A/N: I do not own Hetalia

Chapter 1: Kindergarten

It was the first day of Kindergarten, and Italy was nervous. Hungary had dropped him off, and insisted he leave his beloved stuffed cat with her when he went in the building. Italy straightened his backpack, and stepped through the door, following the teacher inside.

The classroom was pretty small, but it was full of other kids, and Italy was excited to meet them all. He put his backpack in his cubby, noticing his was the only one without a character on it, and that it was bigger than the other kids'. Slightly worried, he looked at the other backpacks again, and back at his. Austria had insisted on getting this backpack, because it would supposedly last him until college, whereas the other backpacks that Italy wanted would only last a year at most. Italy managed to find his seat (thank goodness Hungary had insisted on teaching him how to read his name!) and waited for class to start, shyly looking around at the other kids who seemed to already know each other. He noticed a kid he sorta knew, Holy Rome, and waved to him. Holy Rome returned the wave, but remained with the other blond boy he was sitting with. Slightly disappointed, Italy started looking around the room at all the cool things they would be able to do.

A few minutes later, the teacher came in and started class. Everyone introduced themselves, and told the class something about themselves. When it was Italy's turn, he grinned brightly, introduced himself, and declaired "I love pasta! Pasta is the best food in the world! I want to eat pasta every meal of the day" to which everyone giggled, thinking he was joking. Going red, he sat back down in his seat, waiting for the next kid to go. He looked over at Holy Rome, who looked slightly embarrassed and looked away. Puzzled, Italy started to think hard as to what may have caused the embarrassment, and nothing came to mind.

It was a few weeks into the school year, and Italy still hadn't found a friend, not for a lack of trying, though. He asked a bushy-browed blond boy with green eyes, Britain, Italy recalled, if they could be friends.

"Who'd want to be friends with you? You're weird, your backpack is weird, you don't have any cool toys, and you talk too much." He replied, turning back to a yet another blond, this time with blue eyes and glasses. "What do you think, America?" He asked. America shrugged, going back to their army men, whom they had started a mock war with. America's men were winning.

Italy blinked a few times, and tried to understand just what had been said. Was he really that weird? Grandpa Rome always said to be himself… and that people would like him for who he was. He saw two others, Sweden and Finland, if he remembered correctly, playing house. It seemed Sweden was the husband, and Finland the reluctant wife.

"May I join you?" Italy asked, stepping into the house area.

They didn't answer. Italy tried again.

"Can I play too? I will be anyone you want me to be!" Italy tried, beaming.

"No. We want to play alone." Sweden replied, shooting Italy a look.

Dejected, Italy left the playhouse, as Estonia went in.

"Estonia! Come join us!" Finland cried.

Italy's heart sank as he heard this.

'maybe Estonia was already playing with them before?' Italy thought, trying to remain positive.

The teacher then clapped her hands to gain the young countries' attention.

"We are going to have something special in the next few days! I have been talking with a local farmer, and he has agreed to let us have some eggs, and an incubater, and we can watch the eggs hatch!" she said, beaming at her young charges.

There was a lot of muttering from the students as the incubator was brought in, and the eggs were placed inside.

Several days later

Cracks were forming in the shells, and the students gathered around the incubator. Everyone was shuffling, bumping, and pushing to get a better view of the action. Italy took a shove to the shoulder, stumbled, and found himself in the back of the group, unable to see.

"wow! That is so cool! Look at how tiny they are!"

"They look… slimy."

"I wonder how hard it is to get out of the shell?"

"So now that we saw them hatch, let's let Mr. Farmer take care of them and clean them up, Ok? We can pet them after." The teacher said with a smile.

Italy was sad he didn't get to see the chicks hatch, but was excited about the prospect of getting to pet them later.

"The chicks are clean." Mr. Farmer said, allowing the children to gather around the incubator. Italy was near the front, so he waited patiently for his turn. As Mr. Farmer went to hand the chick to Italy, another student pushed in front of him. Italy backed down, fearing for the safety of the chick if he were to push back. He moved to another spot, and the teacher went to hand him a chick. Yet again, Italy was pushed aside.

This continued for another twenty minutes before the teacher announced that it was time for recess, then time to go home after that. Italy took one last look at the chicks as the teacher ushered the students out onto the playground. In his heart, Italy knew he would never get to hold one of the chicks. As this dawned on him, the tears started to fall. He just wanted to pet a chick, yet no one let him, and the teacher didn't notice that he didn't get a turn, while others got two even THREE turns. The chicks were gone the next day, back to the farm with Mr. Farmer.