A/N: Well, this is what I did on Saturday. Being invisible really isn't so bad, actually. I sort of like it.

I sigh, sitting down on the couch and placing my hot cocoa on the end table, careful not to spill a drop. Papa is always very particular about his carpet. Sometimes he's so picky it borders on OCD, actually, but I love him anyway. The house is dim and quiet, since I kind of like the soft darkness and fuzzy shadows that come from only having the windows open on cloudy days like today, and not turning on the lights.

America is out at football practice with the rest of our middle school team. He made the team with no problem when the season started, and since then he's been gone every other weekend either at practice or a game. I don't really mind the peace and quiet he leaves in his wake.

Dad took him over to the game, so it's just me and Papa in the house for now. I open up the small laptop I bought with three years' worth of allowance last summer, but look up when I feel Papa's weight settle on the couch next to me.

"What are you working on, Canada?" he asks with a smile, sliding an arm around my shoulders and setting aside his coffee. Since when has Papa started drinking coffee? I make a mental note to investigate that later, but for now I just close my laptop and lean on him.

"I wasn't working, really," I tell him, smiling my quiet smile. "Just thinking. Besides, writing is fun for me."

Papa's blue eyes sparkle, like they always do. He kisses my forehead. "My little author. One of these days, I think you might even beat Arthur and his J. K. Rowling, if you keep working at it."

I just smile and hug him, giving off a warm glow of contentment. Most middle school boys would hate my Papa for being so lovey and clingy, but I'm just glad for the attention. "Thanks, Papa," I say quietly.

I got too big for lap-sitting about two years ago, but that doesn't stop him from trying. Papa gently scoops me up off the couch and sets me in his lap, and I smile because I'm almost six inches taller than him like this. He notices it too. Papa grins, running a hand through my hair. It's a little longer and wavier than America's, so I know he likes to do that and I let him.

"Little Matthew, all grown up," he murmurs. He almost sounds a little bit sad, but it vanishes as quickly as it came. Papa sighs and sets me back in my place so he can stand up.

"I've got some work I need to finish," he tells me. "Dad should be back soon, but just tell me if you need anything."

I nod and watch him leave the room. I sigh. Alone again. I open up the laptop, log in, and hit the 'New Document' button in my word processor. It's pretty much the only program I ever use on here except for my web browser and the occasional iTunes visit.

Now... what to write?

I sit staring intently at the ceiling for a few minutes before one of last night's midnight strokes of brilliance—you know the kind, where you're only half awake and you have a positively magnificent idea that you have to write down right now or it'll be gone by tomorrow morning—pops into my head. I grin, hit the tab key, and start to write.

10 Reasons Why I Love Being Invisible:

1. No one yells at me during world meetings.

2. My parents never get mad at me for wandering around the house on nights when I can't sleep

3. I can go outside when the tornado sirens go off to see if there's really a tornado happening, without anyone screaming for me to 'GET BACK IN THE HOUSE!'

4. Animals like me because there's never anyone else around to scare them away

5. America can never fathom how I manage to know exactly what's going on in every one of his relationships at any given time

6. It's easy to sneak out of the room when Dad and Papa start fighting—or... other things

7. People never figure out how their stuff is disappearing and then turning up a day later in their car (I borrow it, that's all!)

8. It gives me a lot of spare time to write

9. Teachers won't notice if I'm skipping class

10. Russia never beats me up with his lead pipe!

I smile happily, sitting back from my list just as Dad comes walking through the front door, dropping his coat over the back of a chair.

"Francis!" he shouts to the hallway, sounding only just short of desperate. Apparently America was being more American than usual. "Bedroom! Now!"

I can just see the smirk on Papa's face.

Meanwhile, now will probably be a good time to turn my iPod up full volume, grab my laptop, and flee to the basement.