It's Not Over (RusAme Story)

Chapter 21- Deal

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

~America's POV~

I sit in UN's office, regretting my decision, but at the same time not. The satisfaction I had gotten while watching Russia's face go through five different emotions was amazing, but the laughter that had resounded throughout the classroom afterwards had been even better.

Too bad it was cut short by the teacher. And Russia's unbridled rage, of course.

It's kind of hypocritical how he made me wear his bear-sized jersey but flipped out when his phone started ringing with the "Cotton Eye Joe," song. I guess it wasn't made better when I had gotten up and started dancing to it though.

I huffed. Ireland had seemed to think it was funny. It seemed like he was the only other country in this school that understood humor at its finest, even if he did have a few personality flaws. Like convincing me to do things I shouldn't.

A heavy exhale of breath was released from beside me, and I was reminded of Russia's unwelcome presence.

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, noticing how tense his shoulders were, probably from trying his hardest not to attack me. The only thing that's holding him back is the knowledge that if he does, UN will tell our dads. Kinda funny how he agreed to the project to annoy me but it ended up backfiring on him.

Good. I don't want him to be happy right now.

He crosses his arms, and I unconsciously notice the corded muscle flexing through them. I bite my lip and glare at the top of the flaky bulletin board behind UN's desk in an attempt to distract myself.

Right now, I'd rather look anywhere but at Russia.

~Russia's POV~

"Why'd you do it?" I ask bitterly, my voice shattering the silent tension in the room.

America's position is completely relaxed, her gaze focused upon the top of the bulletin board as if she doesn't give a crap about my existence. She doesn't even bother to shrug when she responds. "Why not?"

I glare incredulously at the side of her face. "What do you mean, why not? You just did it for no reason?"

Why would she randomly decide to be a bitch? I fight down the urge to curse at her, impatiently waiting for her response.

She seems to notice my rage, but she basks in it, picking lazily at her fingers. Nonchalance is written across her features in droves, which only exists to aggravate me further.

She slides her eyes up to mine in one motion, capturing my attention in her unrelenting gaze. I suck in a breath despite myself, finding myself intrigued in an expression that I've never seen upon her before.

Her cerulean eyes are cold and devoid of any emotion when she responds. "Yeah," she breathes.

"You really don't know when to stop, do you?" I shoot at her, venom lacing my voice.

Anger sizzles through my veins. She called my phone with the "Cotton Eye Joe," song, which she knows I hate because it's a capitalist thing, and had gotten up and started dancing to it all for her own pleasure?

No, she had to be mad at me for something. She wouldn't risk aggravating me like this unless she was actually pissed. Wait... could it be?

Her voice, unusually aloof, interrupted my thoughts. "Nope." Her focus had returned back to her nails, her gaze unbothered.

Suddenly I was painfully aware of the way her slim figure was slumped against the chair, giving her the illusion of a dangerous rebel. Her dark sunglasses were once again covering her eyes, giving her an air of cool indifference. Her golden hair fell neatly over her shoulders, contrasting vividly against the coal black of her beanie. She was sporting a fleeced army green bomber jacket, black jeans with rips in the knees, and maroon converse high tops with bright white laces.