Chapter two is out! It's still from Alfred's POV. Bill and the librarian in this chapter are just random people - they aren't hetalia characters. (I don't own Hetalia, by the way ^^) Please read and review!
Monday at school, I actually make it to class on time. I enter the room cautiously and sit down at my seat, trying to act natural. Or as natural as I can be, anyway. It doesn't work. Five minutes into class a boy comes in carrying a pink note. The teacher reads it then looks at me.
"Alfred." He says, waving the note around. I stand slowly and walk over to him. As he gives me the note, I swear I detect a hint of a smirk on his bearded face.
"Thanks." I mutter. The note says I have to go to counselor. Wonderful. I make my way over to the counselor's office and sit down at an empty seat. Before I can even sit my bag down, Mrs. Browns, the counselor, pops her head in the doorway.
"You can come in." She says in her nasally voice. I groan and follow her inside. She gestures for me to sit. "Coffee?" She asks. I shake my head.
"I'll take a beer, if you have one." I say, smirking.
"Very funny, Alfred." She chortles loudly. "But now isn't the time for joking, I'm afraid. The incident Friday..."
"Yeah, yeah. Suspension, detention, glory, all that. Even though I really wasn't the one who started it...go ahead. Lay it on me." I sigh. I was expecting this.
" We'll get to that in a moment, Alfred." It's so annoying the way she says your name after every sentence. It's like, who else is in here? "You see, the problem is, this isn't your first fight since you've been at our school." She pulls out some papers - my file?
"I know. I've had a few fights." I say. She shakes her head.
"Oh, no. More then just a few." She flips through the papers. Like she hasn't memorized them already. "In your freshman year, you went through four fights, and two of them were started by you. Sophomore year, you went though seven fights. And now, junior year, you've been through almost thirteen fights - and it isn't even second semester yet."
"I guess I just like to fight." I say, shrugging.
"Mm…well. Are things going well with you at home?" She asks. "I know after your father -"
"Things are fine." I say curtly. She should just drop it.
"I'm having a hard time accepting that." Mrs. Browns says. "Alfred, your grades are extremely low and you've been getting into more and more fights. Your brother's grades are dropping significantly as well, which is surprising because he had a very high grade point average." My eyes widen.
"Mattie's grades are dropping?" He never told me that. Mrs. Browns nods.
"Yes, they are. By a rather decent amount too, I'm afraid. He's failing a few of his classes." She says, glancing down at another file. My brother's.
"Crap." I mutter under my breath. I had already figured I'd never amount to anything; I'd be stuck in this town forever, maybe working at a car wash or McDonalds or something. But Matthew - he could actually get somewhere. His grades were good enough for a full-time scholarship, people said. But if his grades started falling now… I bite my lip nervously. There's no way I could ever pay for him to go to college, not even if it meant selling everything I own, working two full-time jobs, plus selling the clothes on my back. It would never be enough. It just wouldn't happen. "Crap." I repeat, louder this time. My heart pounds in my chest, as though it's trying to escape the extra weight that's just been added to it. He doesn't deserve to stay here. Mattie deserves more then this stupid town. I shove my hands in my pockets, chest aching. My head hurts, and I just want to leave.
"Are you alright, Alfred?" Mrs. Browns asks. Her face shows concern. Real or fake, I can't tell.
"Why didn't he tell me...?" I mutter. I sigh loudly. "Yeah, I'm fine." Mrs. Browns clears her throat.
"Are you sure?" When I don't reply, she nods and continues. "And, um, I also heard that, ah, you were fired from your job last week." Ouch. It's like rubbing salt on my open chest wound. I flinch, and when I speak my voice is hoarse.
"Yeah." I reply, avoiding her eyes. She sighs.
"Alfred...we can help you, you know. You don't have to do this all by yourself." Her voice is dripping kindness.
"I don't need any help." I say. "I'm doing okay."
"It doesn't have to be money-wise. We can even help you in things like therapy. You can talk to someone - you don't have to keep everything bottled up inside all the time." Mrs. Browns says. I freeze. Therapy? No way.
"Like I said, I'm fine. And anyway, nothing's bottled up. Does it look like I have any bottles?" I stand up. This conversation is over.
"Alfred..." She says.
"No. No way. Just...just tell me how many days I'm suspended for, so I can figure some stuff out. Okay?" She stares at me with sympathy in her eyes. "Okay?" I repeat angrily.
"Alright." She sighs. "You're suspended for two days, starting tomorrow. Bill was suspended for a week. And Arthur was suspended for two days, even though we really didn't want to suspend either of you." Arthur was suspended? I feel guilt, then push it down. That's what he gets for being nosey. I nod.
"Two days. Alright." I say, opening the door. As I turn to leave, she calls after me.
"And Alfred? Please think about therapy...if you change your mind, please let me know. Come in at any time." She says. I nod jerkily and leave the room. Then, once I'm outside, I sit down in the hallway, my back against the tiled wall. I know therapy won't help - I had been there before. Both Mattie and I had, just after Dear Dad got arrested. It was awful. This old hag of a lady just sat there asking personal questions to us, questions that were none of her business. She'd ask both of us, then she took us in separately for questioning. And at the end of the session, she told us that she'd get back to us later. A few days later, she asked us to come back to her office. When we went up there, she told us that she consulted a doctor and that there were some "rather disturbing things she found". According to her and Mr. Doctor, we both had serious issues. She told me that chances were, I was probably bipolar, or in the least I had some "serious anger issues" and that Matthew was most likely suffering from depression and anxiety. She also told me that this kind of situation wasn't something I would be able to handle on my own. She thought it would be best if we got help from Social Services.
"I know of a lovely foster home you can go to." Were her exact words. "And it would only be temporary, in any case. A few months to a year. You and your brother probably won't even get adopted - though if you do, that would be a wonderful thing - you poor things need a family. And if you do get separated, you can always mail each other or..." At that point, I grabbed Mattie's hand and dragged him out of there. It's a good thing the address we gave her was fake, even though our phone number wasn't. Over the next week, she blew up my cell phone - wasting precious minutes I couldn't afford to lose - until I had to change my number. It wasn't fun. Therapists are crap.
I sit in the hallway for a little longer, debating on whether or not I want to go to second hour at all. Then I decide, what the hey, I might as well go. It's not like I have anything better to do, anyway. I stand up, wait a few more minutes for the bell to ring, then head to my next class. I'm regretting my decision to go when the Math teacher, Mr. Hart, decides to spring a pop quiz on us. I stare at the three very complicated math problems for a moment, before writing down my answer.
1. 456X+678Y=224Z^12.3= I
2.0980X/34.009Y= D
3. If blah goes blank miles at blah kilometers per hour, how long will it take for blah to get to the movies, which are blah centimeters away. K
"Finished." I mutter, handing the test to my teacher. He stares at my answers.
"Good job, smart-aleck. You just failed math and literacy at once. Congratulations. That takes serious effort." He says, sneering at me. I grin back at him.
"Thanks, sir. I try." I say.
"I'd hope not, Al." He sighs, folds up my test, and puts it on top of the pile. "I really hope you were just being lazy, instead of actually coming up with those answers."
"If it'll help you sleep better at night...sir. Yes, I was just being lazy." I say. Mr. Hart can be a jerk, but he has a decent sense of humor, something most of the teachers at this school don't have. I spend the remainder of my time drawing the American flag on a blank sheet of paper. I don't know why, but I think our flag is the coolest out of all the other flags. It has stars and stripes, not to mention my favorite colors, red, white and blue. And it's just...cool. I can look at the flag and think, hey, if the people who made this country started out poor, then maybe there's hope for someone like me too. Which there isn't, but at least it helps cheer me up. Plus, American history is my best subject, anyway. I guess it makes sense that I like the American flag. I spend the rest of the hour drawing the flag over and over, probably causing a lot of tree deaths to be in vain, but whatever. It keeps my mind off other things I don't want to think about. Like how bad my head hurts, how the cut on my face is starting to get really puffy and weird looking, how Mattie's grades are low, how I lost my job last week and God-knows how I'm going to pay the mortgage or even manage to get groceries. How if I don't pay the rent on time or at least within a week of the due date, the manager swore he'd kick us out this time. How the rent is due in just a week and a half, and I have no freaking idea on ways I can get the money. ... Yep, just draw another flag. Then, when I'm all done, I toss my creations in the trash. I get a nasty look from environmentalist Elisaveta something. I roll my eyes. If she's so worried about stuff like that, she should just pick them up and put them in the recycle bin herself. I glance back and see that she's doing exactly that. I shake my head. People don't make sense. But then, when have they ever?
I ditch third and fourth hour - it's science, who cares - and spend my time wandering the halls by the library. I dart quickly inside whenever I see a teacher coming my way, then creep back out once I'm sure they're gone. The fifth time I do this, the librarian stares at me. She's a pinchy looking old woman, with stereotypical gray hair and glasses.
"Can I help you with anything?" She asks, looking pointedly over at me. Her name card says Mrs. Nyrale. I shake my head.
"Ah, no thanks." I reply. Just keep it short and sweet. "I was just...uh..." My excuses fail me. Telling the truth won't help either. She looks like the type of person who would send me straight back to class.
"Mmm hmm." She says. Her eyes notice my bruised and cut face. She exhales. "You're too skinny to be Bill, and too...idiotic to be Arthur. You must be Alfred." I am surprised, and embarrassed, for that matter. Students, even teachers, I'd expect to know about the fight. But the librarian? No way. She notes my surprise and grins a little. "It's all over the school, hon. People talk. And I listen." She glances back at her papers and sighs again. "Go get a book and sit at the table over there." She gestures to an empty table. I start to protest. "Look, it's either that or a teacher is going to catch you scuttling around like some moron, and you'll have to go straight back to whatever class you were trying to miss out on. Now sit." Her tone is commanding and I smile despite myself.
"Sure. Why not?" I say. I walk over and grab the nearest book by me, earning myself a "tsk" of disapproval from Mrs. Nyrale.
"Don't pick a book like that. If I ever just grabbed a book like that...and you aren't even holding it right..." She mutters to herself. I can feel her glaring at me, so I hold the book right and pretend to look interested as I sit down at the table. It works, believe it or not. Teachers come and go, but none of them even comment or so much as glance my way. They just go about their business, and I am ignored completely.
"Dang." I say once I hear the lunch bell. "You're good. Thanks a lot. " She looks up at me from her book.
"Good at what?" She asks. She closes her book.
"Good at helping students in need." I laugh. "Seriously, thanks. You have no idea how much I didn't want to go to bio-"
"Good at what?" She repeats, sounding confused, which, for a moment, makes me confused until I see her face. Her eyes twinkle beneath her glasses and she has the faintest hint of a smile on her face.
"Never mind..." I say. I set the book on the counter. "Check this out for me, will ya?" She takes it and scans it, handing it back to me in a matter of seconds.
"Have a good day." Mrs. Nyrale says. I nod and walk out the door. My stomach growls loudly, but I push down my hunger.
There really isn't any point in going to the lunchroom, because a) I don't have any money to buy lunch, and b) I have no friends who sit in the lunchroom. So lunchroom, out of the question. Instead, I decide to go to the place where I hang out when I don't have anything to do; the outside west wall of the art building. Aka, the Wall. It's where the few oddball friends I have sit sometimes, and Matthew and his friends sit there too. I step outside and pull my brown jacket tighter over my shoulders. For November it's been getting ridiculously chilly lately. As I walk closer to the art building, I note that there are only three people sitting at the Wall today. Honda Kiku, Francis Bonnefoy, and Matthew. When I walk up to them, Francis gives me a huge fake grin.
"Aww...if it isn't our little champ. Hello, champ! How are you? I would have suspected you might have been suspended for winning that fight Friday. Oh wait...you didn't win. Never mind, it was ah, the SCP Arthur that won wasn't it? What a shame." Francis smirks, reminding me just how much I dislike him. The only things that stop me from hitting him are that he is Mattie's friend, and that Honda's here. Honda is one of the most polite kids I've ever seen. With him, everything is "yes please", "No thank you" and "I apologize" - even if he didn't do anything. If I hit Francis, chances are Honda, who is right next to him, would probably get hit too. I seethe quietly and settle on giving Francis a glare.
"Shut up." I say, sitting on the ground. Francis takes a bite of his pizza, gooey cheese hanging from his mouth.
"It's true, isn't it? I mean, you can't get a cut on your face that big by winning, right?" Francis asks, swallowing and licking his lips. He's clearly relishing the fact that I lost, and that I have no food to eat. I glare at him again. He's really getting on my nerves - if he keeps it up I'll punch him in his arrogant little face.
"Ah, um, A-Alfred..." Honda says, raising his hand slightly. He fidgets around in his bag. After a moment, he produces an apple. "Here. Would you like it?" He holds it out to me.
"Aw, sweet! Thanks dude! And how many times do I have to tell you; call me Al. I hate Alfred." I say, grinning. I take the apple, feeling a bit less irritated. The irritation comes back when I remember what Matthew's grades are like. I turn my head slowly and look at him, anger buzzing in my fingertips. For the first time I notice he's sleeping; head lolling foreword, shoulder's rising and falling with each breath he takes. "Hey," I start to say, meaning to wake him.
"Non. Let him sleep. You should have seen him in Lit. He looked dead on his feet." Francis stops me. I sigh.
"Alright...But why is he so tired, anyway?" I take a bite of my apple. "Do either of you know?" Honda shakes his head, mouth full.
"No, sorry." He replies after swallowing his rice ball. He eats some strange things.
"I don't know." Francis says. His head is tilted to the side so I can't see his face. I shrug, polish off the rest of my apple, and stand up.
"Well, I'm gonna head off. No point in going to any of my other classes. If Mattie asks where I am, just let him know I went home early." I say. The others nod.
Truth be told, I just want to go look for another job as fast as possible. I say goodbye and quickly jog off. I look for work in a bunch of different places, but a majority of them aren't hiring. I try McDonalds, BK, Arby's, Chick Fillet, the freaking Car Wash. All of them tell me the same thing: They just aren't hiring right now. I spend hours looking for a job, posting flyers, doing anything that might help me get a job, with no luck. When I return home, my legs and arms feel like lead, and it's nearly seven. My emotions are already running high when I get in the house, but when I see Matthew sitting on the couch just staring off into space, they overwhelm me.
"Don't you have homework or something to do?" I ask angrily. I slide my backpack on the floor and stare at him. He flinches a little, but meets my gaze.
"N-No." He says in response. I walk over to his backpack, which is lying next to him on the couch, and jerk it open. It's completely empty.
"Oh really? Where is it then?" I ask. "'Cause I'm sure you're missing a lot of stuff, if you're failing your classes." I throw his backpack on the ground. I know I sound a bit too parental, and I don't have any right to really say things like this when Mattie and I are almost the same age, but it still really irritates me.
"I'm..." Mattie stops. "How do you know about that?"
"Mrs. Browns told me about it. God, Matthew, you can't just let your grades drop. That's not cool at all."
"But you..." Matthew says, and I can see his next statement written all over his face. But your grades are failing too.
"My grades don't matter. I've got a million other things to take care of." Like this house, my job, and...you. I restrain myself from saying those words. "But you, you don't even have an excuse! You don't have a job to worry about, or a house or anything. You just sit around all day when you get home and you don't do anything!" I am almost yelling by this point, but I manage to control myself once I see the look in Matthew's eyes. I exhale, then inhale. "And there is nothing wrong with not doing anything...but, bro, you got to keep your grades up, okay?" I ask, my voice trembling a little with the effort of remaining calm.
"Alright. I'll do it." Mattie says. Without looking at me, he stands up and walks past me.
"Hey..." I say as I turn to face him. "Are you alright? I'm sorry about that." I instantly feel guilt for what I just said.
"It's fine." His voice is flat, neither sad nor forgiving. "I'm okay." He walks down the hallway and into his bedroom, closing the door beside him.
Why is Matthew acting so strange? All will be revealed in a later chapter! Next up: Arthur's POV~!
