Chapter 2:
Shots Fired

I wake up well before the alarm on my phone goes off. My head is spinning like a merry-go-round. Despite just having woken up, I'm already tired. I splash handful after handful of cold water on my face to help wash the sleepiness away. When I catch a glimpse of my bruised cheekbone in the bathroom mirror, I recall my brawl with Leon yesterday. I scowl at my reflection and dry my face with a towel.

Downstairs, my brother is sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at a newspaper. He brings a cup of coffee to his mouth. He seems to be distracted. I quietly gather my belongs and try to slip out the front door unnoticed, but my brother doesn't miss much, as usual. I hear his chair screech against the wooden floor as he slides back and peers at me through the kitchen entrance. "Don't forget," he shouts over his shoulder in that certain parental tone of his, "you still owe me a 10,000 word essay on why picking fights with your friends is very unbecoming of you. And I will count."

I groan, letting my backpack slide off my shoulder. "He is not my friend! Besides, you used to fight with Mathias all the time when you two were in school," I remind him, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

He lets out a sharp exhale and his violet eyes flicker. "Yes, but we never got caught," he said, the faint trace of a smile gracing his lips before quickly disappearing behind the newspaper he held.

Touché.

It's nine in the morning at Hetalia Academy. The halls are in disarray, as usual: people are walking much too quickly without regard for personal space, lockers are slamming open and shut, and teachers are already handing out dress code violations like candy on Halloween. The naseating scent of perfume and cologne, combined with the smell of bacon and eggs from the cafeteria, is enough to make one sick. "Ugh..." My stomach feels like it's about to turn upside-down, and I clutch my sides. I can already tell I have a long day ahead of me.

My first class is full of very strange people. Most of us are exchange students from various contries across the globe: Latvia, New Zealand, Liechtenstein, just to name a few. Our teacher is a young woman from Ukraine. Directly In front of me sits some kid from a country I've never even heard of. I think he once referred to his country as "Molossia", but I have yet to find it on a map. Next, there's the pretty, dark-skinned girl who sits in the chair to my right- Michelle. Michelle comes from a tropical country in southern Africa, called "Seychelles". I'm thankful this year's seating roster has us placed directly next to each other. This way, we can easily pass notes back and forth during class without being intercepted. Lastly, there's the chair to my left, placed next to the only window in the classroom. That chair has always been empty, ever since a Russian kid used to sit in it years ago.

Until today.

Leon, my sworn enemy, sits comfortably in the dusty chair. His chin lazily rests in his palms, and a red cord connects the MP3 player on his desk to the headphones over his ears. The skin surrounding his left eye is the colour of purple. The bruise, I suppose, must be from the punch I landed on him yesterday, although he seems to have covered it up pretty well with some kind of makeup. When our eyes meet, there is static, and we are both quick to look away. He shifts his gaze beyond the window next to him.

I pull my chair down from on top of my desk and prepare my work area. The bell rings, and my teacher, Ms. Braginskaya, begins to pass out a worksheet to each of the students. From the corner of my eye, I see a shadow slip into the classroom and sneak its way to the chair on my right. I immediately recognize the shadow as my friend.

"Do you think the teacher saw me?" Michelle whispers.

I scan the room and spot our teacher in the front of the room, handing a worksheet to the Latvian exchange student in the second row.

"No. I think you're safe."

Michelle lets out a relieved sigh. Before I even get the chance to ask how he morning was, she asks if she can copy last night's homework. I reluctantly hand her my paper, but not without poking fun at her first. "Looks like Goody Two-Shoes didn't do her homework last night."

She shoots me a sour look as she snatches the worksheet from my hands. "Shut up! If you must know, I had a date." She nervously twirls at a red bow in her hair.

I grin. "A date? Who would go on a date with such a foul-tempered-"

"Emil!" the teacher barks my name from the other end of the classroom. "Do not talk during class! If I have to remind you again, I'll be seeing you after school. In detention."

I hear a snicker come from my left.

I seriously loathe this guy.

I raise my hand and receive permission from the teacher to use the restroom. Ms. Braginskaya heaves a sigh, and her large... tracks of land...seem to bounce in unison. N-Not that I'm staring, anyway! "Make it quick," she warns me, shaking a finger. "And please don't pick any fights on your way." She hands me a small slip that serves as a hall pass, and I leave.

I'm one of very few students wandering down the hallway. The halls are quiet, save for the occasional locker slamming shut, or footsteps as teachers on break pass by. I pass classes in session and peer in the doors to see students hard at work.

I make it all the way to the left wing when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn on my heel, and standing behind me is a very stern-looking guy in the year above me. I recognize him immediately as Arthur Kirkland, the student body president of the World Academy. "Steilsson!" he says sternly, his green eyes staring directly past mine, "Where is your hall pass?"

I hand him the small pink slip signed by Ms. Braginskaya, hoping the paper will speak for me. Arthur is famous across campus for being ruthless in his presidency. If he truly wants to write you up- be it loose necktie or perhaps one picture too many hanging in your locker- he will find something to complain about.

This encounter, however, is unlike any other. He hands me back my hall pass and returns the clipboard in his hands to his side. "Good," he says, sounding somewhat releived. I let out a breath I had been holding in my lungs. "You're already on probation, so I've been told to keep an eye on you. After the fight you picked with Leon yesterday, you've got two more strikes. After the third strike, you'll be suspended."

"Thanks for reminding me," I say sarcastically,"I had nearly forgotten." He pulls out his clipboard and pen again, and I rush to correct myself. "T-That is, I had nearly forgotten about the 'three strikes, you're out' system!" I lie. The clipboard goes back to his side.

"Don't get complacent, just because I let you off easy this time. Tuck in your shirt," he orders, peering down at my waist. I obey. Suddenly, Arthur sighs and his facial features soften. "By the way," he says, scratching the back of his head, "I hope you and Leon get along, one day. He isn't such a bad fellow, you know."

I turn my head and give him a skeptical look. "'Get along, huh?'"

I could almost laugh.
Almost.

"No, really!" Arthur raises his voice. "His older brother, Wang Yao-"

The English exchange student is suddenly distracted as a female with mismatched socks walks by. One sock goes all the way up to her knee, and the other falls by the bottom of her shin. I can practically see the words "DISCIPLINARY ACTION" flash in his eyes like a road construction sign.

Arthur briskly pats me on the back with his clipboard and takes a step to the side. "...Gotta go. Hang in there. Probation will be over before you know it." he walks past me and disappears into the Seniors' hallway, hot on the trail of the other student. "Excuse me! According to school regulation, those socks are-"

Maybe I should apologize to Leon.

When I return to the classroom, I stumble in to see every student, necks craned over their desks, dilligently flipping back and forth between their textbooks and another worksheet. The teacher hands me the same paper as I pass her desk. I make my way back to my seat. Next to me, Michelle has already finished her assignment and has fallen asleep with her head on her desk. Oh, Michelle. When I look to the other side of the classroom, I accidentally catch Leon staring at me. He quickly averts his gaze back to his homework, turning a page in his textbook.

I'd better not fall behind. I decide to take a stab at my homework. I go to pick up my mechanical pencil from the edge of my desk, but it slips right out of my fingers when I try to lift it. Rather than slip... It doesn't even leave the desk. "What the hell...?" I whisper as I try to pick it off the surface over and over again. I reach for my eraser, but that, too, is fixed to my desktop. Frantically, I reach for every object on my desk- my textbook, my phone, the worksheet from before- each one of them just as stuck as my pencil.

That's when it hits me:

They're not just stuck to the desk.
They're glued.

"Michelle?" I whisper to my friend. No reply, other than a light snore. "Chelle!" She moves her hand and covers it over her face. I hear her murmur something inbetween snores.

"No, Shinji-kun... You can't... pilot... the Eva... zzzzz"

...Yeah, she's not waking up anytime soon. I attempt to lean over the aisle and tap her on the shoulder, but I can't seem to lift myself out of my seat. I freeze. I'm literally glued to my chair. Placing a hand on top of my desk, I try to push myself out, but my pants remain stuck to the top of the seat. I try again, and again, each time more forceful than the last. One last time, I practically jump out of my chair in an attempt to break free, and...

Riiiip!

I yelp loudly as I fly out of my chair, tumbling onto the floor in the middle of the isle. Luckily, my hands and knees hit the ground first. My face is just centimeters away from the metal legs of Michelle's desk. I hear the sound of a dozen chairs screech in unison as the entire class turns around to see me. I hear the sound of high-heeled footsteps approach me from the front of the room, and when I look up, I see our homeroom teacher's frowning face. She pulls out a pen and notepad, Ms. Braginskaya kneels down and places a pink sticky note directly on my forehead before returning to her desk and dialing a number into the classroom phone. As she talks into the phone, I reluctantly peel the sticky note off my face. On it is one giant word, written in big, red letters.

The rest of the class murmers the word in unison, as though it were a curse:

"DETENTION"

"That was fun," Leon says. He catches up to me and walks to my left. He follows me all the way down the hallway, but I know for a fact he doesn't have art class next hour like I do.

I stop and turn to him. I feel a blood vessel throb on my forehead. "Fun!" I exclaim. My face heats up and I grab the collar of his shirt, pulling his face close to mine. "Detention is not fun! Being glued to your chair and having your pants rip in the middle of a lecture is not fun!"

"Chill, bro," the brunette lightly pushes his palm against my chest, taking a step back. I let go of my hold on his collar, and he adjusts it by pulling at the fabric. "It was just a joke. I didn't mean for your pants to rip or anything like that." He shrugs.

"Don't 'bro' me like you know me," I say, strangely proud to finally put that line to use once and for all. "You and I are rivals. Because of you, I have to go to detention, today." I cross my arms and l look down upon him. I sharpen my eyes like knives at him, but he seems unfazed.

"'Rivals'?" Leon repeats. He cocks his head to one side. I examine his face for a a smirk, a nod- any sign of his usual sarcasm, really- but I find nothing. He looks down at his feet, scratches his chin, then looks back to me, as though considering a purchase at a grocery store. "Cool," he says at last, "I've never had a rival before."

"Wha-"

"Well, see you later," he reaches an arm over my shoulder, pulling our faces close- "Rival." He releases his grip and pulls the large set of headphones hanging around his neck up over his ears.

I stare at his back as he disappears out the school entrace. I kick the tip of my shoe behind me and click my tongue. "This guy..." With my backpack slung over one shoulder, I turn around and make my way to detention.