DISCLAIMER:
I don't own Beyblade: Metal Fight.
I was sitting on my blue waterbed, wiping down my hair with my towel and only wearing my fluffy white bathrobe, when my little brother, Isamu, burst into my bedroom, already dressed in his yellow T-shirt, brown shorts, and red trainers. His oversized blue baseball cap was placed sideways on his head, as always.
"Happy Birthday, Yumiko!" he screeched, jumping onto my bed.
"Isamu!" I yelled. "You know that you can't jump on my bed; you'll break it!" I lifted him off my mattress and set him on the carpeted floor.
My brother pouted. "AWWWW! But it's so fun!" He started to get onto the bed again.
"MOM!" I screamed. "Isamu's bothering me!" I scowled maliciously at my younger brother, who was staring at me innocently with wide violet eyes as he nibbled on the head of his stuffed cat.
I heard loud footsteps pounding up the staircase. My mother - Hikaru Hasama - burst in, her sky-blue locks still damp. She was wielding her comb in her right hand, hairdryer in right. She stuffed the comb into her jeans pocket and set the hairdryer onto my dresser. Her eyes - dark purple, like Isamu's - shined in the sunlight that filtered through the beaded curtains of my room.
"Yumiko," she said, gently prying the toy out of Isamu's hands. "Give him a break; he's only five."
Isamu nodded under his baseball cap and stuck his tongue out at me. I growled and bared my teeth at him. "There's no reason for him to barge in here while I'm getting dressed!" I hissed.
My mom sighed and sent me a somehow-affectionate glance. "You remind me so much of your father, Yumiko; you both have major anger issues. Of course, he could control his temper better than you could."
"Anger WHAT?" What the hell was that supposed to mean? I've met my dad; he's a nutcase. Not that that's a bad thing. He's actually kind of fun. And we're supposed to meet him today; after all, it is my thirteenth birthday.
"Anger tissues," Isamu said, probably trying to be helpful.
I whirled around to face him. I bet that my amber eyes were blazing like twin infernos. "I KNOW WHAT SHE SAID! AND BY THE WAY, IT'S 'ANGER ISSUES, stupid!'"
My brother shrank back to hide behind our mother's leg. "Y-Yumiko's being mean."
"Yumiko, seriously?" Mom snapped. "Can't there be a single day when you don't try to pick a fight with Isamu?"
"Yeaaaah!" Isamu said, sending me a triumphant glance. The little pest's always trying to annoy me.
"Brat," I muttered under my breath.
"Mommy!" the so-called "brat" yowled. "Yumiko called me a... a... B-R-A-T!" He smiled proudly and turned his gaze to our mom, the golden flecks in his eyes standing out vividly as it contrasted with dark amethyst. "Did I spell it right?"
Mom grinned and put a hand on Isamu's head, making the cap cover his eyes. "Very good. Remind me to buy you lots of ice-cream later, 'kay?"
"MOM, QUIT SPOILING HIM!" I put on a horrified expression as Isamu clapped enthusiastically and dashed out of the room, his fist in the air. His joyful whoops echoed through the hallway.
"What?" Mom smiled softly. "He's cute!"
I gritted my teeth. I was really tired of her constantly babying him! "Never mind," I huffed, tugging at the wet sheet of sky-blue hair that hung over my right eye. "Just go away and let me enjoy a few moments of peace on my birthday."
She shrugged, picked up her hairdryer, and ran into the hallway, closing the door on her way out. "Call me if you need anything!"
I pulled on my purple tank top and faded blue jeans that were ripped to end at my knees, as well as my black fingerless gloves, and the silver locket that my parents had given to me when I was a baby.
After blow-drying my hair, I tied it into the usual ponytail with a purple scrunchie and exited my bedroom.
I descended the stairs to the living room and sat on the couch next to Isamu, who was (thankfully) sucking on a grape-flavored lollipop, and waited.
We didn't have to wait long for Mom to race down the stairs, scrambling to put on her Beyblade equipment. She had her phone grasped in her hand. It sounded like Dad was trying to tell her to calm down; not that it was working.
Mom sat down on the floor and started to put on her shoes, yelling at her cell phone, which was on the floor next to her. "I'm so sorry if we're late, sweetie! We'll be right out! 'Kay? You just wait!"
She panicks about the weirdest things...
"Um, love..." my father began uneasily. I could imagine a deadpanned expression on his face, and a gigantic sweatdrop on the side of his head, like in those TV shows. "... It's only a minute after twelve..."
My mother froze and her eyes flickered to her phone. "Oh." She grinned, looking embarrassed. A blush spread across her tanned face. "Sorry. I was just so excited; I... We don't get to see you that often."
Dad laughed. I like his laugh; it's kind of melodic, and a little insane. Mom always told me that I inherited my laugh from Dad, which didn't make much sense. I thought that my laugh sounded horrible, compared to his.
"I know, but there's no need to get so worked up about it, Hikaru," he said. "I'm not even there yet."
Mom sighed and picked up the phone, putting a hand on her hip. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but... Honey, where the hell are you?" Her voice was deadly calm, and a little teasing. All the same, I could sense the love behind it.
My father chuckled again, this time sheepishly. I could picture him rubbing the back of his neck, like he always does whenever he gets embarrassed. "Africa."
"WHAT?" I could've sworn that my Mom was spitting flames, and once again, a mental image of my dad popped up in my mind - this time holding the phone away from his ear as imaginary wind coming from the phone whistled through his spiky hair. I smirked a little.
"I'll put you on hold for now," he said. The phone went quiet.
"WHAT?" Mom repeated shrilly.
"And you say that I have anger issues," I snickered.
Mom whipped around. "Take that back!"
"No."
"Hey; is the birthday girl there?" Dad asked. He's back.
My mom handed the phone to me. "Yup; she's right here."
"Hi, Dad!" I chirped.
"How's my little girl?"
I laughed, even though in my mind, I was screaming, DAD! "I'll let that one slip," I said, giggling.
"Heh. Lucky me," he replied dryly.
"Anyway, I'm fine; how're things in Africa?"
There was a long pause. I heard a rustling noise in the background and picked up an "Uh-oh." Oh boy. Then, Dad spoke up again. "Yeah... I'm not in Africa anymore..." There he goes; sounding embarrassed again. What in the name of Beyblade did he do this time?
Mom and I sighed. "Then where are you?" we chorused.
"China."
"DAD!" I slapped my forehead in exasperation.
My mother was banging her own head on the TV screen. "Ugh! The nerve of that guy! How dare he! It's his daughter's birthday, for crying out loud!"
"I'm still here," Dad reminded her.
"WHY DO YOU THINK I'M SAYING IT?" she snapped.
No response.
I looked at the phone, read the notice on the screen, and opened my mouth to say something. But Mom beat me to it, since she was literally staring at the cell phone over my shoulder. "HE HUNG UP?"
"I wanted to talk to Daddy!" Isamu pouted in disappointment.
"Then why didn't you ask?" I scoffed.
"'Cause I wasn't done with my lollipop yet."
Someone knocked on the door. Mom sighed and trudged towards it, grabbing the doorknob and turning it.
He looked the same as always - white tank top, unbuttoned white shirt over it, jeans, and brown boots. His white hair - streaked with red on the left fringe - was loose and hanging around his face. A red bracelet was fastened around his right wrist; Mom had told me that she had given it to him when they were little kids. Imagining my parents as little kids felt kind of alien.
But they sure act like little kids sometimes, I thought.
"Hikaru."
"Ryuga!"
And just like that, my parents were engaged in a make-out session.
Ew. Isn't this like, PG-13? I thought. Oh, wait; I am 13. Ha!
Isamu was watching them smooch with wide eyes, and I yanked the brim of his cap over his face. He didn't protest.
My mom pulled away slowly, putting both hands on my father's chest. I could tell that she was trying not to scream at him. "Did you go to Africa and China just to annoy me?" she demanded, pinning him to the closed door.
He smirked, amber eyes (that looked so amazingly like mine) glittering in amusement. "I didn't go at all; I was just standing here the whole time."
"Wha - RYUGA!" Mom roared.
I grinned.
"DADDY!" Isamu jumped, his arms reaching up, eyes begging to be carried. He barely reached our father's hips, which was a bittersweet surprise. I always imagined him to be a tall kid, like my father was. His hat fell off, letting his unruly, spiky white and red hair (identical to our dad's) spring up. He looks so much like Dad that anyone with half a brain could tell.
Dad's mouth curved into a smile, showing off his sharp canine teeth, which I had also inherited from him. He picked up my brother and cradled him on his left arm, then stretched his free hand out to me. I eagerly leaped into his warm embrace.
"Happy birthday, Yumiko," he said.
"I'm so glad you came!" I blurted out.
"What - you thought I wasn't gonna come?" His yellow eyes were full of hurt, and he looked like Isamu whenever he was about to cry. "You... You think that I'm a terrible father?" He raised a hand to his face to wipe off a tear.
"N-No!" I sputtered. "That's not it at all!" This is just weird.
Dad grinned. "I'm just messing with you, Yumi."
"Hey!" I punched his arm.
Isamu was yanking on one of the red and white strands of Dad's hair, making the poor guy wince. Dad reached up and grasped Isamu's hand. "Oi; that hurts, Isamu."
"Yeah, Isamu," I echoed. "Quit it."
Dad put a hand on my head.
Mom glared at me. "Yumiko..." she said warningly. I rolled my eyes, sensing a lecture coming on, and waved my hand at her. "Yeah, yeah; I know the drill. No picking on the little punk." Mom turned to my brother, who was pouting once again. "Why are you doing that?"
"It's colorful." Isamu stared at us as if it were that obvious.
"Why don't you go do us a favor and pull your own hair, then?" I mumbled.
"UWAAAAAH! DADDY; YUMIKO'S BEING MEAN!" he screamed. He's being extra-irritating 'cause Dad's here! I fumed.
Dad grimaced. "I think you killed my ear."
"Sorry." Isamu gave our parents his puppy-dog face, his jewel-like eyes sparkling like pools of colored water. Of course, they fell for it. Gosh; he's annoying! I wondered how Mom and Dad were still smiling. Because I sure wasn't!
"Where are we going today?" I asked them hopefully. I was already standing on the front porch steps.
Dad's face was a blank. "Huh?"
Mom smacked him upside the head. "Idiot; you didn't think this through, didn't you?"
"Uh... well, you see; funny story..."
Mom sighed. "You know what; I don't want to hear it." Dad opened his mouth, probably to protest. "Just... don't." She grabbed his hand, pecked him on the lips (making Isamu yelp, "BLECH!") and led him out the door.
Dad hesitated at the top of the stairs, looking nervous. About what?
Mom gave his hand a gentle tug and he went all the way to the sidewalk. If possible, he looked even more panicked.
But we made it to the amusement park without incident.