Sorry to my loyal readers/reviewers for not getting this chapter out yesterday. Things have been kinda hectic at my house (my sis is graduating and my grandparents came up from Florida). I wasn't going to write this until things died down, and you have CoffeeSpazzumUSA (aka Kimi) to thank for me actually getting it out and up. Thanks for the inspiration, Kimi! I don't own Hetalia. Or the song I use later in the chapter (-doesn't want to ruin the surprise-) THE POLL IS STILL ON MY FRONT PAGE! VOTE IF YOU DON'T WANT TO LET YOUR SIDE PAIRING DREAMS DIE!

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Turning the World Upside Down

Chapter 5: Don't Trust a Ho

~PERIOD 5: England-Study Hall

England hated study halls. He didn't like just sitting and doing nothing, so he used his study halls to patrol the hallways like a British police officer. He would stop random students in the hall and demand to see their passes, or just generally glare at them and cause them to speed up dramatically to avoid his terrifying stare. Of course, the hallways were always in perfect order thanks to him. He heard a noise and made a face. Was some student talking during the middle of what should have been a quiet corridor? Wait. It wasn't a noise. It was... a song?

Black dress with the tights underneath

I've got the breath of a last cigarette on my teeth

And she's an actress, but she ain't got no need

She's got money from her parents in a trust fund back east

England looked around in utter confusion, trying to find the source of the noise. He figured it was probably an obnoxiously loud IPod until he saw America zoom past him and his jaw literally dropped. The loudmouthed blond was wearing a black suit with the jacket unbuttoned and a bright red tie loosely hanging around his neck. He was wearing his roller blades per usual and the small glasses that usually rested on the bridge of his nose were replaced by reflective black sunglasses-probably prescription, as America wasn't crashing into lockers or tripping on janitors. As the final touch, he had a large black boom box resting precariously on his right shoulder and he was holding it in place with his right hand. The stereo was the source of the distasteful music blaring through the hallways, and America was grinning like a madman and singing along to all the words.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" bellowed England, running after America and barely keeping pace with the other student's roller blades. America's smile only widened and he pointed to England as he sang the next words.

You tell your boyfriend,

If he says he's got beef,

That I'm a vegetarian and I ain't fucking scared of him!

Somehow, England just knew that America was winking. He didn't have any clue how he knew, as all England could see in America's sunglasses was his own, aggravated, slightly flushed face.

"WHAT CLASS ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO BE IN?" He yelled over the music, ignoring the last song verse America had dedicated to him. At least, he tried to ignore it. His embarrassed face said otherwise.

America's grin faded as a look of consideration came onto his handsome face (England did NOT just call America's face handsome. He meant stupid. Or cocky. Yeah, cocky. That works). "ALGEBRA TWO!" He shouted back, finally remembering. England squelched his look of surprise. Most sophomores took Geometry. If America was taking Algebra Two already, that meant that the overconfident moron was apparently in accelerated math. Interesting.

"THEN WHY AREN'T YOU THERE?" America looked at him like he was stupid.

"BECAUSE I'M CUTTING CLASS!" He said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. England smacked himself in the face, still managing to barely keep up with America.

"WHY DID YOU DO THAT? DOESN'T IT HURT?" America cried, giving the smaller blond a pitying look. England growled, grabbed America by his tie so that he stopped short, and ripped the boom box out of his hands. He then proceeded to smash it on the ground multiple times until it broke. America stood there in a slightly disturbed silence until England, panting slightly, dusted off his hands and turned his green-eyed glare to the suit-wearing teen.

"You know, you'll probably be one of those kids who bottles up his anger and comes into school on the last day with a shotgun and blasts out the brains of people he hates," America remarked candidly. England chose to ignore this.

"Would you care to explain to me why exactly you were skipping class to do... whatever the hell you were just doing?"

America shrugged. "Because. It was awesome."

"...Excuse me?"

"It was awesome. And I'm awesome. So I figured I may as well go for it, y'know?"

"No. No I don't know." England snapped. America grinned annoyingly and ruffled England's hair, which only served to piss him off further.

"Where did you even get the IDEA for this insanity?"

America scratched his head, pondering. "It just... I don't know...CAME to me. Roller blades are awesome. Suits are awesome. Rap music is awesome. Sunglasses are awesome. And I'm VERY awesome. So I figured it was a match made in heaven!" His cocky grin came back on. England whacked him on the head.

"Get to class," he snarled, ignoring America's dramatic and wounded look. America realized that England wasn't acting sorry or sympathetic at all, so he dropped the expression for his typical one.

"Very well. See you later, Britboy!" he retaliated, grinning victoriously when he saw England's face blush brick red in his rage. He turned on his heel and sped down the hallway, taking out several freshmen in his attempt to get out of the way before the dam broke.

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING BRITBOY, YOU DAMN PSYCHOPATH?!"

"BY THE WAY," America yelled back, "YOU'RE CUTE WHEN YOU'RE MAD!"

England swore to himself. For some reason, he had a feeling that America was smirking. He growled and took out his rage on the poor freshmen knocked down by America's over-the-top escape. And all the while, he was cursing that loudmouthed, overconfident idiot with the messy blond hair and the gorgeous sapphire eyes.

~PERIOD 6: Germany- Psychology

Germany lived with Prussia, so he was used to misery. Every day, his obnoxious older brother would trample on his last nerve. He would come home to find that, while looking for a DVD or CD, Prussia had completely trashed Germany's neat-as-a-pin room. Or he would find all the food in the fridge had been mixed into a blender and been consumed in what Prussia called a "Refrigerator Smoothie". There was even the time that Prussia's pet Tarantulas named Killer and Dismemberment (a male and female, respectively) had gotten out of their glass cage and decided to lay 1,400 eggs inside the toilet- a mess Germany had to clean up because Prussia was away for the summer at Soccer camp. So Germany was used to hating his life. Why exactly did he feel more like killing himself right now then he ever had before?

He was doing an interview for his Psychology class, and they were in groups of three. The other two in poor Germany's group were Feliciano Vargas, everyone's favorite scatterbrain, and Francis Bonnefoy, nobody's favorite pervert. Francis was hitting on Feliciano, which was normal. He put one arm around Italy's shoulder and said something in a low voice, causing Feliciano to giggle. Francis did this all the time, Ludwig knew that. So why couldn't he stop gritting his teeth and imagining ripping France's hair out, one fistful at a time?

"Can we please start on the interview?" Germany ground out. Both France and Italy turned to look at him. Germany tried to ignore the way his stomach flipped at Feliciano's warm brown eyes, the color of melted chocolate.

"Okay, Ger-chan!" Ignoring Germany's wince, Feliciano babbled on. "Who wants to ask first?"

"I will," Francis said with an admittedly hot smirk. "Boxers or briefs, Feliciano?" Germany smacked France sharply on the head, knowing that wasn't one of the questions. France just laughed. "Kidding! Jeez, Germany. Don't get your lederhosen in a twist." But both shut up and stared when Feliciano opened his mouth again.

"Boxers," he said innocently without the slightest trace of hesitation. "What's the next question?" Germany felt his face blush a tomato-red and he looked away, pointedly refusing to look at Feliciano's naive and confused face and France, who was biting his lip to stop from laughing out loud.

"What? Why won't you look at me, Ger-chan?" whined Feliciano, tugging on Germany's blue jacket (part of the uniform) and creasing it slightly. "What did I dooooo?"

Germany just let out a strangled sound and slammed his head on the desk. This was going to be a looong year.

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For those of you who don't know, 'Dismemberment' is ripping someone limb from limb. Wow, Prussia. That's a tad creepy o_o