Now this is up. The next chapter is the chapter that I actually wrote and you'll be able to tell that… ꒰・᷄ु௰・᷅ू꒱…eep…
Still don't own Hetalia! So sad, much cry.
Chapter Three: Clubs
"Come on, fratello!," Feliciano cried with glee. "We have to sign up for activities before all the classes are full!"
Lovino let out a long slow sigh through his nose. Ever since him and his brother heard they were going to this stupid Academy, it seemed Feliciano made it his mission to spend as much time with his older brother and mend the bond of brotherhood or some shit like that.
What did it matter to Lovino if the younger wanted to finally act like a brother? He and Feliciano were only half-brothers so who gave a rat's ass for brotherhood? Their father had an affair on a business trip with a woman in Naples, knocked her up and went back to his home in San Marino to his wife and knocked her up a few months later.
When Lovino's mom died, he was taken to the house of the father he never met. Feliciano's mother didn't like Lovino and Feliciano ignored Lovino for the most part. Not that Lovino wanted to play with the pest anyway, never, not in a million years. However, he didn't care much for the coldness he felt in that house from everyone.
The surly boy stopped at the activity board and stared at the sign-up sheets stating the club name and what it was about. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips pursed into an angry pout. What was the point of all this? Who wants to join a stupid club anyway?
"Right Fratello?" Lovino finally tuned back into his brother's chatter.
"Right," he muttered despite not hearing a word the cheerful boy said. "Is there a going home early club?"
Feliciano giggled. Ugh, what a horrible sound. "I think I'll join the cooking club and the art club," Feliciano said tapping his chin thoughtfully. "You should join me."
"No way in hell," Lovino growled. He refused to be in an activity where he would be outshone by his half-brother. Mr. Talented. Mr. Oh-I-never-tried-this-before-so-I'll-give-it-a-try-look-at-that-I'm-already-perfect-at-it!
"You have to do something," the chestnut haired boy argued. "It's required."
Lovino groaned in frustration, snatched up a pen and scrawled his name under the sheet labeled CHOIR. At least he could blend in with the group and fake it."There, I signed up for something." He snarled. "Are you happy now?"
"Si, I am."
The older Italian rolled his eyes and stormed off in search of some quiet time leaving Feliciano all alone in the empty hallway. Soon, he found himself in the courtyard and plopped down behind a tree. He hated this school, he hated his roommates and he hated how much he hated everything.
Antonio woke up earlier than usual that morning and hurried into his uniform. He winced slightly at the few bruises he accumulated during football tryouts and he was fairly certain that strenuous exercise wasn't good for his shoulder either but he still had to know whether he made the team or not.
As he hurried down to the center of the school where all the grades were branched out into their separate hallways he began to feel some doubt. If he did make the team did he really want to do sports? He loved playing football and got very competitive in games but what if one of his friends didn't make it and the other that did then decided to quit? Would they expect him to quit? If they did then would he even want to quit?
Antonio shook his head and sent a puff of air to flip his chocolate curls out of his eyes. He arrived at the area and as expected the boys who were at tryouts yesterday were crowding one of the boards that hung on the wall.
Francis and Gilbert were already there. After spotting their new comrade, they wriggled out of the mess to reach him.
"We made it!" Gil beamed pumping a fist into the air.
"All three of us," Francis clarifying that they checked for Antonio's name too.
"Great!" Antonio couldn't ignore the burst of excitement in his chest.
"We have practice for two hours every day after school," Gilbert continued. "It's going to be so awesome."
"Were you on the team last year?" Antonio asked.
"Well… no," Gilbert rubbed the back of his head. "But they were just totally unawesome and couldn't recognize our talent."
"Let's go to breakfast," The Frenchman interjected tossing his blond locks. "Talking about last year leaves a bad taste in my mouth."
And so they went.
The entire day Antonio's mind kept wandering to the practice that will happen after classes. His shoulder ached slightly but as long as he wasn't set to be a goalie and he didn't fall on that side then he shouldn't worry about tearing it up.
Shaking his head he forced himself to focus on his Geometry worksheet. His long fingers slid through his bangs and rested amongst the brown, curly mass of hair. Antonio didn't care that doing that made his bangs stick up providing him with the look of a mad scientist but he did that when he was thinking hard.
When class finally ended Antonio attempted to smooth down his bangs but sighed as they stubbornly bounced back up in refusal to be tamed.
"Antonio, come on we have to go to practice," his albino friend nudged his shoulder. "I don't want to be late on the first day."
Francis laughed as they headed to the locker rooms for practice. "Mon ami, you act like such a rebel but when it comes to punctuality or cleanliness you're such a tight ass."
"I can't help it if I like everything in its place, shut up," Gilbert retorted.
The trio laughed and chatted along the way. When they reached their destination they found the coach passing out practice uniforms.
"Alright, get your uniform and suit up for practice. The team captain Felipe will run you through your drills," the man said.
Antonio studied their coach a minute. He was tall and leanly built with dark skin and a sharp but kind face. He asked to simply be called Coach by everyone which could be a little confusing because the other sports coaches preferred to be called Coach as well.
When everyone was dressed and geared up they filed in a line along the field. The team captain paced in front of them. He was a Brazilian boy small of stature but his sharp eyes proved him a force to be reckoned with on the field.
"Just because you made the team does not mean you are fit to win the Championship," Felipe said after a moment. "You gotta prove you're worthy to be on this team and worthy enough of that trophy. I don't wanna see any show-offs or ball hogs on this field. We're a team and the only way we're gonna win is if we work together! You'll get your moment in the spotlight but if you step on your teammates to get there you're gonna fail us all! Now, I'm gonna whip you boys into shape! Suicides, GO! Start on the whistle."
Coach stuck the whistle in his mouth and blew one sharp 'TWEET'. The group of boys took off across the field back and forth until their lungs burned.
Felipe set up tires along the track. "Tire runs!"
TWEET!
Antonio's lungs burned.
TWEET!
His legs began to go numb.
TWEET!
The water breaks didn't feel nearly long enough.
TWEET!
TWEET!
TWEET!
At last practice was dismissed and the exhausted boys were allowed to go to dinner. Francis moaned about how greasy his hair looked but Gilbert looked more pumped now than when they started. Antonio felt how all the other boys looked: Tired and ready for something to eat.
He scarfed his food down and headed up to his dorm to shower off the muck and grime he accumulated in the two hour practice. When he reached the room he groaned realizing somebody got there before him and already claimed the shower.
He plopped down on his bed and pulled the shoes off his aching feet. He could hear the someone-that-got-to-the-shower-first singing. The language sounded familiar but the Spaniard was too pooped to figure it out. He laid on his back and dozed off letting the voice lull him to sleep.
Okay, next is the chapter that I wrote! I'm not sure if I should be excited or worried or what…okay…bye…
