everything will be fine." I look at him with a virtually blank face to watch his reaction. His smiles falters, and for a moment I regret my snappy tone. But his vim comes rushing back in wave before an apology comes to my tongue. Alex fidgets with the strap of his bag while his eyes stay fixed on the bus ahead of him. He looks as though he might explode due to the emotion he radiates. As much as it had annoyed me, it's adorable.
"Have you ever been on a bus before, Alexander?" I say, my voice practically dripping with sarcasm. I didn't expect his answer. I thought that maybe he would have been, at least driving or somewhere on his way from the Caribbean.
"No," he deadpans. His smile stays strong, providing no room for other emotion. The bus lurches forward and I look away as the doors swing aside to let us pass. The occupants of our bus flood forward in a thick mob. Chatter strengthens as we mass toward the glass doors in a sluggish clump. Teachers call fruitlessly for order as kids shove toward the front. It takes nearly twenty minutes for our supervisors to load kids and baggage onto the bus, then another ten for silence to fall long enough for roll call.
I settle into my seat beside Alexander, one row down from our friends, and across from two blonde girls with linked hands. I can't see their faces from here, but hushed words from their conversation slip to my ears. They sound happy. I let my head fall to the fogged glass of the window by my head. Alexander's hand brushes against mine, but when I turn toward him he's looking away.
"Everything alright, Hamilton?" He nods and takes my hand.
"I've just never been on a bus. Like I told you." A grin spreads across my face as his words, although I'm not entirely sure why it's so amusing. The bus shutters then begins to crawl down the road, accelerating with each second it moves forward.
"John." His eyes are wide and his mouth is hanging open as he gazes past me out the window.
"Thoughts on bus travel?" I ask him, even though I can see his excitement clearly on his face. I do wonder why he's so excited. It is, after all, just a glorified car. But I can't deny that his eagerness is catching on.
"This is… amazing, Laurens!" He cries out. A head pokes between our seats, and Lafayette's grinning face greets us from behind.
"Hello, boys," he croons, offering us a proud smirk as he glances from me to Alex. Above his face, Hercules pops up, resting his elbows on the rim of each seat. Despite the stupid looks on their faces, I'm so happy that they are my friends. I, once again, fall back against the window pane to watch their conversation play out. All three are smiling and laughing while they exchange glances between each other and the students seated in the rows across from and behind them.
Loud opening music blares over the speakers, causing a few shouts to reverberate around the bus followed immediately by giggles. The music shuts off mid-beat and Mr. Greene rises to his feet to speak. Conveniently for him, the group aboard our bus quiets.
"Alright, kids!" Giggles erupt from the corners of the bus, which he shuts down with a stern glance. "We will be arriving at the campsite in about three hours. There is a bathroom at the back of the bus, only get up if you need to use it. We have a few movies, and we will take a vote on which to watch. First movie, raise your hand if you want it; Titanic." A few hands fly into the air, less than half the bus and definitely not enough to win. "The Hunger Games," he pauses for a moment to wait for the many hands. "And we have The Breakfast Club." It's clear that this option will win by the multitude of hands that fly into the air, mine included.
"Alright!" Another teacher, one I don't recognize, stands beside him with a peppy grin stretching across her cheeks. She pops the DVD into the player and the two disappear into their seats.
