Plot summary.
Alfred and Arthur are best friends - however, when senior year rolls around, Alfred decides to take his life in a different direction.


An.
A continuation of my GerIta rant;
I think, deep down in my heart, that Italy would be a seme. I mean, not like a masochistic seme like what everyone seems to think about, but like the type of seme where they "bottom from the top".
He's the initiator, in lighter terms.
I'M NOT A PERVERT.


Chapter 3.
September.

Every English class has the potential to be either the greatest, most eye-opening experience ever, or the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone. Some say it depends on the choice of books you are forced to read that semester; others say it's the teacher that can be both a walking encyclopedia of life, and a lazy good for nothing oaf that just sits on a chair and has you read for the entire class period.

But to Feliciano Vargas, it was his classmates that made his English period a living hell. Or, to be more accurate, his classmate. This particular classmate was, by definition, a douchebag. Not only to Feliciano, but to everyone in the entire class - especially the teacher, whom he was always correcting.

Now, what could this particular character's name be? Could it be a Chad, a Mike...or even a Kevin?

No, this character's name is Roderich Edelstein - which isn't a very douchebag sounding name, but...well, forget it and see for yourself.

"Feliciano?"

Feli woke up from his nap and looked up at his teacher's sweet face. She was a very kind woman, with short blonde hair and awkwardly large breasts for her size. She was also very goofy and oblivious to nearly everything that went down.

"Hm? O-Oh, yes, Miss Chernenko?"

He suddenly turned very red, embarrassed that he had dozed off again. However, she seemed not to notice that he had in the first place. "Did you pick a partner, dear?"

He was confused. Partner? For what? He looked around the room, seeing that nearly everyone was already paired. He looked at her, weary.

"No ma'am, I'm sorry~"

"It's fine. I was actually looking for someone who was free to be partners with Roderich...if you don't mind?"

His smile widened. He was happy to not have to pick for once, and had never worked with Roderich before - much less noticed him. "Yes ma'am! I'd be happy to!"

Jumping out of his seat with excitement, he ran over to greet Roderich. He was a handsome boy, with glasses and a beauty mark on the left side of his face. He sat down beside him, and grinned. "Hello, Ro-"

"Let's just get started."

"-derich...um...I was actually going to introduce myself so that we might work together better!"

Feliciano put on a goofy smile.

"I already know who you are - I hear your name every day. I've also heard you talk to enough people - who, by the way, really don't give a fuck about anything you're saying - to know nearly everything about your daily life. You own one cat, of which you have named after yourself, and you live with your grandfather and your weird older brother that pretends to hate you. By the way, I think he really does hate you, so you can quit lying to yourself and saying he doesn't hate you."

"O-oh...okay...um...well, what about you?"

"I don't want you to know anything about me, because I don't plan on us being friends. Look, if we can just get started, I'll do all of the work and you can sit there, go to sleep, read a book or something."

Feliciano stared at him for a few seconds, then slowly nodded. He laid his chin on his arms, worried about just how this would turn out.

"Oh, and try not to rush, everyone - this is a project that will last a month. And all partnerships are final, and...oh yeah, that's it!" chimed Miss Chernenko, sitting back at her table and leaning over her desk to watch soap operas on the computer.

Feliciano didn't even know what project she was talking about.


Chapter 3, Part II
The Tryouts

Alfred looked around as he entered the dressing room. He barely remembered what this place looked like at all, since he hadn't been in any physical education classes after ninth grade. It was colored an ugly shade of blue - the lockers had the paint peeling away, revealing where they had once been yellow. There was a tile going halfway up each wall, light blue, off white, light blue, off white, random yellow stain. No one knew where the stain had come from, but it had been there since Alfred first entered the school.

He looked away from the rest of them and changed into shorts and a different tee-shirt.

"Well, I didn't believe it when I read it, but look who's here!"

Vash Zwingli was pointing at him, hinting at a smirk but not really because, frankly, he didn't make faces. That's when Gilbert turned around and began his obnoxious, repetitive laugh.

"Isn't that something?" he asked, walking towards Albert, who groaned and finished tying his shoe. He stood straight up, and was equal in height with Gilbert. "Why, I would almost think my eyes were deceiving me, if my eyes weren't awesome."

"I'd know that idiotic accent anywhere," Albert remarked, taking a second to reply because he wasn't very good with retortions. (Is that even a word? Oh well.)

"Oh please, if I wanted a come-back, I'd wipe it off of your mother's face."

He did a laugh, which attracted the rest of the dressing room population.

"Wow, bro. That scarred me. I don't know if I'll be able to recover from that one. I'd better go tell the coach I'm unable to tryout-"

"Very funny, Alfred. Why are you even here? Shouldn't you be walking home with that sissy-boyfriend of yours?"

Alfred sighed, wondering if he should even say anything back to that. Before anyone could continue, however, the coach walked in. Everyone settled down and looked at the door.

"Well, I see we're getting friendly," the coach replied. He then shook his head. "My name is, to you, Coach Feliks. That is what you will call be because none of you could ever even attempt to pronounce my last name. Now, say hello to me!"

Everyone looked awkwardly at each other, knowing that this wasn't their usual coach. This man was...definitely not a football guy.

"...Hello, Coach Feliks?" they said-asked.

"Good, now I want you all to go do some laps or something. Wait, no, I know something better! I want you to go and...hm...yes, laps actually sound good. Go and do the forty yard dash thingy."

Forty yard dash?

"I will be having you run on a stopwatch. Now, go outside! Go, go, go!"

Everyone went outside, unsure of how to feel. Gilbert grinned.

"If you sissy babies don't mind, I will go first to put down your spirits!"

Coach Feliks pulled out his stopwatch and timed him, nodding his head as Gilbert reached the finish line. He smiled as he wrote it down, and appeared very pleased. A few of the other participants slouched their shoulders, as if they knew they couldn't catch up to him. Alfred slowly made his way to the very end of the line. However, it had to have been a waste of time, because the line moved so fast that it was only a matter of minutes before he was at the front.

"Shit," he whispered to himself, looking at the coach, waiting for the whistle.

And the second that whistle blew, he took off. The first two seconds felt like a minute. He knew he could never make it at his current pace, he had to pick it up. This wasn't jogging, or running - this was sprinting.

If he even wanted the tiniest shot at making the team, he had to sprint. His eyes made their way over to the rest of the team. The coach already looked as if he were disapproving, and was clicking the pen to prepare to write. That's not what bothered him, though - what really got him were the smirks of Gilbert and his group, as if they were anticipating him to fail so that they could make fun of him for years to come.

Sprint, Alfred.

His feet touched the ground and propelled him with each step; his arms pumped, body leaned slightly forward. The background became a blur, and if he stopped moving for even a nanosecond, he'd surely fall on his face. Underneath him, the grass ripped up.

The crowd's jaws dropped in unison. When Alfred reached that finish line, the only thing that the coach could muster up was a silent but loud "Holy shit".


Chapter 3, Part III
Change

"So then, he leans over in his desk and with that pathetic, slutty French accent, he asks her, 'Oh, ma chère, if you are having troubles with my language, then perhaps you need a tutor?', and the girl actually asks if they could hang out after school! But you know, what really gets me, is that this girl is a straight "A" student, and both of her parents are from France! She even randomly speaks French in other classes with the others who speak it well! So it's like she wanted him to get in her pants!"

"Uh huh? You don't say..."

Arthur glared at Alfred. He was a walking zombie! He had been ranting about Francis since they had left the school, and all Alfred had replied with were dull sound effects. He wasn't paying any attention. Arthur spun around and glared at him.

"What is your problem, Alfred?"

He blinked a couple of times, and looked at him with a confused tilt of the head.

"I...I'm sorry, man, I'm just...shocked..."

"About the whole football thing?"

"Yeah...I mean, after the whole tryout, the coach even came up to me and - do you know what he said? He said that I have the strongest chance at making the team! Out of everyone!"

Arthur sighed. Alfred looked so excited, more happy than he had been in years. He didn't know what to say to him.

"Well," Arthur began, getting the attention of his friend. He looked hopeful. "Alfred, do you really want to play this?"

"I do! More than anything!"

He looked down, wind tossing his hair in his eyes. "...I think the whole ordeal is stupid, and I hate that you're doing this. But...it's something that you really want...Alfred, I'm okay with you being on the team, I really am - just promise me something, okay?"

"Oh? What's that?"

Arthur blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn't sure why his face suddenly felt so hot, and he hoped it wasn't showing.

"Well...um...don't...don't change, okay?"

Alfred was taken back by this. He stared at Arthur, wondering if that's why he had so heavily objected him being popular. He grinned, and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

"I won't change - I mean, why would I, am I right?"


end-of-chapter notes.
Yes, Poland is their coach. Isn't it amazing? POLAND. I would tryout for the football team if I had Poland as my coach. I mean, look at him!
HE'S POLAND! :D
Reviews? :3