a thousand letters ➫ hamilton

april 2

Dear Alexander,

My name's Elizabeth Schuyler. I go by Eliza.

It looks like we're pen pals.

I wonder how long this correspondence may last. It counts as half of my grade this quarter, so it might only last two months at most.

I may as well tell you a bit about myself. I'm 18, and I'll be 19 on August 9. My favorite color is blue, and I have two sisters. Their names are Angelica and Peggy. I'm the middle sister. I like to sing and act, and I'm involved in the theatre at my school program at my school. But never ask me to. I'm not that great.

I also attached a picture of me so that you know what I look like. I'm on the left. My younger sister Peggy is on the right. It's the only picture I've ever taken that I looked decent in.

I hear that you live in the Caribbean. How fascinating. I would love to live somewhere like that.

I'm looking forward to our later correspondence.

Love,
  Eliza

-

I slammed my locker shut. I was exhausted, and my brain ached from seven hours of instruction, and I had to brainstorm about what I'm supposed to do about this ridiculous pen pal.

The envelope is in my hand, sealed and stamped and ready to go.

I'm prepared to mail it and get it over with. Maybe Alexander won't reply and I'll be lucky.

This assignment has left me absolutely helpless.

I pull my coat tighter around my body and throw my black hair behind my shoulder.

I wave good-bye to Peggy, who's still at her locker. She waves back.

I've nearly escaped when I'm stopped in my tracks.

It's Thomas. Thomas Jefferson, the notorious Student Council president. The most narcissistic boy you'll ever encounter- and the most arrogant too.

"Hey, Elizabeth," he smirks, leaning against a locker. I don't understand why he always feels the need to call me by my full name.

"Thomas," I nod in response, attempting to resist eye contact.

"What's in your hand?"

I hold up the envelope. "An English project. We have to write to pen pals."

Thomas stares at it. His dark eyes scan across the writing.

"Listen, Thomas, I need to go. I have a ton of homework-"

He steps closer to me. "You've got the entire day. How about for now, we just-"

I cut him off when I sense his fingers on my arms.

"Excuse me, Thomas." I inelegantly shove past him. I completely neglect my normal 'cinnamon roll' facade, simply because I cannot stand Thomas.

I bet that maybe two of his friends can.

As soon as I'm in my car, I stare at the letter in my hand.

Alexander Hamilton.

Mr. Washington better have a good reason for this frustrating assignment.