A/N: Sorry it's a little late ^_^; It seems to me that in this AU, Gilbert solely eats so he doesn't look like an idiot. Atlas High School was the best name I could think of. I mean. Ha ha. Hetalia. World. Map. Atlas. Ha. Ha ha ha.
It was 2 AM when I thought of that name... don't judge .
DefyGravity2502: you might find some parts of Atlas High a little familiar ;)
Time: 12:32 PM
Place: Atlas High School Main Cafeteria (our school is huge. We have like, 3 cafeterias.)
"So, Gilbo," Antonio said, screwing on the cap of his thermos. "What's got you so happy today?" His breath smelled strongly of tomatoes and vodka—which was probably what he had in the thermos (I mean vodka, not tomatoes). Ivan, the creepy tall Russian exchange student had a bad habit of selling vodka to people. He also had a really bad habit of drinking vodka 24/7 like it was water. (Which explains a lot of things about his behavior if you ask me.)
"I'm always awesome, if that's what you mean," I said casually, popping a fry into my mouth.
"No, no, no…" Francis leaned forward and studied me carefully. "You're definitely different today."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I shrank away from his blue-eyed gaze. Sometimes I swear that my friends were way too nosy. Seriously.
"Yeah, Gilbo's really happy today."Antonio copied Francis, which shot Eau de Drunken Tomato into my mouth. I pinched my nose. No, thanks.
"Ohhhhh Tony, I think I know!" Francis sing-songed triumphantly.
"What, what, what?" Antonio said eagerly.
Francis grinned at me in a way that would have had the ladies running away screaming "RAPE!" (and frankly, I can't really blame them.) "Our little Gilbo is in love!"
"Whoaaaa!" Tony the airhead widened his eyes, obviously amazed. "With who?"
Here's the thing. I hadn't really told any of my friends that I'd liked Lizzie since freshman year, with the possible exception of my kid brother Ludwig (but he doesn't count). And no one had figured it out, because I was that awesome. To be honest, I was really fucking scared of what they could do with it. Even as awesome as I was, my friends were about the evilest people to walk the earth. I'd seen the damage they could do, and it was not pretty.
Sadly, this is what happened.
"Our little Gilbo—"
"Stop calling me that!" I grumbled. "Only chicks can call me that!"
"—is in love with her!" Francis used his straw to point at the wide-open double-door entrance.
At that exact moment, Lizzie walked in and—ugh—I stuffed food into my mouth I wouldn't look like a complete idiot—she looked amazing. She was dressed in a skirt—can you believe it? A skirt—with this tank top and she had this really cute flower barrette in her hair and she was smiling and laughing and, well, fuck! I slurped my milk loudly. (Hanging around Alfred does some things to you. Unfortunately I've now developed a taste for hamburgers and obnoxiously pink cakes.)
Then she turned around and I saw boy with brown hair and glasses. He was prim and uptight, with really formal-looking clothes, too formal for school, and an obnoxious beauty mark on his chin.
In short, it was my prick of a cousin, Roderich Edelstein. Holding hands with Lizzie. The girl I hooked up with on Saturday. The girl who was cheating on her boyfriend.
My day quickly went downhill.
"Awww, what's wrong, Gilbo?" Francis poked me in the cheek—have I mentioned that I absolutely hate when he does that!
"Get away from me!" I snapped at him, swatting his hands away.
"He's upset about Lizzie," Antonio whispered dramatically. His eyes were like huge green plates.
"I am not!" I snarled at both of them, and chewed viciously on another fry.
They bought me ice cream later, which Antonio doused with vodka (don't try that at home. In fact, don't try that. Ever.) to help me "relieve the stress." It was nice of them, but I threw it away when they weren't looking; Anything at all that smelled like or tasted like vodka made me want to barf.
Beer was just fine for me.
xx
Time: 2:28 PM
Place: Stairwell of the A block (which is like a wing) of Atlas High School
My little Spanish airhead of a friend was completely wasted when we went to our fourth period, the last one of the day. (Our school runs on block schedule.) It happened to be on the math wing of the school—which was at the very top of the A block. Three. Fucking. Flights. Of. Stairs.
Three fucking flights of stairs + one very drunk Spanish kid = sore shoulders for me.
"Hahaha, Gilbo, where're we goin'?" he slurred in my ear, and giggled some more (really scary much?). "There are so many stairsh…"
I readjusted my grip on Antonio's arm. "Shut up," I told him. "Don't wanna smell any more of that kinky tomato-vodka mix."
"But it tastes good!" he whined annoyingly.
"No; whoever the hell thought tomatoes and vodka went together is a fucking idiot." I dragged him up the last couple steps and walked into our math classroom. There weren't many people around; most kids, despite the 10 minute passing period, had already gone to class and were probably cramming homework in the last couple minutes before the bell rings. And plus, everyone hates going up three flights of stairs to the third floor.
Antonio burped and giggled weakly. "Buono tomato, buono tomato, buono, buono, ooh! Tomato!" he sang drunkenly, and I whacked him upside the head with my textbook.
"Idioten," I muttered in German under my breath, and threw him and his stuff in his seat. He could rely on Arthur to get him home; there was no way I was taking the drunk kid anywhere in my car. Don't you dare get your nasty vodka shit on my Volkswagen.
It was halfway through the teacher droning on and on about trig that Antonio leaned over to me and whispered, "I don't feel well."
It was true. He really did look under the weather, with a pale face and still stinking-breath. He also looked like he was going to puke any second now.
I promptly raised my hand, like a little goody two-shoes.
The next thing I knew, Antonio's lunch was out in the stairwell—which, luckily, is tiled floor. When he was done, he just collapsed on the ground.
Great. Now I had to fix this.
Tony had gotten in trouble before for drinking at school (you would not believe how much the guy loved alcohol. I mean, Arthur and Ivan and Luddy are all kind of notorious for drinking, too, but Tony is just… disgusting.) so there was no way I could take him to the nurse's. The stench of vodka was horrible. And very strong. I was really tempted to leave him lying there (God knows I've had to put up with vodka all fucking day) but I still needed my little Spanish airhead around. Problem was, there was really only one good place to take him.
Verdammt, Tony.
I dragged Antonio down three flights of stairs and out the door, praying to God that I wouldn't get caught by hall sweeps—the people whose only job is to walk around looking for kids who were ditching class. Even if I did have a pass, though, I was still heading outside (big no-no around here) and Tony still stank of vodka. And if he got caught, he'd probably get suspended again. Thus not being able to go to Homecoming.
Antonio still passed out on my shoulder, I ended up having to drag him into my Ride of Awesomeness. It was a hand-me-down from my dad and kind of old and red and worn down but that only added to its awesomeness. And my awesomeness.
"Tony, I am going to kill you when I'm through with this," I grumbled as I threw him into the back seat. Dear God. Why do I always end up having to save my drunk friends' asses? If you'll excuse the profanity.
(Yes, I do talk to God on a regular basis. He's my bro. I tell him everything.)
I was about to close the car door when something hit me. Mentally. An idea. I could still smell today's lunch on Tony's breath (which stank enough already). And I didn't want my ride to get ruined. So when I left to go back to the school, Antonio was lying on his side in the backseat, a plastic bag duct-taped to his face. That way, if he threw up again, the puke would go right into the bag.
Awesome mad genius right there.
x-x
The oddest thing was that as I was climbing the staircase back to math class, I saw Lizzie. (That wasn't even the oddest part, but for now. Let's just stick with this.)
Now, me and Lizzie, we usually avoided each other in school, since she pretty much hated me (whenever she wasn't drink that is. Usually, when she got really drunk, she'd come over to me and try to wrestle with me like we did when were kids. Yeah. I know.) and took advantage of any and every opportunity to hit me with a frying pan. I don't even know how she got that thing to fit in her handbag or whatever, but I swear to God it hurt like hell. Especially if I said anything about Roderich, that uptight OCD obsessed-with-Chopin douche of all douches.
A very good reason to avoid her, particularly because she was always hanging around that obnoxious prick anyway.
But the really, really odd part was that Lizzie was… crying.
I know, right? LIZZIE IS THAT ONE PERSON WHO JUST NEVER CRIES. I thought that Antonio's mix of tomato juice and vodka was finally getting into my brain and I was seeing things. No, I was definitely seeing things. Crying for the second time in less than a week? Wow. She'd become more girly than I thought. Roderich had really gotten to her.
I pinched myself. Nope, not a dream.
She really was crying in the stairwell.
"Mein Gott," I muttered under my breath, but she seemed to hear me cuz she looked up.
"Gilbert?" she said shakily.
"Uh… yeah… um…. Your awesomeness at your service," I said, saluting goofily.
She laughed, and I thought there was a little jump in my chest.
"Oh, Gilbert," she said, wiping tears from her face. "You always show up when I need you."
"What, when you need to hit someone with a frying pan?" I sat down next to her. "Like that time when we were all kids and I tricked Roddy into taking his pants off so I could steal them? He was all 'you have my vital regions!' and you came after me with that frying pan you stole from your mom, remember?"
She laughed, and I laughed too. "I don't always need you to hit," she said.
"Well, of course," I said, aware of the stupidity leaving my mouth every second. "I'm your best friend, right?"
She hesitated for a second, and then glanced away, wiping her face on her sleeve. "Yeah."
"You okay?" I asked her, leaning forward to get a better look. (She was totally crying.)
"To be honest… no. I'm not." She sniffed.
"I'm sorry…." Yeah… even she knew how lame that sounded.
"Don't be," she said, wiping her face. "It doesn't have anything to do with you."
"Hey," I said. "Hey… it's okay." I awkwardly patted her shoulder. "It's okay."
She looked at me suddenly. "Gilbert, I…"
"Elizaveta!" A voice sounded behind us, and I craned my neck to see who was talking.
It happened to be a brunet boy with rectangular glasses and annoyingly fancy clothes. He was standing at the top of the staircase, arms crossed, purple eyes looking down at me condescendingly. Me, of course. Not Lizzie. Cuz they were still going out, dammit!
I took my hand away from Lizzie's shoulder. "Oh," I said. "Hello, cousin."
"Gilbert," said Roderich tersely. "It's a pleasant surprise."
Yeah, right. And Antonio hates tomatoes. And Heracles doesn't have a gazillion cats. "Yeah, good to see you too, Roddy. What are you doing here?" I crossed my arms, but then I realized that was exactly what Roddy was doing, so I shoved my hands in my pockets instead. Oh, spare change… Wonder how much is in there? Argh, focus, Gilbo!
Roderich raised an eyebrow. "I'm here to take Elizaveta back to class. C'mon, let's go," he added to her, gesturing for her to come with him.
Her expression was unreadable as she stood up to go walk up to him. I set my jaw. Dammit, Lizzie. Damn you, Roderich.
"You ought to get back to class, too, Gilbert," said Roderich, ever the goody two-shoes.
"Yeah, but unlike you," I said, waving a little yellow slip of paper in the air, "I have a pass."
He frowned. No good comebacks, apparently.
"Well, I'll get going if you really want," I said with a slight mocking edge—the guy had that effect on me—and started up the stairs. "I have to get back to math anyway, so I'll see you around? Oh wait—I can't. Sorry, Roddy. You aren't getting any awesomeness today. See ya."
I left the little couple where they were.
