Chapter Text
The world changes the year Eliza Schuyler turns eighteen.
After years of growing tension and taxes, the colonies declare their independence. It seemed like this day would never come - her father’s friends discussing revolt and independence and policy for hours has been the constant background of her life - and now that it’s here it’s almost surreal. Though the threat of war with Britain hangs over their heads, in typical New York fashion, they go about their day to day anyway.
It would be a big year for her in any political climate. Her big sister, Angelica, her best friend, is finishing her first year of college, having left her and Peggy behind. Figuratively, of course, as their whole family goes to Kings which is just a train ride away from their Upper East Side apartment. Eliza will join her there next year, and Peggy the year after that.
But a year is a long time, especially when she's gone from a British subject to an American citizen in the time it took for John Hancock to scribble his name. She’s been trying for a while to figure out what her place in this new world might be, and now’s her chance. As much as she loves her sisters, she can’t help but think about what it might mean to be a college student, a girl on the verge of becoming a woman, with enough anonymity and distance created by different majors to ensure they aren’t overshadowing her at every turn. To be Eliza Schuyler, not just one of the Schuyler sisters.
She doesn’t really know who that is yet, even though everyone else seems to think they do.
Angelica calls her “baby sis,” and protects her fiercely as only the oldest sibling can, sharing old homework assignments and teaching her how to drink responsibly, taking experimental shots together sitting close together on her bed and braiding her hair so when she throws up later it doesn’t get messy.
Peggy, a year younger yet somehow so much more worldly, calls her “Saint Elizabeth” and looks up to her, comes to her for advice, and takes her word as gospel truth. Even if she doesn’t follow it, she’s always believed Eliza is incapable of doing anything truly wrong or immoral.
Her parents call her “honey,” and worry endlessly about her, making her call home to check in whenever she takes the train alone. They’re almost overly supportive, reassuring her that no matter what major she chooses, they’ll make sure she never has to struggle. The Schuylers are old money rich and made nervous both by Eliza’s interest in social work and disinterest in being set up with any of the nice young men in their circle that would financially support her while she pursues her dream, albeit low paying, career.
The boys at school call her Eliza, never “baby,” never “gorgeous,” never come too close. She watches her sisters scream and fight and cry over their boyfriends with a mixture of jealousy and disinterest. One or two take her on a date to the movies, hold her hand, kiss her goodbye at the door, but she doesn’t feel anything for them and she doubts they do for her. She’s a “nice girl,” a “good girl,” and high school boys don’t want the pressure.
Lately she’s been chafing at the way everyone seems to have her pigeon holed and pettily subverting it. To her dissatisfaction, it doesn’t work. She’s bitchy to her sisters and they apologize for offending her. She stays out too late and doesn’t answer her phone, and her parents are only relieved when she comes home and remind her to call them if she ever gets lost.
Everyone calls her sweet, wide-eyed, trusting, kind, darling, generous, innocent, naive, honest, pure, adorable - gullible, stupid, they don’t say, but she hears it anyway. She knows, of course, that those aren’t bad things, and that there’s more than a grain of truth in them. She’s always been shy, and when she examines herself critically in the mirror she sees how her big dark eyes and propensity to blush unbidden can make her look like Bambi in human form. She doesn’t really have any interest in staying out too late or causing teenage mayhem, and genuinely loves her time spent volunteering at the orphanage in Washington Heights. She knows, deep down, that she’s not as brilliant as Angelica and not as quick with a witty comeback as Peggy, that her intelligence is a kind that relies on a strong work ethic. But she’s also jealous and resentful, watching her sisters get all the attention. She’s angry, with the British, with the patriots and the hypocritical way they disregard the poor, with the older men that unabashedly stare at her when she's out for a run. She’s callous, refusing to care about the constant drama of the myriad of families in their social circle that she has to suck up to just because they have money or live in the building next door, acting oblivious and distant to get out of fake, obligatory friendships with their daughters of similar ages.
It’s disorienting, to have everyone tell her who she is when so much of her doesn’t fit their definition. She doesn’t mind being cute, bleeding heart Eliza as long as she also gets to be smart, hardworking, thoughtful, stubborn, human Eliza.
She’s waiting for something, preparing herself for the storm she knows is coming, waiting for it to shake her hidden self loose.
Seniors get to leave early on Fridays, so Eliza takes the train to go see Angelica and go to one of the rallies in the college square. They get there a few minutes early, and Angelica launches into a rapid fire conversation with two people she recognizes from her ethics class. Eliza is content to sit on the warm edge of the sun soaked fountain, watching the crowd gather for the debate.
A young man sits down next to her and gives her a practiced smile. “Excuse me, miss. What’s a pretty girl like you doing at a mess like this?” he asks, gesturing at the mass of students pushing each other for a better view.
“I like to listen to the speeches,” Eliza says. “History is happening here, I’d be crazy to miss it.”
“You’re crazy to come down to this field in your fancy heels,” he teases, though not unkindly. She’s reflexively embarrassed of her high school uniform, but he flicks his eyes down and up her legs slowly, the intent clear, and she feels warm all over.
She smiles back at him. “These don’t just look good, they make sure I don’t have to fight for a spot in the front. I give these things a bit of thought, you know.”
He laughs, a rich, low sound. “I’m sure you do, miss…?”
“Are you kidding me?” Angelica appears next to them, and both Eliza and the guy shoot up. “Eliza,” she says cooly, eyes fixed on the stranger’s, “these are exactly the kind of guys I told you to stay away from. Burr, you disgust me.”
“So you’ve discussed me?” Burr says with an unrepentant grin. “Relax, Angelica, I didn’t know she was one of your ‘little’ sisters.” The quotes around “little” are blatantly, mockingly clear, even if he doesn’t move his hands from his pockets. “If anything, as a fellow trust fund baby, I’m one of the only guys here that the “Schuyler sisters” should be around at all.”
“You are such a snob,” Angelica sneers.
He laughs again, entirely unbothered. “Maybe. I’ll leave you to it. Go back to looking for some poor urchin to give you some ideals and street cred. I’ll see you in class on Monday.” He gives Eliza a wink. “Nice to meet you, Eliza.”
Eliza waves back at him, stifling a giggle.
Angelica drops the ice queen act and turns to her with her Big Sister face on. “Are you okay? Was that asshole bothering you?”
“I’m fine, ‘Gelica. I can take care of myself.”
“Of course you can,” Angelica says without even a trace of sincerity.
Eliza sighs, but drops it. It really isn’t worth fighting over right now anyway. A tall, skinny young man has taken his place at the podium, and the crowd falls silent.
“My name is Samuel Seabury, and I present free thoughts on the Continental Congress,” he begins formally, the crowd listening intently in anticipation.
It doesn’t last long. The faculty at Kings may be conservative, but the students are revolutionaries one and all, and Seabury’s self-righteous condemnation of the “rabble” strikes a nerve. A shorter guy with a ponytail jumps on stage and starts trying to provoke Seabury into a debate, who stubbornly sticks to his notes. He tries his best to ignore him, even as a group of what are presumably the new guy’s friends start leading the crowd in loud boos and cheers.
She watches the faces and body language of the crowd shift: first skeptical, then surprised, amused, and inspired. When ponytail finally drives a shamefaced Seabury off the stage, they turn as one to watch him go, and then snap back when the victor starts up again. She watches as the students put their phones away, stop shifting from foot to foot, and stand in rapt attention, as one turns to another, eyes shining, whispering “wow.” Angelica is listening, awestruck, eyes fixed on the speaker. The specifics of the argument fade away, as they usually do, for Eliza, who’s more affected by atmospheres than individuals. The energy is captivating, all these young, hungry minds in search of something they don’t understand yet.
This is where it’s happening, this time, and this place. She’s lucky to be alive right now, and she doesn’t intend on wasting her life living as someone else’s version of herself. Eliza Schuyler doesn’t know exactly who she is yet, but she knows it’s only a matter of time.