Eleanor: Yo, peepz! Next chapter stuff, yay! Thanks a ton for all of the reviews, and keep it up if ya like! And I'm even getting, like, actual concrit. owo I can't promise I'll improve (since I'm LAZY), but, really, thanks for your time. :3

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, the trademark sign, McDonald's, or Jiffy Peanut Butter. The last one doesn't actually show up in this chapter, but, y'know, I might as well make it clear I don't own it, anyway. 'Cuz that's just how I roll.

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"I am OUTTA here!" whooped Alfred as he barged through the last doors and into the parking lot. Again grateful the teachers' parking lot was right next to this side entrance, he charged past the Spanish teacher's Armada (whose placement was quite suspicious as its owner was in another country at the moment) and went straight for his good ol' camo Jeep.

He wasn't this excited about leaving the building (since HE was the teacher, all of his classes were [electric guitar sounds] EXCELLENT), but it was nice to know he didn't have to eat the cafeteria food. The McDonald's right by the school was usually swamped with seniors and whatever underclassmen (usually disguised as completely unsuspicious tarp-covered lumps in the backseat) they could smuggle off-campus. But, hey, it was McDonald's. Way better than the mushy cafeteria stuff.

Of course, not everyone was so lucky as to not be eating the cafeteria food.

One of these poor souls was none other than Raivis. After surviving East Asian History, somehow managing to lay low in Chemistry, and sitting through the energetic rantings of the American Literature teacher, any sort of break seemed like a God-send. He got in the lunch queue without much fanfare, and, after spending about half of the lunch period just getting through said queue, got the school's standard tray of Sloppy Joe™* and soggy french fries. (*: not actually trademarked)

Then it was time to find a table. Unfortunately, all of the small, round tables on either side of the eating area were occupied. After a worried moment of reflection, Raivis finally wandered over to a table occupied by only one other student.

The blonde looked up at Raivis as the latter set his tray down.

"Hey," the blonde piped cheerfully, setting down his milk carton.

"Hi." Just as Raivis was wondering whether or not to introduce himself, a trio of seniors clunked their trays down on the same table. Among them was none other than Joaquin.

"Hey, Peter!" he greeted, nodding at Raivis.

"Have we met?" the other freshman started slowly, furrowing his sizable brows at Joaquin.

"Don't think so."

"Then how do you know my name?"

Joaquin paused. "Oh, you're name's Peter, too?"

"Yeah." Peter looked over at Raivis. "So you're another Peter?"

"No, I'm a Raivis!" objected Raivis uncomfortably. "He just decided to call me Peter for some weird reason I don't understand!"

Joaquin gave Raivis a look that made the latter wonder if he had said anything he shouldn't have.

"Anyway," Joaquin said, "I'm Joaquin, this is Carter, and this is my other brother Darrell." He pointed at the seniors as he went over their names. "And then you're Peter and Peter. I guess we should come up with some way to tell you apart." He meditated on this for a moment before looking at Peter. "You can be Peter Two."

"Two?" Peter responded, outraged. "HE should be Two! He's not even actually named Peter!"

"Yeah, well, I met him first," Joaquin dismissed. "So, Peter Two, what classes do you have?"

Peter Two pouted and refused to answer at being called such a name.

Meanwhile, back in the teachers' parking lot, Arthur was waiting not-so-patiently for the faculty member parked to his car's right to get out of the car already so he could board his. Of course, this was one of the obvious disadvantages of still using a car designed to be driven on the correct sight of the road rather than the right side.

Another disadvantage was a certain Calculus teacher knowing this fact.

"Either get out of the car or close the bloody door!" Arthur demanded.

"Ah, sorry," Francis sang, adjusting his rear-view mirror while keeping one foot dangling out of the car to prevent the other teacher from simply slamming the door shut himself. "I just noticed a pesky little twitch in this mirror I can't quite seem to fix, haha~"

"We both know your mirror is perfectly fine."

"Hmm, yes, what's your point?"

"Get out of the bloody car!"

"I'd like to fix this first~"

"You just admitted there's nothing to fix!"

"Well, perhaps I just like allowing the mirror to take in my image. On that note, I should probably check out yours, since the poor tortured things aren't even able to run and hide from you."

"You do realise you're making no sense whatsoever?"

"Yet I'm still winning the argument."

"No, you're not! Now will you move yourself out of the car?"

"And into yours? Oh, you shouldn't have."

"I wasn't even vaguely suggesting that!"

"No, but you were thinking it."

"I was not!"

"No contractions in a sentence is a good indicator someone is lying."

In response, Arthur stomped up to the open car door and slammed it. The door managed to hit Francis' leg and bounce off hard enough to dent Arthur's car door.

Francis had mere moments to live.

Ignoring the various screams of pain from the other end of the lot, Ludwig, Feliciano, and Gilbert were hovering by Ludwig's military-green Volkswagen Beetle.

"Seriously, bro? It's bird crap. You can clean it off some other time. Or, oh, I don't know, use a car wash like a sane human being," Gilbert said.

"You've been going at it this whole time," Feliciano put in with a whimper. "We haven't even eaten anything yet."

"It's just going to be a minute longer," grunted Ludwig, carefully scraping off the stuff that had apparently snuck onto the car's hood during the school morning.

Feliciano leant against the side of the car weakly. "So hungry… Need pasta..."

Ludwig exhaled, working off the last bit of the crusty, white stuff. He pulled back and slung the rag he'd been using (what, did you think he was using his own hands? As the Drama teacher would say, "Like, ew, that's grody.") over his shoulder so he could make sure his car was once again spotless. Satisfied with his cleaning job, Ludwig went back to the trunk, threw the rag back in, and walked back to the driver's door.

By then another bird had decided to leave him a present on the windshield.

"MEIN GOTT—"

Things were going a bit more smoothly at the adjacent McDonald's. Though it was the only fast-food restaurant nearby, it was well-equipped with enough fresh food, enough competent employees, and respectful-enough customers to keep things running smoothly.

Uh, yeah, right.

While the early-birds, like Alfred, had been through the line and out with little trouble, the rush after that weren't so lucky. By now, it was basically survival of the fittest and/or survival of the most willing to shove/punch/open a can of whoop*ss on competing customers. Which meant Alfred got whatever seconds (or thirds, or fourths… he preferred to simply call them "refills" after that point) that he wanted. As for everyone else, well…

Heinrich, one of the students from Howard's, was currently in the back of one of the lines. Or at any rate, he was separated from the front counter by a sizable blob of other students. Said blob of other students was not stable itself; many of its constituents were shoving each other aside, some to get lunch before the hour was up, and some already finished with the meal but wanting to hit on the rather attractive worker at the far end of the counter.

Heinrich was not very happy with this. Not only was he a junior, which weren't supposed to be off-campus at any time during the school day, but at this rate he probably wasn't going to get back to school in time for his next class.

Oh, and did he mention his next class was Chemistry?

Desperately wanting to get back on time but still wanting to be polite, he hadn't been asserting himself much this hour. But the clock was ticking. (Incidentally, the McDonald's mechanic had just fixed it that morning. Lucky for Heinrich.) He only had so much time. Not all of these students had Chemistry. Heinrich had priority over the others. For once in his life, he was not going to let himself be pushed around. He had lived so long as a doormat, but no longer! Now was the time to stand up for himself! Now was the time to FIGHT BACK!

And now was the time Ivan walked into the store. Heinrich quietly stepped to the side.

The crowd, crazy as it had been moments ago, inconspicuously created a clear aisle for the Chemistry teacher to walk through. At the same time, Alfred decided to get another refill.

The two teachers ended up walking to the counter at the same time. Due to a problem concerning a small fire at the back of the kitchen and an unrelated sudden acne breakout, only one worker was at the counter.

"May I help you?" she asked slowly, looking back and forth between the two customers.

"Yes, I'd like—" the two men started in unison before cutting off and turning towards each other. The resulting stare-off was intense. Like, seriously intense.

Ivan finally smiled. "Go ahead, Alfred."

Alfred just kept staring. "This's gotta be some sort of trick."

"Ah, no trick at all, I assure you. I just thought that, since you eat so much more than me, as is clearly evidenced…" He glanced pointedly at the other teacher's stomach. "…It would probably be rude to—"

"Are you calling me fat?" Alfred snapped.

"And stupid, too, apparently."

"Hey! If either of us is fat, it's you!" Alfred jabbed a finger at Ivan's stomach, and then withdrew, really wishing said stomach was as squishy and non-finger-hurting as he thought it was going to be.

"Really, now?" Ivan countered by poking the other teacher's stomach himself. His finger came away substantially less damaged.

"Go die, Communist," Alfred blurted out before thunking his forehead on the counter dejectedly.

"So, I'll have a Number Four," chimed Ivan finally, turning back to the counter.

Back at the school, noon was approaching fast. The lunch line had shut down (though some of the students weren't sure whether losing their shots at getting Sloppy Joes™ was necessarily a bad thing), and students were swarming the lockers and parking lots. A mass exodus had ensued from the McDonald's (following behind a suspicious-looking black car with heavily-tinted windows and a license plate from Russia), and students and teachers were beginning to shuffle into their rooms. Heinrich managed to get to the Chemistry classroom before his teacher did, and all was right with the world.

And then the bell just had to ring for fourth hour.