Prologue: Beginnings

Matthew Williams was determined to get noticed this year.

It was his first day of grade eleven, and he felt there couldn't be a better time for a change. Yesterday, the last day of summer vacation, his older brother Alfred had confided in him his intention to run for Student President – and win. Matt had no doubt that his brother would succeed, and for that reason he knew he could not remain the bland, invisible Canadian any longer – it was either catch up or get left behind.

"Hey!" A familiar voice snapped Matthew out of his musings. He turned around to find his Polish friend, Feliks, running to him through the crowded foyer. "Hey, Matt! Like, long time, no see!"

The two blonds hugged. Feliks was one of the few who always seemed to notice him, although the Canadian hadn't seen him nearly all summer. "Hey, what's up?"

"Not much," Feliks said, fishing a pack of gum from his purse and popping a stick in his mouth. "Have you, like, found out whose homeroom we're in this year?"

Matt shook his head. "No, but let's go see, eh?"

They navigated their way through the crowd to reach the homeroom listings, pinned on the wall. Matthew felt his heart skip a beat when he read the name Gilbert Weillschmidt – his crush since ninth grade – above his name; he didn't even bother to check if he was in a class with anyone else he knew. Feliks pouted to see their names filed under different teachers.

"Like, what a bummer," he said. He smacked on his gum and turned back to the Canadian. "Whatever. The assembly should be starting in, like, five minutes. Let's go, OK?"

Matthew nodded, and followed his friend through the school hallways to the auditorium. Secretly, he was glad that he was in a different homeroom than Feliks; not because he disliked him – he liked him well enough – but because of the fact that it might force him to make new friends.

And that might be just what he needed.

The two boys walked through the rows of seats, trying not to trip over anyone's sneakers. Other students had already begun filing in before them, quickly filling up the chairs. Matthew nearly toppled over after tripping on someone's book bag, and Feliks grabbed his hand, not noticing the embarrassed flush on his cheeks. He led him up the aisle, towards another boy sitting in the top row.

"Like, hey Toris," he said, waving towards the brunet. Toris waved back, and Feliks dropped into a seat on his right, to the left of another student. Matt looked around for a second before taking the chair to Toris' left, one of the few empty seats in the whole top row.

The Polish one began chattering excitedly to Toris, and Matt found he couldn't get a word in edgewise, as much as he wanted. So far, Toris seemed oblivious to his presence. Scanning the room, the Canadian found Ismael climbing up the steps, gripping his book bag with one hand. He waved to him, trying to get his attention.

"Yo, Ismael, over here, eh!"

The Cuban looked up. As soon as he locked eyes with the boy, a fiery expression flashed across his face, and he dropped his bag. He charged up the aisle, heavy boots clomping on the stairs. Matthew squeaked.

"Jones!" he roared, brandishing a fist. "I oughta kill you!"

Matt moved to defend himself, but it was too late. Ismael had punched him in the face. His glasses shattered into his lap, a few pieces dangling off the bent frame. Ismael opened his mouth to say something else, but Feliks had noticed the commotion and beat him to it.

"Oh, that is SO not cool!" he said, glaring at the Cuban. He stood up and swung his purse around. Toris raised an eyebrow at him. "You seriously just punched Matt! Like, oh my gosh!"

"M-Matt?" Ismael's arms fell to his sides as he watched the Canadian gather up the shards of his spectacles. Feliks gave a curt nod and sat back down.

"Duh! Who else would it be!? Now apologize!"

Matthew began to protest, saying that it wasn't necessary, he was used to it, but Ismael cut him off.

"Oh God, I thought you were Alfred, Matt! I'm so sorry. Here, let me help with that . . . " Ismael took the glass fragments out of his hands and walked away, presumably to find a garbage can. After he returned – picking up his book bag on the way – he offered to give the Canadian money to pay for a replacement, but he refused.

This is why I need to get noticed, he thought. Then I wouldn't get mistaken for my brother . . .

Ismael dropped into the seat next to him as the principal, Mr. Rome, took the stage. Matthew squinted; everything was so blurry. Well, that didn't matter – he only needed to hear him. The principal shushed the students, beginning his address with his excitable shouted greeting, yelling about how glad he was to see them all again. Matt looked towards the source of the sound, even if he couldn't see him, as every other pair of eyes were trained on the enigmatic teacher – all except one.

Matthew didn't notice the one pair of red eyes looking straight at him.

Everyone began walking – actually, more like stampeding – out of the auditorium after Mr. Rome finished his lengthy speech. They would all be late to their first class if they didn't hurry. Matthew held on to Feliks' arm as they descended the stairs, trying to avoid death by trampling.

"Are you sure you'll be, like, OK?" Feliks said, leading him down the aisle and out of harm. Toris glanced at the Polish one, looking worried. Was Feliks talking to himself again?

"Yeah, I'll be fine." Matt turned to smile at him, but ended up grinning at the wall instead. "What are you doing after school?"

"Um, Matt?" The trio paused at the foot of the stairs, and Feliks gave Matthew a light tug on the ear. He whipped around to face him blindly. "I'm over here."

"I'm sorry! I just can't – without my glasses – I'm sorry!"

Feliks made a noise of amusement and adjusted his purse straps. "Matt, like, shut up. It's OK. Anywho, after school me an' Liet are - "

"Uh, Feliks?" 'Liet' shifted, studying his friend uncertainly. "Who are you talking to?"

"Matt, duh!" Feliks sighed and flicked the brunet lightly on the nose, smiling through his annoyance. Why was everyone so clueless? "Pay attention!"

"Matt?" Toris looked to his side and finally seemed to notice the boy standing there. His eyes lit up with recognition. "O-oh! Matthew, hi!"

"Hi, Toris," Matthew replied, still holding tight to Feliks' arm and staring off in the wrong direction again.

"Like I was saying," Feliks cut in, flipping his hair over his shoulder. Most of the students had left by now. "Me and Liet are, like, going to see if they're accepting sign-ups for, like, those clubs Sir mentioned, after school. You can totally come with us if you want, it'll be fab, I'm, like, so going in the Fashion Club . . . "

"Actually - " Toris interrupted, staring at his feet. "Feliks, there is no fashion club . . . "

"Well, whatever. I'll just make one. Liet is, like, going in karate or something - "

"Judo," the Lithuanian corrected.

"Right. Well, we'll see when we get there." The bell rang, and the three looked up.

"We'd better get to class," Toris said.

Feliks nodded, and turned back to Matthew. "We'll, like, help you get to class. Right, Liet?" Toris met his eyes and assented, and the Polish one turned back to Matt with a cheeky grin – not like he could see it. "Since you're so helpless without us, seriously. C'mon . . . "

They guided him out of the auditorium, Feliks chattering about skirts and shoes all the way. Matthew didn't think he needed all that assistance – he wasn't completely blind, after all. On the other hand, he didn't want to fall down the stairwell and break his neck on his first day back. Granted, that was one way to get people to notice him, but it wasn't exactly the most preferable method. Before too long, the group had stopped in front of the Canadian's homeroom class, and he was snapped out of his thoughts.

"We'll see you after school, I guess," Toris said, watching as Matthew felt around for the door frame.

"Yeah," Feliks piped up before the Canadian could respond. He swallowed his gum. "And you're so going in the Fashion Club with me, Matt!"

"I dunno about the fashion club, but I'll see you guys later," Matt said, smiling. He walked into the class. "'Bye!"

Clubs – why didn't he think of that before? He could join one or two that interested him and make some new friends. Then people would start recognizing him! It might not work, but it was worth a try. He made his decision as he settled in to an empty seat. Maybe joining one of those clubs – other than Feliks' fashion club – wouldn't be such a bad idea.

A/N: Yes, it's a high school AU. I know, I know, they're so cliche. But I love them. And there can never be too much PruCan either. By the way, Prussia will make an appearance in the next chapter. But I got a feeling people are gonna be angry at what he's gonna do to Mattie . . .

This is totally random, but if there's ever a live-action Hetalia (God forbid) I think Poland should be portrayed by Chris Crocker. WHO'S WITH ME?

Oh, I think I should give some information about the pairings that will be represented in this story. They are: S. Italy/Canada, Prussia/Canada, Spain/Switzerland, Spain/S. Italy, America/Lithuania, Germany/Italy (or is it Italy/Germany?), Ancient Rome/Ancient Greece, and possibly more (minor) ones. As you can see, there is a healthy amount of crack in this story :P

That's it. Please leave your thoughts if you feel so inclined :D Peace!