Whee! This is the longest chapter so far! This was probably the most fun to write out of them all, so I hope you enjoy! A side note: I've been getting a lot of reviews/questions about the constant appearance and disappearance of Hungary's frying pan. Here's the rundown of it; Basically, Hungary's psychiatrist told her that carrying her frying pan around was not helping her anger management issues and only encouraged violence, so he told her to get rid of it. Hungary instead gave it to Italy to hold in case she desperately needed it, so he carries it in his backpack for her. Romano pulled it out of his brother's backpack during the previous chapter. I hope that resolves all your frying pan questions. Anyway, on with the story! I STILL DON'T OWN HETALIA! =D If you care about side pairings, PLEASE VOTE IN THE POLL ON MY PROFILE PAGE! PLEASE? *puppy eyes*

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Turning the World Upside Down

Chapter 4: International Relationships in Four Periods or Less

~PERIOD 1: Hungary- Math

Hungary sighed and scraped back the chair to her assigned seat, three from the blackboard. The teacher's name was written in the board in black marker, but Hungary ignored it. It was something boring and stereotypical anyway, like Smith or Johnson. At least she was right next to the window. She smiled as she looked outside- at least the view was pleasant. She could see the front of the school, neat and perfect, with cherry blossom trees growing in clumps on the neatly trimmed grass. Past the lawn lay a picturesque street, with low, long apartments and adorable little knickknack shops.

She heard the chair next to her being pulled out and turned to find the same girl from homeroom smiling at her with warm brown eyes. "Hi! Nice job handling President Austria this morning. He can be uptight, but he means well." She held out one light brown hand. "I'm Seychelles," she added as an afterthought.

"Hungary," Elizabeth replied with a smile. "But then, you already knew that."

Seychelles smiled sympathetically. "I liked your introduction. I thought it was cute! You guys are different from most of the other kids here."

Hungary winced. "Gee, thanks." Seychelles's eyes widened.

"No, no! I didn't mean it like that! Different is good!" she corrected hastily. Hungary couldn't help but smile at her frantic expression.

"Thanks," she said, but with more sincerity than before. Seychelles relaxed with obvious relief.

"So, are you planning on cutting your hair?" she asked, curiously.

"I don't know," said Hungary, resting her chin in her palm. "How did you get away with it?"

"What?" Seychelles blinked in confusion, then realized that Hungary's gaze was fixed on the red ribbons around her two pigtails. "Oh, you mean how they're not on me for keeping my hair tied up? I think it's because of France."

"France?"

"Yeah. Francis Bonnefoy. Don't know him? You certainly will soon. Anyway, he's infamous for blatantly ignoring the PDA rule, and he doesn't care what the punishment is. I can usually get him to stop, though, so if I stop him when I catch him, they let me keep my hair long and in pigtails," she giggled, chocolate eyes shining. "It's a corrupt system, but I don't really mind. Nobody's really hurt by it, and I don't like short hair anyway." Hungary chuckled too, Seychelles's bubbly laughter contagious.

"I don't think I'll cut mine. I love it long. What's the punishment for breaking rules here?"

"Oh, it's horrible. You need to spend three hours of Saturday detention going through a boot camp with Germany."

Elizabeta furrowed her brow. "Germany? Which one's he?"

"The blond one," Seychelles said. Hungary shot her a slightly exasperated look. "Oh, sorry. Forgot about England. He's the one with blue eyes.

"Him?" Hungary said, her mouth curling slightly into a smirk. "He doesn't look so bad. America's strawberry shortcake looks tougher than him."

~PERIOD 2: America- Forensics

America sat at his desk, the picture of ease, chewing a piece of bubblegum and propping both feet on the desk in front of him. The other students watched him out of the corner of their eyes, wanting desperately to say something about his horrible, relaxed posture. Luckily for them, Forensics could be taken by people of different grade levels. And even luckier for the students, England was taking the same course and had just walked into the classroom.

He eyed America distastefully, a scowl inadvertently settling on his handsome face. America looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Take off your ridiculous roller skates!" barked England. In response, America blew a massive bubble and popped it with an obnoxious snap. England growled, low in his throat, and America started to laugh.

"Dude, take a chill pill. You sound like a terrier or something."

"A what pill?"

"...Hey, you're a Brit!" America said delightedly. England rolled his eyes.

"Yes, fool. I am indeed 'a Brit'. It must have taken incredible powers of observation to figure that out."

Oblivious to sarcasm, America shook his head with his trademark smile. "No, it was the accent."

"Of course. The accent."

There was a period of silence in which America chewed his gum and regarded England thoughtfully.

"It's hot," Alfred said unexpectedly. England looked at him in confusion, causing America to smirk.

"The accent. It's hot. English accents turn me on."

England flushed bright red. "I-I-I must ask you to refrain from using such language in this school!" he snapped. America shrugged with a grin.

"Suit yourself," he said, turning to face the board. "Prude."

England looked away, putting a hand up to hide his blood red face. Third period could not come fast enough.

~PERIOD 3: Feliciano- Study Hall

Feliciano was flirting. He knew he wasn't supposed to, but he couldn't help it. He had met this really nice girl who liked pasta and was pretty enough, and he was chatting with her about this Panera bread shop near the apartment he shared with his 'family'. Suddenly, he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. He turned to look at the person, only to find an intimidating blond staring at him with blue eyes as cold as ice.

"No dating," he said sternly. Feliciano blinked up at him before breaking into a huge smile and grabbing the hand pressed threateningly to his neck. He held it in his two, much smaller hands and vigorously pumped it up and down.

"I'm Italy! North Italy! Feliciano Italy! You can call me Ita-chan!"

"...Excuse me, Italy," said the blonde, pointedly not using the nickname, "I must ask you to refrain from flirting. It can lead to dating, which is against school policy."

Italy's huge brown eyes widened. "But we just wanted to go to Panera. Have you ever been there? It's FANTASTIC!" the brunette gushed. "They have the cutest little sandwiches there, and the bread is delicious, and the SOUP is INCREDIBLE!" And just like that, the tiny Italian was off again.

"Italy. Italy. ITALY!" He bellowed. Finally, the petite nation stopped in midsentence, a pout forming over his childish features.

"You didn't call me 'Ita-chan'." He said, sticking out his bottom lip.

"Italy, please go sit down."

His brown eyes widened and tears began to well at the corners. "You don't want to call me Ita-chan? Does that mean you don't want to be my friend?"

"No, no!" Germany cried, waving his hands hastily. "Please don't cry!"

Italy still remained standing, pout stubbornly in place. "Call me Ita-chan."

Germany sighed, feeling a blush stain his cheeks. "I-Ita-chan," he managed to say, his face turning redder. "Please go sit down."

"Okay, Ger-chan!" Italy sang, skipping to his seat.

Ger-chan? Germany hoped to God THAT nickname didn't catch on.

PERIOD 4: Romano- Spanish

Romano was infuriated. He was always mad, but not always infuriated. Romano always had a penchant and a love for languages, and he knew how to fluently speak Italian, English, and Japanese. His current project was tackling Spanish, and Romano had been looking forward to this class as much as Romano can really look forward to anything, but now Romano was infuriated. What, you may ask, brought on this anger? What brought on the infuriation was the teacher's assistant- Spain. As in, the guy who's extremely handsome face Romano had bashed in with a frying pan during homeroom that morning. So, as you can imagine, Romano was less than pleased.

"What are you writing, Lovi?" Spain asked, leaning over Romano's shoulder to look at what Romano was writing. To his surprise, he saw a complete and meticulous notebook filled with Spanish and English translations. Romano snapped his head around, showing his face which was rapidly turning an interesting shade of scarlet, and shoved Spain away from his shoulder.

"Where did you hear that name?" he asked in a dangerously calm voice. Antonio, not catching the undercurrent to his words, smiled.

"Your brother called you that on stage. Remember?"

Lovino screwed up his face for a moment before he recalled. "Don't you dare call me that," he replied lamely.

"Por qué, amigo?" Spain whispered softly into his ear. Romano shivered and moved his chair away.

"Porque," snapped Romano, surprising the Spaniard again with his perfect pronunciation. "Mind your own business."

Spain began to smirk. "Your pronunciation is fantastic, Lovi…no," he said, adding the last part when he noticed Lovino's darkening expression. "You certainly have a talent for español."

"You certainly have a talent for pissing me off," retorted Lovino without batting an eyelash. Spain's smirk widened. For some reason, he found Romano's iciness adorable. He didn't understand it any more than that, but he looked at Romano's scowl, flushed face, and crossed arms and thought he had never seen anything cuter.

Meanwhile, Romano was thinking nothing similar, instead wishing his brother (or, more accurately, the frying pan in his backpack) was here. The period was still twenty-five more minutes, and Spain's complete inability to keep his hands to himself was starting to piss of Romano (not that pissing off Romano was difficult). He sighed and buried his head in his arms, uttering a muffled, frustrated 'Chigi' and wished his annoyingly hot upperclassman would just go away. Poor Romano didn't yet realize that there was basically no chance of that. When he did realize that, about fifteen minutes later, he retaliated by kicking Spain in the shin and glowered when the tanned student threw back his head and laughed.

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Translations:

Por qué, amigo? – Why, friend?

Porque –Because. Notice there's nothing above the 'e' in this one.

Español –Spanish (as in the language). Dora the Explorer, anyone?

Chigi –A sound South Italy makes. See Feliciano's 'Ve'.