"Uhh, France, what are you doing here?" America asked as he peered into his kitchen.

Seated at the table was his older brother, and a very annoyed looking Shelby. "Ah, America! I am reteaching Shelby her native tongue. I know if she hears it enough, she'll remember when she used to speak it." He explained. Shelby looked eyes with Alfred, begging him to get her out of this. She couldn't speak French, and never has been able to, but if she told France that, he might get suspicious that she's a mortal as well.

"Shelby, please tell me what this says." He says, sliding her a card.

She reads it carefully, racking her brain for context clues. "Hello, I am Michigan?"

"Parfait! Can you read it to me?" Francis beamed.

"Err... Bonjour, jay sues Michigan."

"No no, it's pronounced 'Bonjour j-uh svie Michigun." He corrected.

"Michigan." She muttered.

He sighed. "Trying say this." He passed her another card.

"Eerr, Lah France est millure qué la Angeltear."

"Non! La France est meilleure que l'Angleterre!" France shouted. "There is no Spanish in French, what is wrong with you?" France snapped. He took a deep breath. "Okay. One. More."

He slid the note to Shelby. "La Amerikaite est la more de mah vie?"

"L'Amérique est l'amour de ma vie." France sighed. "This is so disappointing. I thought there was a chance you would remember your French heritage."

Shelby shrugged. "Well, I'm only like, 5% French."

France paused. "Excuse me?"

Shelby blinked in confusion. "What?"

"You cannot be 5% French. I founded you." France stated, his lavender eyes narrowing.

Shelby looked at America in alarm, then back to France, then back to America.

Then she booked it out of the room.

"MICHIGAN!"