Prove You Wrong

It Started In the Summer: Part 2

    Both boys began too slow down to a slow pace when they began to approach their lockers, and when both felt they've reach a reasonable distance from the dangerous Russian student. A tense silence hung in in the air between them, in an attempt to exterminate it, the Prussian spoke first.

   "Zhat was cool and all, but jou do realize jou're going to have to look behind jour back for the rest of the day, right?" A nervous smirk formed on Gilbert's face as he looked at his panicked American friend. 

    "Yeah...Dude, I'm almost starting to regret my choices. Dude, if I don't come back from science at the end of the day, call the police and tell them to start the search party for me. Kay, bro?" Jones said, semi jokingly, with a nervous grin of his own. 

      Gilbert patted his American friend in the back harshly, boldness returning. "Kesese ~ Sure! But should I say to search for a blond teen or a corpse?" Gilbert asked sarcastically. "With my luck; ashes." Alfred laughed.

       Entering his combination, and giving the jammed locker one punch, Alfred opened it with not so much ease.  "Damn, I hate the locks on this floor. They're so darn stubborn. You can't imagine how many tardies I've got just because of this metal of trash," Alfred ranted. "Ha! Take a look at my attendence and that vill make jou feel better." Gilbert said with a smug smirk. 

   "Anyways, look at the bright side. This vill be the last time jou look at it, ja?"  Gilbert reassured the American. "Mhmm," Alfred nodded, slamming the locker close. "Vell, we best be going to the locker room." Gilbert sighed. Alfred's demeanor dimmed at those words. He was so prepared to burst out those front doors that he forgot momentarily of the hell that stood in between him and freedom. "Ya, let's go." He said woefully.

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  Now, it wasn't necessarily blonde hated sports, he had a abnormal amount of strength for his age, and had relentless amount of energy. But unfortunately he rarely ever got to show it out because of some 'minor' insecurities. And there no better place to force him to exposes those insecurities like the boys' locker room. 

  Alfred hated having to strip down in front of the other boys who mostly where in great shape or thin, making him stick out like a sore thumb. An ostrich among peacocks, for a lack of a better metaphor. Maybe he wouldn't have minded the locker room so much if it weren't for that time  back in freshmen year when that bastard Russian embarrassed him, and scared him for perhaps the rest of his high school years. 

It was still fresh in his mind, even though it happen almost two years ago. The boys had just come back from a game of dodge ball.  It was down to Alfred and Ivan still competing, like always. They would turn almost anything into a competition, even who could color the quickest back in the third grade. Exactly when the animosity between them began is something Alfred can't  pinpoint exactly, but that doesn't make him hate him any less. Competition between them was well known among many, some even claim this went back since the first grade. 

Anyways, point is, there was no way one would give up to the other easily. 

Alfred remembers the both of the shooting red balls of flames at each other, a heavy tension hung in the air. They both were throwing insults at one another, but that was the norm anyways. Alfred threw two balls at the same time, one landing on the ground close to Ivan. (Remember this, it'll be important in a second.) The other one flew right at him, but being the graceful swan he is, (Yeah that's right, one time when Alfred was 7 he and his mom went to pick up his brother Matthew form hockey practice and came across a shocking sight of Ivan in tights with his sisters. He never felt more haunted and joyous in the same time. He hadn't let Ivan live it down since then.) dodge quickly, only the slip on the ball that was by him. Still, ever so graceful, he manage to regain his footing in about five seconds, but that was enough time for Alfred to pick up a ball and throw it right at his shoulder; taking him out of the game.