I didn't see Jamaica after that. He left the day after, to go back to his own land.

But his words stayed with me. I started to believe them after my first week in England's house. America broke a vase, and only me and him were in the room.

When England came running, America quickly pushed me towards the vase, and walked to the couch.

"It was her!" He yelled, as England came in.

England believed him with no questions asked. I went without dinner that night. The same thing happened with the others too.

America called West Indies' Dad a whore. West Indies punched America. West Indies was the one who got punished. America got off scot free.

That night, Me, Newfoundland, and India, came into the room West Indies and India shared, carrying food we'd filched from the kitchens and from dinner that night.

We perched ourselves on all the available surfaces. Newfoundland sat on West Indies' desk chair, India contorted his legs into a terribly uncomfortable looking position, and sat on the floor. West Indies sat on his bed, leaning against the headboard. I took India's bed.

We pulled out what we'd gotten from the kitchens. India had explained to me that it was tradition, that when someone missed dinner because of America, everyone else was to steal food from dinner and the kitchens so that they didn't miss out.

I had taken to the task with great enthusiasm - my hands just seemed to know how to grab things without being seen.

I had been in charge of rolls. It was the easiest job, because England always had a basket of them as "side dishes" during dinner.

I got six. Which was more than anyone else had been able to grab without being seen, apparently. They were all very impressed, and India bestowed upon me the nickname of "Sticky fingers".

Everyone else had a nickname too, and getting one from India meant that you were accepted into the group.

I was elated to be finally accepted into a group of such worldly, exciting people. Or, at least it seemed that way to my naive eyes.

I was distracted from my musings by their cheers as Newfoundland pulled out a jar of raspberry preserves and a knife.

Thanks to my sneaking skills, we had enough for everyone to have one roll, while West Indies got two because he'd missed dinner.

The others hadn't brought as good of a haul, Newfoundland had gotten strips of dried beef. Which India refused to touch, he said that due to his religions, he didn't eat pork or beef, so he ate mutton instead. He'd gotten lamb strips for himself.

It was decided that we would eat the meat first, then the rolls for desert. The meat was dry and chewy, but the company and laughs more than made up for it.

As we ate the jam rolls, getting crumbs all over the floor, giggling and happy, I felt more at home than I had at the big oak table out in the dining room.

Once all the food was gone, and I had licked every scrap of raspberry jam off my fingers, I asked West Indies why America would call England a whore.

"England's not who he was talking about." Scoffed West Indies.

I was confused, "Do you have another Dad?"

"Yeah." Said West, "I have two. My other Dad is Spain."

"How can you have two dads? France said that you needed a boy and a girl to make kids, not two boys."

"I don't know." Said West, "But they're both my dads, like how France and England are both Canada's dads."

I was still confused, "So, one of them's your mum and one's your dad?"

West nodded, "I guess."