A/N: Sorry if this chapter sucks. Also, I don't own Hetalia, nor whatever other references that decide to crash the story. Pretend that this disclaimer is in all of the chapters in Half-Time, both past and future.

Enjoy, my cute little readers~

Ch4: Ms. H and Hello Again Mr. Principal

Not for the first time in his High School career, Gilbert entered a class grumbling nonsensical German under his breath. If anyone understood German - like perhaps a certain Mr. Edelstein, the poor soul, not his fault that the Austrian had virgin ears – then the sinful words coming out of the albino's mouth would've been cause for concern – if not much scolding and more detentions on top of being sent to the Office. Again.

Let's just say that the words coming out of Gilbert's mouth were practically on par with the Profanity King Lovino Vargas, and leave it at that.

There was a gasp.

But, then again...

"GILBERT ALDRICH BEILSCHMIDT!"

Gilbert groaned. He had English now. He forgot.

Daaaaaaang.

"Hallo Ms. H."

He was met with a furious glare in return, the Hungarian English teacher standing by the blackboard with "The Plot Pyramid" drawn on it in bright orange chalk, said chalk broken clean in half in the angry woman's fists.

Ms. Héderváry knew some German. And boy, did Gilbert feel screwed now . . . for many reasons.

"You are over five minutes late, Gilbert!" the Hungarian screeched. "AND WHY ARE YOU SOAKING WET!?"

"My awesome face decided to go for a swim in the toilet," Gilbert answered back matter-of-factly, crimson red glinting with amusement.

Ms. H had none of it.

"Fine! I don't need to know what shenanigans you were up to this time!" Ms. H put the chalk down with such force, that the chalk-holder collapsed. No one in the class batted and eye – they were far too used to teachers going bananas when Gilbert Beilschmidt was involved.

Ironically for Gilbert, he had told her the truth. His face did go for a little swim down the pristine white bowl in the men's room – shoved down it, more like it. By none other than the infamous Ivan Braginsky. Or, to be more precise, Ivan Braginsky's henchmen.

The Russian just watched as Gilbert almost drowned a couple of times in the toilet.

Gilbert bit his cheek, trying hard not to laugh;

'Albino Teen Drowns In Toilet'

"And what about this is funny, Gilbert?"

Ms. H had her hands crossed over her bosom, looking less than amused.

Gilbert smirked; everything was funny when taken in stride. And, at least, all he got this time was a humiliating face-dipping in the men's room and not a beating like last time. Gilbert bruised quite easily, despite his more than bold actions and fights in school. His delicate albino skin marked easily, not to mention, burned easily. He was pretty sure that he had quite the bruise on his abdomen from his earlier scuffle with Frenchy and Spanish Boy.

Abdomen. That's good. Easy to cover up.

A long, frustrated sigh. "Just sit down, Gilbert."

Gilbert shrugged, and feeling the weight of many annoyed eyes on him, made his way towards the very last row of desks, at the corner, right next to the window. He sat down with a heavy plop, and looking up, he saw his classmates half-turned, some staring at him with scrunched up noses, others sniggering quietly at him. He saw Lovino Vargas mutter what probably was "Bastard" under his breath, which didn't faze Gilbert one bit, as that was Lovino Vargas for you. The mouthed "Failure" coming from Francis followed by Alfred's nod and smirk, on the other hand, irked him. Antonio was snoring next to Francis, drooling all over his blank notes.

Gilbert made sure Ms. H was turned around before casually giving them all the finger. Much to his amusement, Lovino returned the favor in double.

After everyone's attention was finally off him, his gaze moved almost instinctively out the window. The trees were going through their transition of summer to winter, their plumage holding deep reds, strong browns, and dead greens. Gilbert sighed, propping an elbow on his desk, leaning his cheek on his pale, calloused hand. He let his thoughts wander, which he usually didn't do, because they could get really dark really fast.

He constantly felt under attack throughout the day, by both teachers and students alike. Be it physically, verbally, mentally, or just plain refusing him any help, he was always surrounded by those who wished him harm or did not give a fuck about what happened to him. Gilbert felt a constant fear clinging on stubbornly to his skin, always there, keeping him always on his toes, the feeling that anyone could gank him on his way to school or being ambushed in the hallways having a permanent housing within him.

It wasn't a very pleasant feeling to have stuck to you 85% of the day.

The teachers could care less about him. He wasn't smart, and was failing pretty much everything, even gym, which is thought to be nearly impossible to fail. He was loud and obnoxious in class, always ready to talk back, always with a smart comeback. He was a failure in both class and in life. He had no friends to support him or keep him company. No one liked him, or even took the time to actually get to know him before turning against him.

He was being brutally bullied every day, right under the teachers' noses . . . but Gilbert supposed that it wasn't really their fault.

Gilbert was a very good actor. He was also a very good liar. Not that he lied a lot, per say. Gilbert was big on doing what he did just now: 'My face took a swim in the toilet' was pretty much the truth. All he had to do was slap the word 'awesome' in the sentence, tweak the wording a tad, and use the correct tone of voice, and voilà, a truth within the lie that is actually the truth!

The irony of the situations supplied Gilbert with the daily amusement that he needed to get through the day. Unless things got too overwhelming for him, then he usually skipped. Cut things short. Go home early. Did teachers notice? Heck yeah. They liked to bitch about every single thing he did wrong, so it wasn't so surprising. They probably loved it when he disappeared from their class, one less annoyance to endure, one more thing to bitch about the following week.

Really, everyone thought that Gilbert was a loud, attention-seeking, arrogant, egoistic, trouble-making delinquent with no future. Maybe if they cared to look harder, look at him, really look, not just at that mask, but at him, then maybe they would see the quiet, modest, hurting teenager with self-esteem issues that he really was. If people stopped calling him names or verbally attacking him, maybe they'd see that he did not bite unless provoked.

But, Gilbert supposed, maybe this negative attention from the teachers wasn't so bad. Better than being ignored. Like in Chemistry. Seriously, the teacher even talked over him when he dared ask a question – or, at least, part of it, before chickening out. Gilbert wasn't one to ask for any type of help. Call it pride, or maybe his trust was broken one too many times, but asking for help was so, so, very, very difficult for him to do. It just wasn't in his nature, he guessed. He was a loner at heart.

Maybe he should go talk to the guidance counselor.

Oh, wait, the school was on a budget and students were assigned to certain guidance counselors in alphabetical order. There were two guidance counselors, one of which was also a teacher.

Guess who was in charge of letters A to L?

Mr. Roddy Prissy-Pants McGrumpy Edelstein of Stick-Up-His-Arsus Land.

Yeah. Ain't happening. No ficken way.

. . . And that's what he meant by 'dark thoughts.' Gilbert tried very hard to stay on the optimistic side of things, which was actually easier said than done. He tried, but by now though, he gave up completely on outside appearances. Really, Gilbert's closest thing to a smile was a smirk, and that was pretty much what he showed everyone. Well, that and the scowl. And pouting. But the smirk was his preferred facial expression. Even if it did make him seem cocky.

"Gilbert!" Ms. H's exclamation made him snap out of his thoughts.

"Hmm~?" he hummed, averting his gaze from the window.

"What are the five structures of Plot?"

Oh mein Gott. We did this last year. And the year before that. And the one before that.

"Plot has a structure?" Gilbert asked in a deadpan voice.

Exposition. Raising Action. Climax. Falling Action. Resolution. Duh.

"Yes, Gilbert, it has." Que to glare. She turned to the rest of the class. "Anyone?"

Someone – a guy whose name he did not care to remember – raised his hand. "Exposition, Raising Action, Climax, Falling Action, and Resolution, Ms. H." He stated, without being called.

Ms. H nodded at him with a small smile. "Yes, Tom, very good. Unlike someone-"

Gilbert yawned, cutting her off.

"PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE!"

Yeah. Gilbert had his reasons for hating English. And the sad part? It had nothing to do with the subject. Gilbert actually enjoyed writing as a hobby. And books were pretty awesome. He even kept a dia- err, journal at home.

"But I already went there today!" Gilbert whined.

"WHAT!?"

This time, the whole class flinched. Gott damn, that lady could screech like a banshee!

"GILBEEEERT!"

...I really should work on keeping my mouth shut, shouldn't I...?

OoooOoooOoooO

"And what, pray tell, are you doing in here this time, Beilschmidt?"

"I yawned in class," came the deadpanned reply.

"Quit messing around, Beilschmidt." Principal Vargas said impatiently, "Now, tell me, why have you been sent here for the third time today."

Gilbert shrugged in his chair. "Yawned in class. Simple as that," he repeated to the man in front of him. Principal Vargas was massaging his temples, curl bobbing up and down.

"I don't appreciate lying, Mr. Beilschmidt. Your reason is not acceptable."

Gilbert stared.

"I . . . really did yawn in class, Mr. Vargas." And called Ms. H a banshee but you don't need to know that.

Principal Vargas shot him a glare. Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"Beilschmidt, do you remember exactly what I told you the last time you where in here, which may I add, wasn't that long ago?"

"Uh, that cafeteria food sucked?"

Gilbert knew exactly what Principal Vargas was talking about, but didn't particularly want to touch that future-crushing topic.

"No. I told you that the next time you showed that delinquent face of yours around here, you'd be—"

"Yeah yeah," Gilbert cut off, not liking the way that the Principal was talking to him. Geez, he wasn't retarded or anything . . . right? "I get it. You want to ship me off on a one-way trip to Expulsionlandia." Then, in a monotone commercial guy voice, he added "Shipping and handling not included."

Principal Vargas did not look amused. Gilbert sighed, knowing that if he didn't do something, then he REALLY was going to get expelled. What exactly, he didn't know. Principal Vargas, like many, hated his guts.

"Please tell me you aren't expelling me for yawning in class. That's so not awesome."

OK, maybe that wasn't the best approach.

A sigh. More temple massaging. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Let me go?"

"No." Glare.

Gilbert shrugged again. It was worth a shot.

"But,"

Gilbert didn't like the sound of that 'but' very much.

"One more slip, Beilschmidt, one more addition to your one-mile-long record . . ."

Principal Vargas let that hang in the air.

Yeah. Gilbert didn't need to hear the ending to that. Nope.

"I will expel you and make sure you don't EVER get into another school, do you understand?"

Gilbert felt terrible. The heavy blanket of depression that always followed him around but yet was always tucked away, hidden, was starting to smother him, trying to cut his air supply. Gilbert liked to pretend that there was always something out there to look out for, to reach out, to help him fight and live. Despite his scores, Gilbert liked to think that maybe, only maybe, someone would recognize his, ah, skills and provide him with the higher education that made everyone respected and successful. But, if Gilbert couldn't even finish High School . . .

His resolve was disintegrating, and fast.

Maybe all this suffering wasn't worth it.

No. No, Gilbert admonished himself. I will not go down like this. There's . . . there's still hope left.

Hope. The word was beginning to sound rather empty . . .

"I will call your father, Beilschmidt. Let him deal with you."

Gilbert bit his cheek. Yeah, he was so gonna get it. Was it him, or did it suddenly get hot in here?

Principal Vargas' eyes narrowed, his tone icy. "I hope that I have made myself clear enough this time that your unruly behavior will no longer be tolerated."

Yes, yes he has.

"But, as I am well acquainted with your father, I am letting you go this time . . . the last time Mr. Beilschmidt, do you hear? This is a favor granted to your father. Next time. . ."

He didn't need to hear the end to that sentence. There wouldn't be a next time.

Next time he marched into this office, he'd get expelled. The look on the Principal's face said as much as that. This was the REAL last warning. Oh, how he dreaded going home now, more than ever.

He was dead.