Chapter 2 - That Damn Ringtone

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"Latvia, can I talk for a second?"

Latvia had begun to make her way to the exit, to the door of the classroom when the larger Slavic teacher called her over. 

"Hm?" Her head tilted to the side in confusion as Russia sighed, albeit not terribly dismissively or angrily, more of a "this is life" kind of sigh.

"How's дочь doing? Is she okay?" The Russian interrogated her, keeping his calm, cool attitude as he engaged his student. 

"Baltkrievija? She's okay." (Baltkrievija-Belarus)

"I wanted to keep eye on her, because maybe, she will want to join math club. She is good with math."

"Baltkrievija never told me that. Paldies," Latvia was very fascinated by this new kind of information she had never gotten out of Belarus. She was not told that Belarus was good with math. (Paldies-Thanks)

"She is shy person. She made it to finals last school."

"No? She told me yesterday about summer and about a girl named Britain."

"Britain? She is my ex-wife. What did she tell you-nevermind. Enjoy."

Latvia was about to head to the door when Russia stopped her and asked her to continue the story.

"She talked about how Britain and her new husband were doing fun new things, last week she said they go to cave. She said new husband name is France."

"Cave? France? Interesting. Okay, bye, оставайся умным!" (оставайся умным-ostavaysya umnym-stay smart)

The Latvian made her way out of the classroom as the Russian got up from his seat as well, stretching his back out a bit before meeting up with his friend, America, on the stairs. 

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"You're not spying on Belarus, are you?" America simply chuckled a bit as he leaned against the railing, crossing his arms in front of him as he was speaking to his friend. 

America was the guidance counselor, and he was such an unhinged fireball of emotion. One second he could as happy and light as a daisy, and then immediately turn to full rage and terror as soon as you pushed him over the edge. But, he always stayed loyal, and he couldn't have been any better of a friend to Russia. 

"I have to keep track of her," The Slavic man could only pull his hands to his eyes as he rubbed them a bit, leaning his head against the pole in the same way America did.

"Yeah. Wow, do people still dance the floss? Wow, are we so out of touch?" The American went off on his usual slander. It was all American talk that Russia could barely understand, let alone, keep track of. 

"Ah fuck! Muscle cramp, leg cramp, charley horse, ow!" The American suddenly cried out in pain as he went down to his leg, forcing himself off the railing as he began massaging his leg, pulling down on his muscles in order to help him get rid of his spasm.

"This is what happens when you eat too much fast food, Ameri," Russia took the opportunity to scold his friend a bit at his lusciously unhealthy lifestyle. Yes, he ate a lot of fast food.

"You drink multiple bottles of vodka every day, Ruski, how are you any better?" The American continued to massage his leg.

"I'm trying to cut down. It was my отец's fault and he passed genes on to me." (отец-otets-father) 

The man shrugged it off. And then a familiar song came playing right into his right ear. It was a song that he had been hearing insufferably for only a few days. And yet the lyrics, the chorus, everything was embedded into his head.

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