Ms. Ivy: In some fictional universe, you and I are good friends. However, this is reality, so I'll now try to do justice to the masterpiece that is Dear Evan Hansen.
Essentially, we have our main character, an awkward and somewhat angsty teenager in high school who wears blue. Our morally ambiguous protagonist somehow manages to reach sky-high popularity in a very unusual and unorthodox way, leaving behind their best friend in the process.
Oh, wait. I just described Heathers, didn't I? Or, I guess it applies to Be More Chill as well. Hm.
Really, it's good, though. You should just see it for yourself if you haven't already, or at least listen to the soundtrack. I have the bootleg, if you really want it.
Mr. Assassin: I'm glad that you agree with my assessment. Thanks for your continued support of this fiction!
Without further ado, let's begin.
Chapter 7: The Sky's the Limit
The chemistry room looked - well, exactly like the chemistry room. Any chemistry room in any college that you might find across the country. Which isn't necessarily any different from your average lecture hall, when you consider that the class was simply the basic version rather than anything special. A ton of rows of seats, all oriented towards the center, where an aging professor was shuffling with notes and mumbling. The one thing that differentiated it from the English or History class was the giant periodic table hanging off to the side.
Of course, Alex didn't notice any of these details at all, because his attention was all focused on the girl in front of him.
Why are my palms so sweaty, so suddenly? he questioned to himself.
Still, though. This was his chance. His shot. Who was he if he didn't say anything?
Hercules and Aaron looked at each other for a moment, then looked back at Alex marching forwards, and mutually resolved to stay silent and watch things play out.
"Erm. Um. Eliza?"
She spun around in her seat to look at him. She was even prettier up close. Alex just felt like swimming in her dark eyes.
"Excuse me. Do I know you?"
Man, that was a nice voice. He could practically feel the warmth and kindness being exuded from it, despite her seemingly not putting any effort into trying to do so.
"Hello?"
Alex shook his head and snapped back to reality. "I'm Alex, and I… I really like you. I love you. I want to -"
He swallowed. Why now was his ability to command words failing?
"Excuse me."
Angelica stepped in. "Get out of here. That's my seat you're taking up."
Alex slipped on his classic, confident smile and scooted one seat to the side. "There you go."
"That's my seat as well," Angelica responded.
Alex blinked. He usually wasn't one to just listen to what other people said he should do, but for some reason, he slid over another seat.
"That's mine, too."
"How many seats belong to you?" Alex asked.
"All the ones in this entire row, along with the ones in a ten-foot radius from where I'm standing."
He still didn't know what was coming over him, but Angelica's words practically felt like a physical force hitting him. He left the row and prepared to walk down and take a seat in the front row.
As he turned his back, he felt a pair of hands grab his shoulders and spin him around.
"Listen. My sister's already gotten her heart broken once." There was a look in Angelica's eye. It was identical to the one he saw in the mirror every day. "Stay away from her, if you know what's good for you."
Alex nodded meekly, then continued his lonely walk of shame, plopped down in a seat a dozen rows away from the object of his attraction, and began to pout.
Hercules and Aaron settled in right next to him not a moment later.
"What? Are you here to just make fun of me, because if you are-"
Alex was cut off by the massive, gut-clenching laughs Hercules was letting loose. Even Aaron was giving off a genuine smile, which was a pretty rare sight, Alex was realizing.
"Shut up," he grumbled, looking away from them to grab a notebook out of his backpack.
"We ain't makin' fun of you! It's just way too funny to not laugh," Hercules said, wiping his eyes.
"He does have a point," Aaron pointed out.
Alex just buried his face in his hands and resolved to wait it out.
Later that day…
"So, thoughts on your first day, Alex?"
The entire set of them - Alex, John, Laf, and Hercules had all returned to Sam Adams, and were undergoing their rituals of downing large amounts of alcoholic beverages together.
"Already got his heart broken," Hercules interjected, laughing. It wasn't drunk laughing. It was just laughing.
"Nothing but my pride is harmed," he bitterly replied, swallowing another shot.
"Mon ami, do you need ze education on how to attract? To seduce? To love?" Laf asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
"Hey, this is a healthy experience. Being rebuffed is hard, but you learn from it. You get stronger."
Alex gave his best friend a small grin. "Alright. Thanks, John."
And so, the four of them continued to get drunk and enjoy themselves.
This was alright, Alex thought to himself. These were his friends. Things could be all right, this way.
Outside, Aaron looked in on them. Enjoying themselves.
He huffed a little, the small amount of air expelled visible for an instant in front of him before disappearing. Were they his friends? Yes. Maybe. Sometimes, when it helped him. Other times, like these? Not so much.
He looked down at his watch. 11:52.
Shoot. He'd gotten himself so wrapped up in his mental state that he forgot he had an important meeting to attend.
Aaron tightened his jacket around him, took one last, fleeting look, and set off across campus at a brisk pace.
The most southern library on campus did not have an official name, unlike the other libraries on campus. This was due to the fact that it had only recently been constructed, only two years ago. For now, everyone just called it, "The Southern Library".
As such, not many people really used it, especially late at night. The only people who were there were a few student volunteers, reshelving books and dusting various surfaces.
And, of course, one Thomas Jefferson, who, despite the late hour, was still wearing an incredibly flamboyant and bright outfit. He sat in the most plush chair in the entire building, tapping two fingers against his leg and looking as though he absolutely didn't have a care in the world.
As the clock hit midnight, Heather Chandler walked in, flanked by her two subordinates, matching Thomas' gaze.
"You know that phones exist, right?" he asked aloud. "You could have just, I dunno, called me, instead of having this overblown drama in the middle of the night."
"I thought that this discussion might require some… face-to-face interaction." She stared directly at Thomas. Despite her being a year younger, she was just as tall as him while she was wearing heels.
"Well, then. Talk away."
"First of all, where is that boyfriend of yours, anyway?"
Thomas' face reddened only the slightest shade, but Heather saw it. She grinned, as though she had found some prey that would make a nice meal.
The boy clicked his fingers together, and James stepped out of the shadows, calmly taking the seat next to Thomas. The three Heathers took the couch opposite of them.
"You know, why don't you two just kiss already?" Duke butted in. "Everyone knows that y-"
"Shut up, Heather!"
"Sorry, Heather."
It was Thomas' turn to grin like a shark and look delighted.
"We came to talk about the arrangement," McNamara said sweetly.
"We're cutting it off. We're collectively done with associating with you," Chandler said with a note of confident finality.
Thomas leaned forward.
"When you came here, I practically raised you from nothing. You three were wide-eyed, confusing ducklings I took under my wing. You think that you can just break away from me?"
"We're not blind," came Chandler's retort. "Your influence has been decreasing. Maybe you could pull a string or two back when we were still at Westerberg, but now, you can't even defend yourself on your own home turf. Hamilton? Does that name sound familiar? We don't want to work with people who can't even beat a 'son of a whore', like you said yourself."
Thomas flinched. Actually flinched. "What, so you're helping him now?"
"We're helping ourselves," McNamara said simply.
The big, bushy-haired kid seemed to be lost for words for a moment before bursting out into laughter that lasted for a solid ten seconds.
The three young women stared at him until he silenced himself.
"Cute. But you know what? I have a secret weapon." he said finally.
"Show me." Chandler said.
Somebody coughed, and the three Heathers turned to see the face of Aaron Burr looking down at them.
"The son of the Dean himself," Thomas said. "How ya like that?"
"Is this a joke?" In imitation of Thomas, Chandler began to laugh hysterically. "Each of the three of us is more powerful than the Dean! Who even knows the Dean? No one sees him around."
"I think you might find yourself biting your words before long," Thomas replied.
"Come on, girls. We're done here."
Still laughing, Chandler strutted out of the building, and Duke and McNamara followed, the girl in yellow giving a bright smile back for some reason before shutting the door behind her.
The instant she turned and left, Thomas slumped in his chair and ran a hand through his mass of hair.
"This is bad." he admitted. "This is pretty bad."
The instant all three of them had left the Southern Library, Chandler started speaking.
"They got Aaron."
"You sound concerned," Duke mentioned.
Chandler didn't tell her to shut up, a sure sign that things were being thrown out of whack.
"This is bad. This is pretty bad. Do we have any secret weapons we can use?"
"We'll work on it. Together," McNamara said.
Chandler sighed. 'Working together'. A vague, silly, childish idea, but it'd have to do.