Hello, world. Thank you for reading (or at least demonstrating a possible interest in) my story. I really appreciate it, and hope you enjoy.

I suppose it should go without saying, but I don't own Hetalia. Many tears have been shed over this sad state of events, I assure you.

Reason 1: Substitute teachers aren't used to the way the class does things. Either they do things completely different from how things are usually done, thus providing a break from routine, or else they let things happen the way they're supposed to happen, and then loudly disapprove, thus providing entertainment for the class and a delay of the learning process.

Chapter 1

Weasels in Tanks and Jelly for the Nation

"You're never gonna guess what I'm doing today."

The eye roll was nearly audible over the phone line. "I'm quite sure I don't want to know what you're doing today, but since you're not going to leave me alone until I do, and since you've already established that I'm not going to guess, just tell me so we can get this over with."

"I'm totally substitute teaching!"

England was silent for several seconds. "You're what?" he exclaimed.

"Substitute teaching," America repeated. "Okay, you know how the lady down the street from my house teaches at the middle school a couple blocks away?"

"Why would I know that?"

America shrugged. "I dunno. But she does, and she's sick, so I'm taking her place. It's too last-minute for them to find a sub, plus the flu's going around so most of the usual subs are already busy, and she asked me to do it. Just for the day, until they find someone with more experience."

There were several more seconds of silence before England was able to formulate a response. "You're going to scar the kids for life."

"I'm not gonna screw up the kids by teaching them for one day! It'll be fine."

England sighed, clearly not believing it for a second. "Well, it's not a high school, so at least you probably won't be trying to teach kids who know more than you do."

"Shut up," America snapped. "I'll be fine. I'll even call you at the end of the day so the kids can tell you that everything's fine and that I'm the awesomest substitute teacher ever."

"I can't wait for that," England muttered sarcastically as America hung up on him.

The students in Mrs. Foster's fifth grade class were pleasantly surprised when they entered the classroom to find a substitute in place of their beloved teacher (read: victim), Mrs. Foster. After all, tormenting a teacher, while always an enjoyable activity, has nothing on tormenting a substitute who has never been to teacher school and has thus has never received instruction on how to deal with a class full of behavior problems. Substitutes also are limited in what they can do to discipline students, and have not had all year to learn the dos and don'ts of dealing with the class.

The students took their seats as the bell rang, not that anyone could hear the bell properly over the talking. The vast majority of them were nudging their friends, pointing at the substitute and whispering, and grinning the evil grin most commonly seen on the first of April or while watching someone who's about to set off an elaborate and brilliant practical joke. The students of room 304 were the terror of the school system and they knew it. No teacher had managed to finish a full lesson plan with them before. No substitute teacher had managed to last until lunch time without summoning the administration at least once, let alone gotten through more than half of the lesson plan (and that was only if they cut corners and left out some steps in order to get as far through the lesson plan as possible). Class 304 was thus far undefeated, and it looked to them as if it would be staying that way.

America had other plans.

"Hey, guys," he said, grabbing a blue marker and writing his human name on the whiteboard. Alfred F. Jones. He turned to face the class, and grinned. "Your teacher had to stay home today because she's got the flu, so I'm your teacher today. I'm kinda new at this, but that's okay because this is gonna be the best class ever!"

Several of the students rolled their eyes. Several others outright laughed. America was not fazed in the slightest.

"My name's Alfred F. Jones. Or, you know, Mr. Jones, since that's how adult names work in school. So, um, let's see. First things first: taking attendance." America went off in search of the attendance chart, and located it after a brief search through the black hole that was the teacher's desk. However, before he could begin calling out names, the intercom crackled to life.

"Good morning students," the principal's voice said. "Please stand for the Pledge of Allegiance."

America's face lit up, and he spun wildly, searching the room for the American flag before realizing that it was right above his head. He stepped out from under it and stood facing the flag, right hand on his heart. The students put their right hands on their hearts as well, although with much less enthusiasm than their Nation had.

The principal recited the pledge in a droning "I've said this every day of my career, and it's getting old" voice, and the students said, or rather mumbled, the familiar words along with him.

"I pledge allegiance" (or rather, I pledge jelly-jance) "to the flag…of the UnitedStatesofAmerica. And to the republik…for witchit stands…One nation…under God…indivisible" (or, as several students said, invisible) "with liberty and justiceforall."

America was not impressed by the students' less-than-enthusiastic recitation of the pledge, but tactfully remained silent until the principal had finished announcing that chorus practice was cancelled for the day, that someone named Hailey Jackson had won the school's essay contest, and that the cafeteria would be serving chicken tenders at lunchtime. The principal then instructed everyone to have a good day, and with a brief crackle of static, the intercom fell silent once more.

Now America turned to the class. "So, who wants to tell me what everyone just recited?"

The class looked at him in confusion. Clearly this was a trick question. "The Pledge of Allegiance?" one girl guessed.

"Yes. The Pledge of Allegiance. Now, can someone recite it for me?"

The students looked at each other. "But it's not social studies time yet," a redheaded boy protested.

"No it's not," America agreed. "What's your name?"

"George Washington," the boy replied promptly. The class snickered.

"Cool name. So, Mr. Washington, please recite the pledge of allegiance for me," America said without missing a beat.

"Um…I pledge allegiance to the flag—" the boy began, confused by the lack of response. Normally the George Washington thing would have a substitute annoyed, flustered, or possibly even outright angry.

"Stop!" America interrupted suddenly. "You pledge…what? Because it sounded like you said jelly. Like, you're pledging your jelly's allegiance or something, and that's just weird. What does your country want with your jelly?" He paused, and considered this. "I mean, I guess the country might really, really want a sandwich or something..." and now that America thought about it, he kind of did want a sandwich, but now wasn't the time for that… "But I don't see why we'd have to say that every day, and peanut butter is more important to sandwiches anyway. You can't make a proper sandwich with just jelly. Well, you can, it's just not as good. But whatever, we're promising jelly to our country! Now what? You pledge your jelly to the flag of the UnitedStatesofAmerica. All one word. And to the republic, only it's pronounced with more of a k than a c, so we all suddenly have an accent or something. To the republik for witchit stands. What's a witchit? Isn't that a breed of dog?"

"Um…the dog is a whippet," the student claiming to be George Washington said.

"Well that's a violent sounding name," America said, startled, as if he had seriously never heard the proper name of the breed before. He had heard it before, during that national dog show they showed every Thanksgiving, but that was always background noise while he made turkey, so he had never paid much attention to it. "Why would they name the dog that?"

Several of the students snickered.

"So then what is a witchit?" America asked.

"It sort of sounds like a type of ferret or a weasel or something," George Washington offered.

"So now we're pledging jelly to the country that's got weasels that stand for it. Like, what? Are they doing tricks? Or are we saying that our national symbol is some kind of weasel?"

"No, the weasels are defending our country. Like, making a stand!" a girl in the back called. Several students laughed. So did America. The Pledge of Jelly was getting better and better.

"Thank you. Now we've got weasels in tanks. That can't possibly go wrong. So, moving on, one nation, under God, invisible, with liberty and justiceforall. What's wrong with this picture?" He pointed to a student at random.

"Um…" the boy said. "We've got weasels driving tanks? And they're not tall enough to reach the pedals?"

"Well, that is a problem," America conceded. "Especially if we want to fight a war. But here's a bigger problem: America isn't invisible! Canada might be, but America sure isn't! This is, like, the most un-invisible country in the world! Why are we pledging jelly to an invisible country with weasels driving tanks? We're not! We're pledging our allegiance, our loyalty, to the flag of this country, and to the republic the flag stands for. One nation, under God, indivisible, like as in united, not invisible. With liberty and justice for all! We're pledging our loyalty to our country, okay? That's, like, a big thing. Maybe next time we could try saying it clearly enough that the country doesn't think we're promising it jelly? That sound good to you guys?"

A few students nodded, but most were too busy snickering about weasels.

"Good. And now, attendance. George Washington, I do not see your name on here. What does the attendance chart want me to call you?"

"Tristan Collins," George Washington said, looking rather put-out by America's complete lack of reaction to his fake name. America didn't seem to notice, and instead simply marked him present, then called out the other students' names to mark down their presence, or lack thereof.

"Okay," he announced when he finished. "George-slash-Tristan Washington-Collins, please take this to the office so they don't send out a search party. Everyone else…um…" he trailed off and consulted the lesson plan again. "Everyone else, take out your math books." America paused and looked at the lesson plan again, as if he expected it to have changed in the time it took to say that. "Ugh, you guys have math first? Isn't that a war crime? I'm calling Switzerland—um, I'm calling my friend in Switzerland—and asking him to look it up."

America pulled out his cell phone, and several students snickered. They stopped when he dialed a number and they realized that he was actually serious.

"Hey, Vash, you know about all the Geneva conventiony stuff. It's a war crime to make someone take math class first thing in the morning, isn't it?"

"America, what on Earth are you doing?" Switzerland demanded.

"Substitute teaching."

There were several seconds of silence, during which time Switzerland tried to come up with an adequate response. He finally succeeded. The response in question was a slight click as he hung up the phone.

"He hung up on me!" America exclaimed, sounding scandalized.

"Did you seriously call someone and ask that?" one of the girls asked incredulously.

"Well…yeah. Of course. If it's not a war crime, it totally should be. Someone needs to know about this. But in the meantime, I guess we have to go along with it. So…math books. Let's get this over with."

So, that was the first chapter. I hope you enjoyed it.

I have to give credit where credit is due: I did not come up with the Pledge of Allegiance thing on my own. My sister and I came up with it on the way home from school last year. Clearly there was a mix-up and we were sent somebody else's plot bunny. But it was so cute, looking at me with its big, sad eyes (do bunnies have big, sad eyes? I've never looked...) that I couldn't possibly just leave it out in the cold, so, with my sister's permission, I adopted it as my own, and now here it is on my desk, nibbling at the corner of my English 102 paper. I hope whoever got sent the darker and edgier plot bunny my sister and I were supposed to recieve is having fun with it.

Anyway, I'm going to try and update this with something resembling reasonable frequency, but don't expect anything more until next week at the earliest, for I shall be vanquishing the ancient evil known as Finals Week, which rises up at the end of every semester to slaughter innocent grade point averages, devour countless hours of sleep, and force students everywhere to consume quantities of coffee that some might consider dangerous (or in my case, dangerous quantities of tea). Wish me luck!