1. The Principal's Office

Point of advice: never shake hands with a man on fire.

This is very obvious because a) the fire could then be transferred to you and b) the man most likely has better things to do than shake your hands; such as, for example, putting out the fire going on.

But what if the fire is metaphorical? What if the "fire" is actually your goodness or your badness? What if you shake a bad man's hand and then that badness gets on you?

What if you're on fire?

I thought of this, sitting in that white room, and realized that it's pretty silly. I'm fairly certain that merit of character is not transferable, especially by a handshake. Or maybe the handshake is also metaphorical? Maybe it signifies just talking to the man or woman at hand.

Furthermore, don't play with fire.

I smiled at the thought and played with my shoelaces. I was in the principal's office, for the umpteenth time, because I did something real bad. I don't exactly know what I did. Well that's a lie. I did a lot of bad things that could have gotten me in there, but I don't actually know which straw broke the so called camel's back. Sitting next to me was a shy looking kid. His hair was tawny and very curly, the kind you want to run your fingers through but when you do a bunch of the thin hairs would come off and stick between your fingers. He kept pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, fidgeting with something. His books were piled high on his lap.

"Hey." I said.

He looked up at me, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. His lips quivered and turned into a smile. "Hi," he said and turned back away. His face crimsoned.

"What do they call you?"

"Excuse me?"

"What's your name?"

"Matthew." After a moment of examining me, he managed to ask what my name was.

"Gilbert," I replied, nodding. His eyes flicked over my appearance again, taking in the denim jacket, rugged flannel, ripped jeans, and dirty shoes. I wore what I could. I usually wore a lot since I probably won't see these things again if I leave them at home.

I told him this.

"Do your siblings steal them?" Matthew asked in a polite voice.

I shook my head. "No. I have a little brother but he's hardly ten and he wouldn't dare touch my clothes."

Matthew laughed. "My brother can't take my clothes. He's on the football team, so he's much bigger than I am. Nothing I wear fits him."

I didn't understand why he laughed at me. I scowled at him and raised my fist. He cowered and went back, raising his hands in front of him. My hair, white, a real source of disappointment for me, fell in my face.

"I'm sorry," Matthew said.

Because I was already in the office and because a bunch of eyes on me and because one more "straw" will break the camel's carcass's back, I lowered my fist and brushed that hair from my eyes. My eyes were red. Another real disappointment. Jennifer, my "counselor" told me not to write "disappointment" anymore since it "lowers my self esteem". She also said not to use quotation marks anymore, but how else am I supposed to indicate what I don't really understand? She said I should keep them strictly for speech. If you ask me it's kind of stupid. Anyway, but she's my guidance support so I have to take her word for it, even if I don't righteously agree. She also said to talk about my feelings more.

Okay, that I'll do Miss Jenny.

When Matthew said sorry I was still really mad but I was also confused, like a rope was around my chest and digging into my skin. It hurt, kind of like when dad yells at me.

"Why were you laughing at me?" I asked Matthew.

Matthew scratched his arm. The skin turned red and his nails, a little too long, made a nasty scratching sound. "I thought it was funny that we have that in common. I'm sorry."

"Stop saying sorry so much."

"I'm sorry."

"Are you laughing at me fu—" I stopped because I'm not allowed to use bad words in the office. I did once and I got in more trouble. Jennifer said that I should hold back on that.

"No, I'm just a compulsive apologizer." Matthew explained.

Goddamn, the principal was taking forever. I leaned forward and looked into the rectangular window. Through a crack in the blinds I could see his desk. Some girl was in front of him. From the way she shook and the pile of tissues I supposed she was crying real hard.

"Why are you here? Aren't you one of those academic kids?" I asked Matthew.

"I'm here because I want to be."

"Why the he—heck would you do that?" I said. My scowl lengthened.

"It's my choice." His cheeks got redder and his eyes, behind those ugly glasses, narrowed.

Jennifer said I shouldn't call his glasses ugly. But boy, let me tell you. They were some nasty bottle-cap-thick or whatchamacallit glasses that made his eyes all fuzzy and distorted. They didn't fit him too well and kept falling, like your narrator humbly told you.

"Well, whatever."

He didn't say anything.

You see, I don't really like it when I have to wait for someone to tell me something. Usually I just punch them until they spit out something and break the silence but I was, again, in the office and I also was starting to like the Brain.

I decided at that time to call him the Brain, since he's so smart. I thought it was pretty clever. It's better than what they call me.

"Gilbert?"

"Yeah?" I looked back at him. More hair fell in my face. I brushed it away, digging my fingers into my bangs and driving them back.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I was wondering why you were here."

"I don't know. I did cut off this girl's hair since she was stealing my notebook, and I wrote a message on this one kid's locker, and then some kid was callin' me one of those derogatory names so I gave him a piece of his mind. You see?"

Matthew nodded. He caught on fast. I started to like him more and more. I got butterflies twirling in my belly, making a mad flurry and making me somewhat sick. I didn't really like it. I felt like hitting something.

He shifted the books in his lap. He had a lot of books there, and a book bag by his side too. It looked like it was pretty hefty, from the way it made his shoulder sag and how he kept hitching it up with his thumb.

"Why do you have all these things with you?" I asked him.

He didn't respond.

"I was talking with you." I said and flicking him in the forehead. He hardly winced, only leaned his head back an inch.

He still didn't say a thing.

"Come on. Don't you have a locker or something? Or are you one of those people who can't bear to part with anything?" I had nothing with me anyway, since I was excused from class for this.

He still refused to respond.

I was about to beat the answer out of him, he was making me mad, but the door opened. The girl who was crying came out, her eyes puffy and a tissue to her nose. She looked at me and squeaked in fear, turning away and rushing out. The principal stood in the doorway, giving me a nasty look and calling Matthew on calmly.

Matthew stood up, grabbing his things. The principal stepped back.

Matthew looked me dead on and said; "Alright, if you must know, I have all my things because I don't plan on coming back."

"You're moving school?" I asked, frowning. I didn't like this. Just when I started to actually take to someone.

"No. I'm moving worlds."

"Come on, you can't do that! Why?" I stared, getting madder. I was sure my face flushed.

"I have no friends."

"What am I?"

I didn't realize what I said until it slipped from my mouth. I already decided this kid was a friend? But before I could stop myself and before the principal could clear his throat impatiently, I said:

"Look, Matthew, you shouldn't do this. I have a shitty life all the time, twenty-four seven. I do it all the time, everyday, every year. You know what I get for my birthday? A punch in the face. You have the brains. You have the football player for a brother. And if you need friends I'll be your friend."

Matthew didn't move. The principal stared at me. I guess he never expected me to be all gentile like. Mathew's mouth worked, trying to find something to say.

Eventually, after what felt like twenty years, Matthew nodded and stepped back.

"I think I'll reconsider."

No way it could have been that easy. I thought.

Then again, I didn't know Matthew too well at the time.

I do not own Hetalia