A/N: What the fuck am I doing?! I know I suck at finishing multichapter fics. I know I suck at dialogue. Why am I doing this? I guess I needed a hobby since I finished HMTIS. Ridin' high off the finished-a-fic.

Okay, I'm aware this story is a common trope, and I'm asking for suspension of disbelief on some of the details here, but I'm excited to write this! Shouldn't be as long as HMTIS either.

Also, this time I get to make Eliza a teacher, which is exciting for your humble teacher/author. Best job ever.

I hope you enjoy reading!

Also, I love John Laurens.

I got every scholarship,

Saved every dollar,

The first to go to college,

How do I tell them why

I'm coming back home,

With my eyes on the horizon

It all started with a phone call.

Well, that's not quite true.

Technically speaking, it started much earlier.

It started with a single dad and three daughters. Three daughters that were told from the very beginning that they had to pay their own way through college. And by from the very beginning, she means from infancy.

Philip Schuyler was actually rumored to have leaned over the cribs of his infant daughters, one after the other, and told them to get a job and start saving, because he didn't have the money for that higher education shit.

Which was really shitty for Eliza, because she was neither the firstborn, nor the baby. Stuck in the middle, with neither the cute factor nor the drive and independence of the oldest, Eliza was shit out of luck from the beginning.

Don't mistake, she loved her sisters. They were her best friends, her constant companions.

Yes, she loved her sisters.

But she wasn't as brilliant as Angelica. She could never match her big sister's mind, and had always known that.

And she would never have Peggy's bouncy, optimistic energy.

No, she was just Eliza. Unremarkable at best.

But unremarkable Eliza still wanted to go to college. Looking at her father's life was a sobering portrait of what life would be without "that higher education shit". Often drunk, gambling compulsively, loving but struggling and often absent.

No, Eliza had never wanted that.

So she started babysitting in middle school. And really, that was good for two reasons: one, money, about the only money a twelve year old can earn. And two, it let her know what she wanted to do: be a teacher.

She remembered the exact moment she realized her future career. One of her young charges had come home crying, uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn.

He had stayed silent for an hour, pouting and sullen, until Eliza had finally had enough. She had plopped the boy down in a chair and told him that he had five minutes allocated for his self-pity, and then he would stop wallowing and tell her what was wrong.

She had set a timer.

At the end, she had crouched by the boy's feet, and gently asked again.

"What's wrong?"

And the dam broke.

Through the haze of tears, he had stuttered out that his teacher had called him a hopeless cause, and told him that subtraction was simply "beyond his capabilities".

Eliza still remembered the wave of fury that had washed over her at this cold woman's dismissal of the child.

More so, still, when the boy had stutteringly told her that the teacher was right. He was hopeless. And coming from an eight-year-old boy, that shattered something Eliza.

She gave the boy's knees a pat, and then disappeared into the playroom he shared with his sister, returning with a chalkboard and a container of play dough.

She remembered the boy's confused expression as she had scrawled "4-1" on the board, then set up 4 balls of play dough.

"Four balls of play dough. Minus one," she had said. "Smash that one."

He had.

And his expression had shifted.

"Three!" he had cried out. "The answer is three!"

Then, a smile started to form on his face. He had balled up the rest of the play dough and handed it back to her.

"Do it again." He had instructed.

She had. "7-2" on the board. Seven balls. "Smash two". "Five!"

The boy's face had lit and then Eliza knew.

A teacher.

That degree.

That was all she wanted.

That was worth every sacrifice she had to make.

Sometimes when her mind would drift, Eliza would imagine her future classroom, the children that would bustle in and out, how she could change their lives.

Yes, that would make this all worth it.

But for a position that makes such a shitty salary, teacher's college was expensive. So as soon as she turned 14, Eliza took any and all jobs that she could get.

By the time she left for college, she had a good amount saved, figuring if she worked during the year she could save the rest.

Which brings us back to the phone call.

Her father's voice was scratchy and raw, but that wasn't her first clue into bad news.

No, that would have been the prerecorded message that plays telling her she had an incoming call from Rikers Island and did she accept the charge?

He was just going to take a few dollars, her father insisted. He knew how hard she had worked. But then he got in too deep and if he spent just a little more, he could get out of it.

But he didn't.

And now everything is gone.

Now she has nothing.

Everything she spent her teenage years working toward, gone.

Eliza, please understand, she hears him plead. Couldn't she just come up with something to help him get out of here? He'll figure it out, he promises. He'll get the money back. He'll be more, he'll be better, but can she just him out?

She slams the phone down and refuses the tears.

No, she won't cry.

Her sisters hug her tightly. They curse her father, they smooth her hair back and whisper platitudes that she knows are false but she appreciates nonetheless.

But she won't cry.

She knows her sisters have no money to give her. Angelica lives with her boyfriend (Eliza supposes he's her boyfriend, Angie's always seemed ambivalent toward him). He's rich but Angelica lives with him because she can't afford her own rent, and Peggy has moved in with her girlfriend for the same reason. They all used to collect coins in the couches of the coffeehouses their friends frequent and split them three ways.

No, they can't help her.

Nobody can help her; especially with rent due in three weeks and next semester's tuition creeping close.

She'll maintain she doesn't cry when she receives the notice in the mail, along with her bank statement, detailing her current balance (overdraft -200).

She does, though.

Which, then, brings her to her best friend.

John Laurens has always had a bit of a soothing presence about him. Just being around him has always made her feel better.

She needs a supersized dose of that today.

He hugs her without saying a word, and she buries her face in his coat and that time, she'll fully admit she cries.

He settles her down on the couch, buys her a cup of coffee amid her protests, draws her into him and strokes her hair soothingly.

Not for the first time, she thinks she doesn't deserve John Laurens.

"This is all I ever wanted, John," she sniffles. "Just…. go to school. Graduate. Be a teacher. Don't be my father."

She shrugs her shoulders violently, jostling his arm.

"Shoulda known, though. Shoulda known he'd find a way to ruin that."

"We'll figure this out, 'Liza," John promises.

She scoffs. "How, John? Rent is due in three weeks. Tuition in two months. I'm not just going to magically come into thousands of dollars."

She sniffles "Fuck New York City and the fucking rent."

John smiles softly. "Legal robbery, I've always said."

That coaxes a small chuckle out of her.

"Doubt they'd take it well if I just up and decided not to pay though."

"Probably not."

"Could I still attend from a shelter?"

John shakes his head. "Eliza, we're not there yet."

"We're pretty damn close, John. You don't even have a couch in your dorm, and the advisors would never let me stay with you. Where the fuck am I going to go? What am I going to do?"

John is silent for a long moment, until his body shifts silently to pull his phone out of his pocket.

"John, crisis here," Eliza reminds him. "I think it merits ten phone-free moments here."

He grins down at her, pushing his curly hair out of his freckled face.

"Eliza, it's the 21st century. Is there even such a thing as ten phone free moments? Besides, when we millenials find ourselves in times of trouble, what do we do?"

"Dunno. Something about Mother Mary?"

"Ask professor Google, Eliza. Internet. Step into the world of today."

She gave a short laugh and fished her phone out of her pocket. "Not a bad idea."

For the next few hours, they drink massive amounts of coffee, surf the Internet and grow ever more desperate.

Two hours later, they are drawing blanks. Eliza collapses dramatically against John, posture screaming defeat.

"It's hopeless," she groans. "I'm googling nearest shelters."

"No!" John jumps up. "'Liza, I've got it!"

She bolts upright.

"You have a solution?"

"I mean, I think so. But it's kinda…"John scratches the back of his neck nervously. "It may be kinda crazy. But it may also work."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense, Laurens! Just tell me."

He thrusts his phone in her face. She squints and finds herself on NYU's financial aid and bursary page.

"John," she groans. "We already know I'm too late to apply for financial aid and I don't qualify for any bursaries or grants. How does that help?"

"Eliza, look at the highlighted part."

She does.

"To be eligible for family and partner housing at the Law School, the applicant for such status must demonstrate that the individual(s) with whom the applicant/licensee is applying share a qualifying family relationship. Qualifying family relationships under this policy are those relationships that evidence a significant emotional commitment on the part of the members of the relationship."

Her confusion must be evident on her face, but John's is the picture of excitement.

"Wha.."

"Eliza, don't you get it? NYU has married housing. There are tons of bursaries for couples available."

"Yeah, that's totally perfect! Just one teeny tiny problem: John, I'm not in a couple! And I'm certainly not married. How does this apply?"

"Don't you see? All we need to do is get you a husband."

Eliza gives a disbelieving scoff "A husband? Isn't that very seventeenth century? Just expect a man to pay for me?"

"He doesn't even have to pay for hardly anything! If you're married, you're eligible for all these bursaries, plus married housing. If we found someone, it's just a piece of paper and you're basically roommates. Then at the end of school, you quietly divorce, no big deal."

"And it would be that simple?"

"Absolutely! All our problems, solved by one piece of paper!"

"Laurens," she says, wrapping her arms around his neck. "That's absolutely insane."

He deflates. "It was just an idea."

She shakes her head, presses a kiss to his cheek. "You didn't let me finish. It's a crazy idea, but…it may be crazy enough to work."

His freckled face lights with a smile, as he presses a kiss to her forehead as well.

"But we have one huge problem: who the fuck would agree to this?"

His smile grows. "I think I know someone."

I could be a painter

Or in the hall of fame

I can almost hear the calling of my name

But when people look at me

That's not what they see

If the world only knew what I could do

They would be astounded

If the world only knew what I could do

I would be surrounded