Francis: Enjoy!
Gilbert: Son of a Biatch hit me with an alarm clock!
Spain: (Rolling on the floor laughing)
Beginning
From The Journal Of Francis Bonnefoy
1st entry
Dear new journal,
My name is Francis Bonnefoy. I am 13 and attending 8th grade at the Heta Academy for gifted students. One student is allowed in from each country. Curently 6th to 12th graders go here. There’s another school nearby for the college age represntitives from the countries. If you couldn’t tell from my name, I am the French representitive.
There is a representitive from each and every country, no matter how small. From Belerous to America, we have one from everywhere.
I have two best friends, Gilbert and Antonio, as well as many enemies like Arthur and Roderich. I may deserve their despise or I may not.
Gilbert is represtetive for East Germany, or as he insists we call it, The Former Prussian Empire, or Prussia for short. His ego is larger then the universe and his obsession with being called awesome can give you a headache.
Antonio is the represtitive of Spain. He’s very smiley and exited, with a love for pizza and tomatos. He sponsored a 6th grader, Romano, even though he’s in 8th. He has a seret sadistic side, that most people don’t see very often. Today was one of those many ocassions I wished I was one of many. But that’s a story for later.
Arthur, the British rep, hates me. He’s also got four older brothers (The Scottish, Welish, Irish, and N. Irish reps) and one younger (Sealand’s rep).
Roderich hates Gilbert, so by default he hates me. He’s the Austrian rep.
Now for the first important fight I got into with Antonio and Gilbert.
Roderich should have known better then to call Gilbert out, in front of a teacher, for his alcohol stash.
“Shut up, Roddy for I kick your ass.” He growled in the Austrian’s ear.
“Beer bitch.” I mumbled.
Antonio laughed. “Maybe, but we’ll get a good fight today.”
I’m not a big alcohol fan if you couldn’t tell. Maybe a sweet strawberry wine or some very weak beer.
That just happened to be when Mrs. Karpusi walked out of the language arts room.
“It’s not proper that an eigth grader has a stash of strong German beer under his bed.”
You’re in trouble now Roderich.
“Mr. Beilschmidt, come with me.” She beckoned.
Mr. Beilschmidt peeked out of the gym. “I assume you didn’t mean me?”
She growled, eye twitching. “No, not you.”
He sighed in relief before looking at his eldest son. “Good luck.” He ducked back into the gym. “You’re gonna need it.” He mumbled lowly.
After Gilbert got out of detention he paid the spy, A.K.A. Eliziveta, find out Roderich’s schedule.
Lang arts 1st
Music 2nd
Math 3rd
World History 4th
Lunch
