Alexandra Hamilton

Two - A Ghost You Say, A Ghost Maybe

Sure enough, Mrs. Thomas told me to stay home and watch Harold while she went to her job (a saleslady at the H&M) and Mr. Thomas went to his job (a salesman at a liquor store).

As soon as they were gone and Dolores had set off to school, I snuck into her room and grabbed her stereo that she never used anymore. My friend had given me a Hamilton CD, and it was all I listened to.

I was proud to have a, not to brag, but incredible range. I could hit a high E, in my chest voice. I didn't like my appearance, or my sense of style, I was hopeless at sports, I was an okay student, but I could sing. Man, I could sing. It was all I could do, but I could do it.

One of the reasons I liked Hamilton so much is, Alex is a fairly unusual name. I'd only ever met two other Alexes, one an Alexander, one an Alexandria. I was the only Alexandra I knew. So when my friend said, "Hey, there's a musical about an Alex!" I said "Gimme."

I had memorized all of the songs, I could even rap Lafayette's part in Guns and Ships. My two proudest moments, though, would be hitting Angelica's note in Satisfied, and Maria's note in Say No to This.

Harold retreated to his room and played his video games while I jammed out in Dolores's. I decided to test myself as a fan, and I recited to myself every single actor and actress in the show, and who they played.

"Lin-Manuel, Hamilton. Leslie, Burr. Pippa, Eliza. Renée, Angelica. Jazzy, Peggy and Mariah. Chris, Washington. Anthony, Laurens and Phillip. Daveed, Lafayette and Jefferson. Oak, Mulligan and Madison. Jonathan, King George. Aaaand the ensemble!"

I pumped my fist happily. "Yes!"

"Alex-andra! Bring me juice!"

I had forgotten than Harold was there. I was thirteen, I was allowed to babysit, but that didn't mean I wanted to.

I went to the kitchen, grabbed the twerp a box of apple juice, and came back up stairs. I handed the juice to him with the straw already popped, then started back to Dolores's room, but Harold stopped me.

"Rez doesn't like you in her room," he said with an evil smirk. "I could tell on you."

"Oh, God, Harold, please don't she'll kill me."

"Go turn off that music and come do what I want," Harold ordered. "And then I won't tell."

I stood halfway. "Promise?"

"Promise."

I went to Dolores's room, turned off My Shot, and carried the precious CD back to my room. Then, mentally bracing myself, I went back to Harold's room. Without hesitating, he raised his Airsoft gun and shot me in the throat.

I made a strangled sort of noise and fell to my knees, cradling my neck. "Harold, what the heck?" I managed, taking gasping, rough breaths. Harold giggled madly. "You do what I want, okay?"

I knew that Harold was a little turd with his Airsoft gun, but I also knew that Dolores and her curling iron were a lot worse. I still had the scar on my arm to prove it.

"Okay, what do you want me to do?" I asked shakily, massaging the welt on my throat.

"Go buy me candy."

"I can't leave you here on your own."

"Then you get it from Rez."

"Fine. Do you have money for me to buy this with?"

Harold beamed. "No. Use your own. I want three king Reeses, two king Snickers, and a pack of gum."

I sighed, but went to my room and got my wallet. My wallet had in it twenty dollars of dirty bills, because any money I had was money that I'd picked off of the street. I brought the whole thing with me.

I made my way through the corner store, still massaging my throat. I found the industrial sized candy bin in the back, and began sifting through. I spotted one of the coveted Snickers at the bottom, and reached in, digging blindly.

"Ouch!"

I drew my right hand out hastily, staring at my palm in dismay as red blood pooled in my hand. Gingerly, I reached back into the bin and retrieved the tiny switchblade that some idiot had dropped into it. I dropped the blade on the ground and kicked it under the candy bin, then cradling my injured right hand with my left.

"Are you okay?"

"I don't know." I turned at the familiar voice, managing to place it with a face. It was Lin-Manuel Miranda.

He, too, was staring at my hand in dismay. "Come on, we gotta get you fixed up. I know a guy not too far from here."

He took me by the shoulders and guided me out of the store. "Why aren't you wearing a coat?" He asked. "It's the middle of October!"

"I don't have one," I told him. Then, realizing what I said, I added, "I outgrew mine, and my foster mom is going to take me shopping soon."

"Right," Lin said, clearly seeing through me. "Foster care, huh?"

"Yep, since I was five."

"And how old are you now?"

I lifted my chin. "Thirteen."

Lifting my chin was the wrong thing to do, because it showed off the welt on my neck. His eyes got big. "Did someone shoot you?"

"It's nothing," I assured him. "My brother was playing with an Airsoft gun, and it accidentally went off." I hated lying through my teeth like that, but I didn't really want to move again.

Lin pursed his lips, but didn't argue. "Here."

Lo and behold, we were standing outside of the liquor store Mr. Thomas worked at.

I backed away nervously. "I can't go in there."

Lin looked at me, then the store, then cursed. "You're right, I'm so stupid. You're underaged! I'll go get him- wait here."

The moment the door closed, I ran, walking as quickly as I could back to the Thomases house. There was a good chance that Mr. Thomas had seen me, and even if he hadn't, one of his buddies might have recognized me.

My only disappointment was that I had to leave Lin.