1 Year Earlier

The whirring of the fan above him was too distracting than it had any right to be. Alexander Hamilton was fine with loud noises, but he had been sitting in the office for far too long, and the fan was much too abrasive on the ears for the circumstances.

He tried to counter it by tapping his feed, clad in new Converse shoes, on the linoleum floor of the office. It was a familiar tradition for him: a single new item of clothing for every new school he went to.

Hopefully this one lasts—Goddamn, why is the fan so loud?!

Alex tried to focus on the strange, vibrant colors of the leaves on the trees outside. He tried to focus on how amazing it was that he was finally here. He had been shuttled around various foster homes around the Caribbean for the majority of his life, no homes lasting more than a month before he was uprooted and dropped into the next one.

Now, finally, he had been transferred to a home in America—New York state, to be specific. A little podunk town, such a far cry from the glitz and glamour of its famous neighboring city that it may as well have been forty-five hours away from it, not forty-five minutes.

Yonkers. Alex wanted to let out a derisive laugh out loud as he remembered the town's name. Who in their right mind named a town Yonkers, of all things? That took a special kind of stupid.

He flinched as the door suddenly opened. A woman opened up the door to the school counselor's office. "Mr. Hamilton? We're ready for you." She held open the door as Hamilton gathered up his belongings and made his way over to the office."We're so glad that you're here. I'm Mrs. Warren."

She sat back down behind a desk piled with papers and smiled warmly at Alex. He sat down warily in one of the wooden chairs in front of her desk and observed the room. It was dark, with one window half-covered by curtains and a small lamp on the desk. A calendar on the wall had neat Xs on it, crossing off every day up to the second Wednesday in October. There was a small potted plant one corner of the room and two filing cabinets in the other. And—there was another teenager sitting in the chair to Hamilton's right.

"We'll be discussing your classes, Mr. Hamilton. Here you are." Alex accepted a schedule from her, looking down it. It was block scheduled, something that he had experienced two schools before this one. Manageable.

"I see you've registered for Algebra 2, French, AP US History, AP English—" Hamilton noticed the other teen's head jerk forward a bit. "Chemistry, PE, and Theater." Mrs. Warren flashed a 1000-watt smile at him, "That sound about right?"

"Actually, as great as that sounds, I was wondering if I could do the Student Council elective?" Alex had been on the Student Council in Nevis, and he had enjoyed it.

Mrs. Warren shook her head. "I'm sorry, but we have that as an extracurricular here. I'm not completely sure about how it works, but I'm sure that Mr. Burr can explain it to you. Anything else?

"I don't think so!I mean, I didn't actually sign up for anything when they transferred me from my last school, and I think that Caribbean schools are pretty different and all, but those classes sound like fun, at least!"

The other guy in the room had a resigned look on his face. Alexander flashed him a grin.

Mrs. Warren, though, still had a friendly smile. "Marvelous. You can alway come in to talk to me about any schedule changes you may need. I'll actually be one of your teachers, as I'm in charge of the theater department."

"Really? That sounds great! But complicated, since you're the counselor, too? I don't know, I guess. Is it?"

"Not at all. Now, I'm sorry to cut this conversation off, but I assume you haven't had a chance to look around the school yet?"

Hamilton shook his head, hair swinging in front of his face. I need to get something to hold it back, don't I...I'll deal with it later.

"That's fine, no need to worry. I brought in our own Student Council rep to show you around to all your classes today. Hamilton, meet Aaron Burr."

Aaron Burr grimaced in Alex's general direction.

"Awesome. Wonderful. But you know, I think I'll be able to find my way on my own—I did print out a map and I could ask around. I'll be fine, really, just point me in the direction of room 108 and I'll be fine."

Mrs. Warren nodded. "That's great, but I think it will be useful for you to have someone show you around, at least for your first day. First period starts in ten minutes, gentlemen, be on your way."

This school is awesome! But Aaron was out of the room quickly, lingering for a moment at the door as Alex scrambled to grab his backpack and follow him. Alex walked down the hall with Aaron, whose strides were long and purposeful.

"Look, I think we both know that I don't need you to show me around or anything, and we both know you don't want to." He glanced at the schedule Burr had in his hand, "I mean, you're taking AP Calculus and Criminal Law. You probably don't need me tagging along, do you?"

"How...how did you know I was in those classes?"

"Oh, I saw your schedule. That's pretty cool! Criminal Law is a senior-level class, right? How'd you take it? What classes did you take last year? And do you think I could take it next year? I mean, I've never taken anything as fancy-sounding as that, but still."

Burr's face was impassive. "Talk less."

"What?"

Burr just shook his head.

Aaron walked down the hall and Hamilton hurried after him, "So, my first class is Algebra 2 in 108. Where is that?" Aaron took a sharp left down another hallway and Hamilton almost tripped following after him, "Great, okay, you don't want to talk. That's fine. I can talk. Less. I mean, I can talk less." Alex bit his tongue to keep himself from talking more.

There were a few beats of silence as they continued down the hall. Burr let out a sigh of relief, but—"So what grade are you? Senior? I looked at the classes before school today and Calc and Criminal Law are both senior-level courses, so I was just wondering. I kind of thought Mrs. Warren would put me with another sophomore, but I guess no sophomore wanted to, so now I'm following around a senior for the day? But it's all cool!"

Burr blinked. "I'm a junior."

Hamilton's eyes widened, "And you're taking Criminal Law? That's so cool, dude, how'd you do it? Did you pretend to be a senior and now they can't change it? Cause that's some next-level shit."

"It was my parents' last wish for me before they passed."

"What? That you take Criminal Law? Or graduate early or something? That's pretty cool—I'm an orphan too, isn't that funny? My parents only died, or left, or whatever, a few years ago, though, so I guess you've got it harder? I don't know, man."

Burr had stopped walking. Oh, shit. What did I say? "Sorry! That was probably rude! I mean, I'm really sorry—"

"Room 108." Burr's face was carefully blank. "Mrs. Hart is nice. You'll like her. But remember what I said."

"Um, thanks, dude! See you in a bit!" Alex hesitated for a moment, before reminding himself that he couldn't waste any time. Delays just drag me down. He pushed open the door the classroom and walked in, leaving Burr standing alone out in the hall. I'll deal with it later. It'll all work out.

Mrs. Hart's math class was fine. Definitely more advanced than anything he had learned before, but Alex thought that he could at least keep up with it. She was nice, and he had no doubts that she would want to help him if he admitted to needing it. Not that he would.

About an hour and a half later, Hamilton stood in the hall waiting for Burr. Despite his claims that he could find his way around without Burr's help, he was forced to admit that maybe he did need the junior's assistance after all. Maybe.

After five minutes of standing out there, waiting, Hamilton started to consider the possibility that Burr just wasn't coming to bring him to his next class. That was fine. Totally fine. He shuffled around the papers in his binder until he found the map of the school. He was in room 108, his next class was in room 234—which was on the other side of the school. Shit.

It's fine, he told himself. I'm new, I just got lost. It's a great excuse. Stuffing the map back into his backpack, he hurried off to French.

French was easy. Hamilton had grown up speaking Creole French, which was pretty different from the formal French that was being taught, but still similar enough that Hamilton could spot an easy A in his future. Mrs. Cochran-Corbin, the teacher, was a no-nonsense kind of woman who had smiled a total of zero times while he had been there. AP US History had been interesting, to say the least. The teacher, Mr. Washington, was clever and witty, and his classmates seemed like decent people.

His lunch took place during the third period of that day. Due to the block scheduling, he'd have just one class after lunch. He easily found the cafeteria, located centrally in the school at the base of the main staircase. Still, as Alex entered the cafeteria, his confidence began to crumble. There cafeteria was packed. Centennial—Central—Continental!—High School had around 1000 people, so there were probably over 300 in the cafeteria. And they had probably all known each other for years and years. Alex was used to going to new schools, but they were always miserable places full of other foster children like him, in small, out-of-the-way places. Nevis Preparatory, his last school, had only had around 200 people.

Alex stood awkwardly at the entrance and tried to figure out what to do. He could leave campus for lunch, but he was pretty sure that was only for upperclassmen. He could try to slide into some random group, he could eat in the bathroom like the sad, friendless people in teen dramas, or he could find Aaron.

Find Aaron. That seemed to be the best option. Alex cast his eyes around the cafeteria, trying to find his telltale shaved head and scowl.

A hand clamped itself onto his shoulder. Alex stiffened, then slowly turned around to see the junior standing behind him. "Aaron!" he said happily. "I didn't see you after my other classes, so I went myself, so that's all cool. I think I can manage for the afternoon, if you don't want to show me around!"

"Burr."

"What?"

"We go by last names around here."

"Why?" Alex winced. "I mean, that sounded kinda rude, so, like, cool! That sounds like a good way to do it. But why?"

"Just what we do around here."

"Awesome! Can I sit with you?"

"I don't normally eat lunch."

"Don't you get hungry?"

Burr rolled his eyes. "I'll buy you a drink, Hamilton."

"Like, a drink drink?"

"This is a high school. Show some sense."

"Of course, but I don't know, maybe you're part of the underground ring of badass bootleggers that secretly control the school."

Aaron—well, Burr—just sighed. "Come on."

The two boys got in the lunch line. Burr picked up two Cokes, sliding them to the cash register. "How are your teachers?"

"Fine. I really like them all, actually! They seem pretty cool. I'm kinda glad that we get to have them for all four years—that's right, right?"

Alex stared at Burr as if expecting him to answer. Burr sighed. "Right."

"Did you have them when you were—"

"Hey, look! There's Lafayette!" Burr's tone was much too excited for the circumstances, and even Alex could tell that it was fake.

"Who?"

"Lafayette." Burr pushed him in the general direction of the table that Gilbert du Motier was sitting at, along with Hercules Mulligan and John Laurens. Alex gulped as he saw the three of them. They were sitting close together, looking as if they had been friends since birth. All three of the boys looked up as Burr called to Lafayette, ceasing their conversation. One of them looked like a body-builder, and his expression was less than friendly. "Lafayette. This is Hamilton. He's new."

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