Chapter Text
There’s a certain feeling that comes with a new school year.
Especially when starting your first year as the newest English One teacher to grace Hudson High School. Those distinct, back-to-school jitters that come with the anticipation of a new year were hitting you.
Students shop for new clothes, new notebooks, new backpacks, everything new. Teachers and administrators prepare classrooms, getting everything set up to welcome the newest generation of Freshmen, as well as new staff.
You were one of those newbies. And god, what a feeling of not knowing anyone and having to spend every day here. There’s a thrill that comes with it, something words couldn’t explain.
When you interviewed for the position, George Washington intimidated the fuck out of you. Upon talking to him, he turned out to be a genuine, humble man, but scarily confident. He was the first face you happened to bump into upon entering the school for the first required day over the summer. There were three days before school officially started, and you procrastinated getting your classroom set up and introducing yourself to coworkers.
Next to Washington stood a smaller man. One that had a feistier look to him. There was a stark contrast between the two; Washington was nearly a foot taller than the younger guy, and held himself so calmly while the other was borderline ADHD.
“Ah, Miss L/n. We were just talking about you,” Principal Washington smiled, shaking your hand. He turned to the other man, “this is the new freshman English teacher.”
The young teacher’s eyes lit up, and he grinned widely, sticking his hand out for you to shake. “Alexander Hamilton. Pleasure to meet you,” he introduced.
You nodded, smiling out of politeness and shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you. Would you happen to know which way the G hallway is?”
“I’ll show you. I’m in the same hallway, y’know, with it being the English hall obviously,” he chuckled, ushering you to follow him. You gave Washington a nod in acknowledgment before embarking on the journey to the English Hall.
“Are you the other English one teacher?” You asked, falling into step with the man.
He let out a loud, bitter laugh. “God, no. I teach English four.” He led you upstairs. “The other freshman English is way worse than I.”
You furrowed your eyebrows. He seemed to have noticed the falter in your steps, because he backtracked to reassure you.
“I’m sorry, that came off a little strong. I’ve had some minor…quarrels with Jefferson in the past. But don’t let that scare you, I’m sure you’ll get along fine.” He waved his hands around, then quietly added on, “If you like arrogant, intransigent assholes.”
Jefferson. That name struck so many bad memories. A chill ran up your spine, and you had to reassure yourself that Jefferson was a common last name. Besides, the one you had known was in France last time you checked.
“You describe him so nicely. I’m looking forward to working with Mr. Jefferson,” you smiled, voice laced with sarcasm. Hamilton laughed, sending an amused grin your way.
“You’ll be okay. It’s only me he truly fights with.” Hamilton shrugged. “Enough about me. Tell me about yourself, Miss L/n.”
You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “You can just call me Y/n. And here I was, thinking I was saved from small talk.”
“If you’d prefer to talk about my hatred for your new coworker, or rather listen to me talk about it, it’s always on the table,” he offered. Something about it was so lighthearted. He was really easy to be around, to talk to. “No, but seriously. What got you into teaching?”
“Well, teaching just kind of clicked with me. I subbed once during college, and I loved the atmosphere. I love the idea of helping people grow into who they’re meant to be, giving every student a chance at success. Granted, some of the kids are frustrating, but when handled correctly, they aren’t bad at all. You just have to understand where they come from.” You explained, examining the postures of books strung up on the wall.
You must’ve made it to the English hallway, because where else would there be a giant quote from The Outsiders painted on the wall?
“I understand that completely. It’s so rewarding, watching the younger generations find their passions. Getting to play a part in every individual’s success,” he grinned, showing you to the doorway of a soulless room. “Here we are. Home sweet home.”
You flicked the lights on, scanning the bare white walls. It looked like an asylum, and hell, it felt like one too.
“It looks like Jefferson isn’t here right now,” Alex said, poking his head into the room next door. “You got lucky. For now.”
You chuckled, peeking into Jefferson’s room. The lights were on, so he was around somewhere, but there was no way of knowing where. He had a cozy little setup. Lights were strung on the ceiling, there were multiple posters littered around the room referencing pop culture, a bookshelf was stashed in the corner, and his desk was home to trinkets and useless objects. On the wall next to his desk, there were pages, drawings, and letters from past students thanking him for being such a good teacher. That gave you some hope. Maybe Alexander Hamilton was dramatic, maybe Jefferson wouldn’t be so bad.
“Anyway, I’ll let you get set up. My room is just down the hall, G224, if you ever need anything.” He said, and with that, he disappeared.
—
After making about a million trips to your car and back, bringing in all the decorations, books, and supplies you needed, you could finally start setting up your classroom.
Normally, you would’ve complained about having to make so many trips, but it allowed you to navigate the layout of the place. Hudson High was by far the largest school you’ve ever worked at. And with no connections to it or anyone else, it was a fresh start, a clean slate to make good memories. On your final trip, you glanced into Jefferson’s room again to catch a glimpse of the man you would be spending the rest of the school year with, but he wasn’t there.
You could, however, outdo him in his decorating skills.
It wasn’t like you wanted to make him look bad or anything, you just wanted to show out. Make your presence known, and in the process build the best English classroom anyone has ever seen.
An hour-and-a-half of uninterrupted work was all it took for it to be fully set up. You had fairy lights and warm lamps to replace the fluorescent school lighting, a beanbag in the corner, a bookshelf twice the size of his, organized by color because it was prettier that way (despite all the hate you get for it), and succulents on the windowsill. All that was left was your desk.
Before you could begin, the distinct chime of the announcements rang, disrupting your flow.
“All staff please report to the library for a mandatory opening meeting.”
Groaning, you wiped the sweat beading on your forehead, and trekked to the library. Since you hadn’t been anywhere else in this school other than your classroom, you followed behind other staff members for guidance.
When you arrived, Hamilton called your name, waving you over. You grinned and joined him in the back. He was already sitting with a few other people—two having their hair tied into a man bun, and one wearing a blue beanie.
“Who is this belle femme?” A French accent spoke, the man leaning forward on his hands.
“This is Y/n L/n,” Alex introduced you to the group. You gave a shy smile and waved. “Y/n, this is John Laurens, Hercules Mulligan, and—“
“I am Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette,” the same Frenchman took your hand, planting a charming kiss on it. “But you may call me Lafayette.”
You raised a surprised eyebrow, not at all impressed by his attempt at flattery. The idea of France spiked feelings you didn’t want to think about. Mostly related to your oh-so-fun high school experience, or lack thereof.
“Or call him Marie like we all do,” Mulligan laughed, shoving Lafayette's shoulder. Lafayette—or Marie?—shot him a glare, grumbling something under his breath.
“Ignore him,” Alex snorted, rolling his eyes. “He just got broken up with again, even though we all know they’ll be back together within a week.”
“‘Ey! She said it was serious this time,” Lafayette pouted.
“Sure,” Alex turned to you, lowering his voice, “she said the same thing last time. Don’t be fooled.”
You giggled, eyes lighting up in amusement at the antics of the table. You haven’t been around friends this close in a long, long time. It was almost uncomfortable; you didn’t know what to do, where to put your hands, or if you should speak more. Being a pretty quiet person by nature, it wasn't hard for you to stay quiet and observe. Your eyes shifted to the only person who hadn’t spoken yet—Laurens.
He was sitting closest to Hamilton, slumped in his seat so their shoulders were nearly touching.
“How’s the classroom coming along?” Alex asked, breaking you from your thoughts.
Sitting up straighter, you forced a smile, “pretty good. Haven’t met this Jefferson character yet, so I’m a little anxious.”
“Wait, she hasn’t met Jefferson?” Laurens spoke, eyebrows raised high as he glanced from you to Alexander.
“He wasn’t there when I showed her to her room,” he shrugged. “Guess he hasn’t been around yet.”
A wild, almost sarcastic smirk formed on John’s face. “Well, you’re in for a treat.”
“Oh, c’mon guys, he is not ‘zat bad,” Lafayette jumped in.
“You only say that because he speaks French, too,” Hercules scoffed.
Laf frowned. “Not true. He’s a great friend if you just give ‘im a chance. Hamilton and John speak French, too, but I’m not friends with them just for ‘zat.”
At this point, you didn’t know who to believe. Everyone had told you one thing, then Lafayette entered and now he was telling you another. So was Jefferson an asshole or not? They bickered back and forth on the subject, and at some point it turned into an argument about unrelated topics. You absorbed the conversation, trying to get a feel for what having a normal friend group could be like, envisioning yourself having this kind of dynamic with them. As long as you don’t fuck it up somehow, maybe they’ll accept you as their own.
Alex and John seemed used to it, as they started asking you questions about yourself. Where are you from, where did you used to teach, how are you liking Hudson so far, how’s your relationship with your mom…the works. Well, they didn’t ask the last one.
“You’re much better than Lee,” John commented. “He was a pain.”
“Lee?” You questioned.
“Oh, yeah. He was the English teacher before you, but he quit after a…debate.” He grinned, clearly proud about something. You furrowed your eyebrows, cocking your head to the side in confusion.
“He got into a fight with him because he was denouncing Washington’s name,” Alex chimed in. You couldn’t control the slight widening of your eyes. He had a physical altercation with someone over some words?
“Men never fail to surprise me…” you muttered.
“In my defense, we gave him multiple warnings. But he didn’t listen. And look where that got him?”
“A new job at a different school, I suppose,” Alex smirked, “and a trip to the hospital.”
They shared a laugh, and you couldn’t help the sick twisting of your stomach. Were they seriously bragging about putting a man in the hospital? That should’ve been the first red flag. They sensed your discomfort, calming down and putting a reassuring hand on your shoulder. You tensed at his touch.
“Relax. He was okay. He also started it, too, if that says anything.” Alex said, voice softer than before.
“I promise I won’t fight you,” Laurens joked half-heartedly. A smile cracked on your face, relaxing your shoulders.
“How did you not get fired?” You asked. Hamilton's hand fell back to his lap.
John shrugged. “I got really close to it. Hamilton here is particularly close with Washington, and has a way with words. He vouched for my innocence.”
You hummed, watching Alex flash a toothy, prideful grin. “Good to know.”
“If I could have everyone’s attention, please!” Washington’s voice boomed over the light chatter of the library, effectively silencing everyone. You straightened in your chair and faced forward, glancing from him to the backs of people's heads.
“First and foremost, welcome back everyone! And welcome new teachers. I hope everyone had a great summer break, and this new year is going to be very promising for all. Now, for a brief overview of school policy—“ you only halfway listened from there. All he talked about was basic laws and regulations teachers are required to take, as well as mentioning drills that would be practiced during the first couple months.
Your eyes scanned the crowd of educators. A head of thick, dark curly hair caught your eye. Somewhere at the front, a man wearing a magenta polo sat, his broad shoulders and arms filling out the shirt nicely. You leaned forward in interest, heart fluttering when he turned and you caught a snippet of his nose, as well as a stubble. ‘Please let him be Jefferson. And please let him be hot.’
As quick as the meeting started, it was over. The whole time, your eyes were trained on the man in the magenta polo, silently praying he was the Jefferson you would have to work with all year.
Hamilton nudged you, signaling it was over. You stood and followed the group out, searching for the magenta-polo guy, but he was already gone. Hamilton suggested that you see where the other guys’ classrooms were, so if you needed anything, you knew where to go. It would’ve been rude to say no, so you didn’t protest, and followed them blindly around the premise.
Lafayette was the French teacher and coached track, so he was downstairs in the foreign language hallway. His room was very colorful, very him.
Mulligan was the art teacher and boys’ wrestling coach. Out of everything you expected him to teach, art was not it. Wrestling fit him, but imagining him painting was a curveball.
Laurens taught U.S. government and coached football. His room was filled with posters of both famous football players and different political systems. Having Tom Brady and facism on the same wall was wild, but hey, if that’s what he’s into.
After touring (some) of the campus, Hamilton walked back to the hallway you were beginning to familiarize yourself with, and offered a glimpse into his class.
And wow, he outdid himself.
“Jesus—how long did it take for you to put all this up?” You asked, staring at the tapestries and rows of books that he had. He stood, pride swelling in his chest as he watched you examine the room in awe.
“A while. Don’t worry about it,” he winked. “You’ll get to my level one day.”
You scoffed, shooting him a playful glare. “Okay, I get it. You win the best Pinterest room award; congratulations.”
“Why, thank you,” he bowed dramatically. A grin spread on both your faces, and your heart was giddy with the excitement that comes with making a new friend. Let him last, please.
“I have to finish setting up my desk. But thank you for introducing me to your friends. They were very…”
“Obnoxious?” He interjected. You shook your head, a fondness evident in your voice when you spoke.
“Endearing. I like them,” you finished.
There was a pause in the conversation, and his eyes lingered on you. “I’m glad they didn’t scare you off. You’re always welcome to hang out with us, by the way.”
“Thank you,” you took some steps towards the door—which had a large poster that read ‘BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU’ as well as a pair of eyes drawn to stare into your soul. Ah, the genius rhat is 1984. “I have to finish setting up my desk. I’ll see you around?”
“See you around.” He confirmed.
On the short walk to your own cell, you stopped to peek into Jefferson’s room, expecting him not to be in there. But surprise surprise! The man, the myth, the legend you’ve heard so many negative things about was in there, hunched over and writing something down.
And to make it better, it was magenta-polo guy.
Your heart fluttered in excitement, and you stepped in. “You must be the infamous Jefferson I’ve heard so much about.”
“That would be me,” he spoke. Even his voice was hot. It was mature, husky, and—familiar. Way too familiar.
He looked up, and your smile instantly dropped. Stomach dropped. Face paled. Time stopped. Everything seemed to have frozen in place, including him, because he stood there, eyes wide with recognition.
“Thomas?” You seethed, taking a defensive step back.
He was seriously who you were ogling? The man who destroyed every friendship you had in high school, the man who broke every ounce of trust you held for him?
“Y/n.” His face twisted to a sour frown. You hated the way your name fell so naturally from his tongue.
“I thought you were in France.” A deep scowl spread overtook your face. He seemed to have reciprocated the same bitter expression.
“I was. Then I came back,” he growled. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
“Believe me, I’m not exactly thrilled about this either.” You barked out a bitter laugh. He scoffed, shifting his weight so he was crossing his arms.
“Don’t be childish. We can move on from the past, y’know.”
“After you ruined my social life? No thanks,” you retorted. He let out an exhausted groan, dragging a hand over his face.
“We both know there’s more to it than that.” He walked around from behind his desk, taking some steps towards you.
“What? I was ‘jealous’ of you? Is that it?” You snapped, narrowing your eyes. All the rage you built up was manifesting in this very moment. Everything you’ve ever wanted to say to him, you could. Tell him how he was a shitty friend for leaving you, for hurting you the way he did.
“Because you ruined my chance at a scholarship!” He hissed.
“I didn’t ruin shit! You act like I sabotaged your entire fucking career! It was junior year, for crying out loud!” You threw your hands up, pacing around his classroom.
He inhaled sharply, clenching his jaw. The way his demeanor changed from rash and sharp to ice cold horrified you, stopping you dead in your tracks. Thomas took a small, but powerful step closer, causing you to shift back one in response.
“Y/n,” he started, staring down at you with so much calmed rage that you almost started trembling. “Let’s end this conversation here. You can see yourself out.”
Wordlessly, your nostrils flared and you stepped out of his classroom. He shut the door behind you. Disbelief, rage, hatred, resentment coursed through your veins. Thomas Jefferson, the man who abandoned you during a dark time, the man who borderline bullied you during your lowest point, and the man you once considered your ride or die was supposed to be the man you had to work with the rest of the year.
So much for a fresh start.