This Twisted Game - A Hamilton Retelling

Alexander

It wasn't so much about fighting against oppressors that this revolution started. Sure, taxation is bad but it is hardly a sort of cruelty that redeems one to rise up against an entire empire with numerous colonies. Back from where he came from, he had seen what true cruelty could be. The lash of a whip on backs burnt under the relentless sun, the crack of sugar canes, the mouth – melting cubes bittersweet, a reminder of the injustices they sprouted from.

But if the people wanted a revolution, he was more than willing to join. A cause is a cause, it would only be this cause, this upheaval in the order of things that would allow him to reach the top.

He flipped over another sheet of paper, hand flying across his sheet, scrawling ink over the page as the professor at the front droned on about Latin that he had already read about in the book. Beside him, Johnson's ead came crashing down on his harm, almost spilling the inkpot in front of him all over his paper.

'John', he hissed in the sleeping boy's ear, 'Get up and stop drooling over my shirt'.

John jerked awake, rubbed his eyes, and squinted at the professor.

'How long was I asleep?'

'I have no idea', He gestured with his pen to John's diary, 'Get to work'.

He was met with a scowl and a grumble.

'What did you do last night that is leading you to fall asleep every ten minutes?', he asked, continuing to write down all he could frantically.

John yawned, 'None of your business'.

Alexander quirked an eyebrow, 'You were at Macy's again? You really should stop'.

...

Suddenly, the door to the room opened, and a footman walked in leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. He cut the lecturer short in his speech, whispering something in his ear. The lecturer straightened up, and gave a curt nod.

'Let her in'.

The footman walked to the door and held it open.

And a girl walked in, followed by a sudden pin – drop silence in the room. An intake of breath. Every head turned towards the door as she passed the front row of the seats, dropping down into the first empty seat she could find. The boys on either side of her turned to stare at her as she fumbled around in her satchel, her dark hair in a coiled bun glistening in the light.

'Woah', whispered John, 'What the...'

The lecturer cleared his throat, 'Gentlemen, this is Miss Anoushey Schuyler. She will be joining us from now on here at the college'.

A boy in front of Alexander raised his hand, 'As in – how long?'

The lecturer opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off when the girl turned around to face the boy, 'Until I graduate', she said, smiling politely. He got a better look at her face then – she did not look like she was from Netherlands, and he had assumed that her name would indicate that. In fact, he had not seen anyone like her in his entire life, the sharpness of her nose, the brown of her skin as if someone had made weak tea.

'Oh', muttered the boy, lowering his hand.

'Is there – a problem with that?', she asked, looking at him pointedly and tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear.

'N- no' he stammered, and there was a brief period of tense quiet in the room as she turned back and continued rummaging in her satchel and producing quills until the professor broke the silence by saying, 'As you all know, Philip Schuyler is one of the most prominent and well – known residents of this side of New Amsterdam' –

'Philip Schuyler', breathed John, eyes wide –

'He has links with the empire and is crucial in their trade And he has requested his daughter, Ms Schuyler, to study here. After extensive support he has given the college, we are more than happy to welcome her here'.

By the looks on the boys's faces around him, they looked far form thrilled form having her there.

'Alright, let us continue', resumed the professor, turning towards the blackboard with chalk in hand, ready to scrawl out some new words.