(A/N): Why hello there! :) Yes, I'm still alive. Sorry again for the delay! I feel so bad! It's just been so hectic with university getting back into high-gear. Sighh. Anyways, enough about me and university. Let's get to the (hopefully) more exciting stuff. :D Rule #9, finally. Longest chapter of the past couple. So let me set the scene for you guys again. Hilary found Tyson, and now they are still in the forest, trying to find a way out. That's where we're at when the story gets underway...just wanted to point that out. :P Well, I hope you like it! Review and let me know how you found this chapter. :) As always, thoughts are always welcome.

Oh, and one more thing: THANK YOU TO ALL OF YOU WHO READ/FAVED/ALERTED, and especially to those who reviewed! You people are the best! (L)

Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade. Oh, and with the poems, the first two lines aren't mine. I don't really know who made those up, though. X) The last two lines I tried to make up, or heard before from a friend. :)

Tyson Rule #9: Never Underestimate

"Do you have any idea where we are right now?"

"Nope."

I look at the capped teen walking beside me. He doesn't really seem to care that we're hopelessly lost deep within some forest on the outskirts of town. Tyson seems quite at peace, actually. His arms are folded casually behind his head as he strolls through the path beside me. Occasionally he unfolds out of his casual demeanour to sidestep a tree or a log in his way, but he goes back to his normal, laid-back self afterwards. He is definitely not going through the mental breakdown I'm silently going through right now. I throw him a puzzled look, and bring up this point to him.

"You're not scared in the slightest?"

"Nope."

I narrow my eyes at him and plaster a scowl to my face. "Is that all you can say?"

He throws me his typical, lopsided grin before responding, "Nope."

I let out a growl and turn my attention back to the pathway. The last thing I need is to trip over the forest floor and have Tyson catch me again. As I think back to the incident, I feel myself blush. Usually, I would have brushed such an incident off as only embarrassing and possibly pride-bruising. But today, I can't say that I hated it; that would be lying. Sure, it was humiliating, but I couldn't shake the feeling I got when I landed in his arms. It wasn't unpleasant, that was for sure. I couldn't put my finger on what it was, exactly. All I knew was that it was something new when it came to Tyson.

"What do you want from me, Hil?"

Oddly enough, that was one of the questions that was going through my mind just before he broke my thoughts. What did I want from him?

I stare at him blankly, blinking my eyes a couple of times before I register what he actually means. "For you to actually keep up a decent conversation." I reply, eagerly trying to push those wretched thoughts from my mind.

"Okay, fine." Tyson agrees, oddly enough. He runs a hand through his midnight-blue hair before responding to my earlier question. "No, I'm not scared. This is actually a break for me."

"How so?"

"Well," He pauses momentarily to duck under a protruding branch. "It's a break from all the craziness of beyblading. I want some time to myself, you know?"

"So you can be lazy, you mean." I reply.

"Shut up," His cinnamon-brown eyes narrow as mine did before. "I do stuff other than beyblading."

"Oh. Like eating?" I laugh, seeing a flicker of annoyance dash across his features.

"No," he adjusts his hat nervously before he continues, "other stuff."

"Like…?"

"I write poetry."

The moment he says that, I plant my feet on the ground, unable to move. Did the World Champion 'blader just admit to me that he writes poetry in his spare time? I stare at him with a dumbfounded expression on my face, trying to imagine a sensitive side to the hot-headed male before me. A somewhat heart-warming image dances through my mind. It's of Tyson, sitting at a desk, his nose crinkled and his brow furrowed.

Somehow, the image doesn't compute.

I scrunch up my face, much like the Tyson of my imagination, and give him yet another puzzled look. To my surprise, his face is twists into a smirk.

"Just kidding."

"I knew it. I can't imagine you doing poetry. It's beyond your knowledge."

That trademark pout of his tugs at his lips, and I can't help but crack a smile as he begins to whine. "Are you saying that I can't write poetry?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

Tyson snorts. "For your information, I am an awesome poet."

My insides prickle, and I feel a laugh rising up into my throat. The thought of Tyson and poetry still hasn't sunk in, and I doubt it ever will. The idea is sort of drifting near the surface like a piece of driftwood caught in high tide; it's floating there, but it will never be a part of the sea. The image tickles my brain once again, and I fight to stifle my laughter. The sound comes out sounding like a gurgle.

With a half-bemused look on his face, Tyson removes his hat and places it over his chest in a patriotic manner. He closes those russet eyes of his and clears his throat in a dignified manner before launching into an English accent.

"Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I like cake,
And I know you do, too!"

I quirk my eyebrows, giving him a questioning look. "Is food all you think about?"

"No, but come on, Hil, its food."

"Food is good for how it tastes," I tell him dryly, shaking my head, "but it doesn't make for good poems."

"Oh, and I suppose you think that you could do better?" I catch the sarcasm in his voice again; surprisingly, he's actually getting quite good at it. It seems like it's become second nature for him to mock me. The taunts just spill out of his mouth, nowadays. Usually, my response is to yell and annoy the hell out of him. That, or give him a slap to the face. But I can't say that I know anything about poetry – I'm hardly the poetic type. Still, I'm not the type to back off of a challenge, either. As I'm thinking this through, Tyson scoffs, narrowing his eyes at me while shooting me another glare.

I finally decide that it's best to let it slide. It'll probably make him angrier if I ignore him. I love to make him squirm.

But then he says one thing, just one little sentence that's able to sway me after I've made my decision. It's probably the only thing that can change the mind of any person with Tachibana blood coursing through their veins: "I thought so. You're too scared to face off against the World Champ."

Scared? Oh, it's so on.

"You're on, pretty-boy. And you're not the World Champ of poetry, so beating you will be a piece of cake." I smirk as I emphasize the last word, proud of my clever little joke, but Tyson just sighs and shakes his head slowly.

"I hope your poetry isn't as bad as that joke of yours. That was just plain sad."

"Shut up," I scowl. I honestly thought that it was a decent joke. Obviously, he doesn't know a good joke when he hears one.

"So am I going to hear this supposed better poem today, or what?"

Damn. I didn't really think this through enough. I don't have a responding poem yet; I have to wing it. It's almost pitch-black within the forest, but I can still see the smug grin on Tyson's face as he watches me fidget. There is no way that I am giving him the satisfaction of winning this little competition. There are a tonne of poems I can come up with. I just have to start with finding words that rhymes with blue. There's boo, loo, two—

But before I can utter a single word, Tyson startles my train of thought. "Wait. Before you say – or try to say—" he quickly throws me a smirk before continuing, "your poem, I have an idea that I would like to propose."

I stop and stare at him vacantly, trying to read his thoughts. Just by looking at the maniacal expression on his face, I can tell that it isn't going to be good. Oh god, what did I get myself into?

"Let's make this interesting," he finally says, flashing me another grin.

"How so?"

"A bet," Tyson smiles evilly, his eyes glinting in the slowly fading light. In the surrounding darkness of the forest, he actually looks like some sort of devil. I'm a little sceptical of trusting him right now, but it's not like I have a choice. I think I'd be worse off being alone, actually. I hate to admit it, but he does make me feel safe. Maybe. A little.

But all guys are like that, right?

I shake the thoughts out of my head and try to focus on his words. "…wants for a whole day, no questions asked."

"What?"

"I said," he starts again, giving me an irritated look, "We each come up with these little rhyming flower poems. Whoever doesn't get the last poem in before we exit the forest loses. The loser of our poetry competition has to do whatever the winner wants for a whole day, no questions asked."

Initially, I wasn't sure if I was going to like the bet or not. Tyson does this weird thing where he doesn't use his common sense. He once made a bet with Max, one which found them making –or, attempting to make – a cake from scratch. Apparently, Tyson forgot how to use a stove, because he almost burned the entire dojo down. Needless to say, he was kicked out of the kitchen for eternity. Or until he got some common sense, which I guess is pretty much the same as eternity. Naturally, I was sceptical. But the moment he suggests that little bet of his, there is not a doubt in my mind that I'm going to go through with it.

I mean, how often do you get to boss Tyson around, and actually get away with it?

"I'm in," I say, grinning at him. "It is going to feel so good when I beat you."

"Let's make it official," He spits in his hand and extends it to me. "Spit-shake?"

"Tyson! Ew, what the hell?" I gag, practically choking as I eye his hand with disgust.

"Do girls not do that?" Tyson asks, frowning slightly.

"No, gross! Get that thing away from me!"

"Well, then, how do girls make a bet official?" I see his hand sag as it falls to his side. He wipes the spit on his jeans, and I feel another gag rising up my throat. Do guys know anything about hygiene? Honestly, it's like they came from a completely different and disgusting planet. I guess I should be used to it now – I've had a testosterone overload for the past couple of years – but still, it amazes me how little these guys, especially Tyson, know about girls. And hygiene, I guess. Frantically, I try to push away the image of Tyson wiping his spit-ridden hand on his jeans, and concentrate on answering his question.

"Have you ever heard of a pinky swear?"

He makes a grimace before replying, "Yeah, but that's so…girly."

"At least you can't get germs from another person this way." I frown. Sometimes Tyson is hopeless.

"What's the difference between this and kissing, then? I mean, that's what you do right? 'Swap spit'?" He puts air quotes around the final phrase and looks at me pointedly.

"Uh…" Honestly, his last statement catches me off-guard. I don't know how to reply to that, exactly. And I'm not the best at dealing with matters of the relationship variety; I've never been in one before. But obviously, Tyson doesn't mind asking those types of questions in front of me. And he doesn't seem to be awkward about it, either. So I say the first thing that pops into my head at that moment. "Sure…I guess. But it's you…" I notice my unintentional insult as I see a flicker of hurt dance across those pools of chocolate brown, so I backtrack, trying to clarify my words. "I mean, I wouldn't because you're my friend."

He brightens up enough to answer, "Hey, don't knock it 'til you try it!"

Was he talking about the spit-shake or the kiss?

I shiver and stop my thoughts in their tracks, and instead stick my tongue out at him in response. Then, I extend one of my slender arms towards him, my pinky finger high in the air. "So, do we have a deal?"

He reaches out and clasps my pinky, nodding with that crooked grin on his face. "You're going down, Hil."

"In your dreams."

"You'd be lucky if I dreamt about you," he winks before continuing, effectively causing me to flush. Oh thank god that it's dark outside. "So, where is this poem of yours?"

"Oh, um, right." I bite my lip as I watch him stare at me with an amused expression on his face. "Here it goes…

"Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
You look like a monkey,
And you smell like one, too!"

"Hurtful," He pouts for a second, sticking out his lower lip a little, but his face quickly reverts back into one of his characteristic grins. "But I'm thinking that this poem would apply more to someone along the lines of Daichi?"

"That monkey-boy," I growl, silently appreciating the fact that the younger boy had gone back to his hometown for the summer. I hate that kid. Well, hate is a strong word. It was more like strongly dislike.

Tyson laughs at my expression. "My turn…

"Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Pigs are great,
But cows go 'moo'!"

"I see we're on an animal theme now. Let's see if I can break that," I reply, trying to come up with a poem to counter his own.

"Not into animals?" Tyson asks, giving me a questioning look.

"No, I just hate repetition." I'm a little lost since I'm trying to come up with a poem, so I answer him with a distant voice. At first, I don't see the start of a laugh tugging at his lips. But soon enough, I hear a muffled snort coming from beside me. I turn to him, giving him yet another glower. "Shut up," I scold him, swiftly cutting him off before he tries to make fun of me. "It's a pet peeve of mine."

"It's a little weird…"

"Shut the hell up and listen to my damn poem."

"Oh, a little touchy today, are we?"

He's such an idiot. But I can get back at him, the poetic way.

"Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I hate jerks,
Which is why I hate you."

He blinks at me for a few moments and I stare at him triumphantly, happy to see that he is briefly speechless. If he can't respond soon, he'll be cruising towards a very painful day as my slave. But then, before I can unleash a celebratory cry, he just bursts into laughter.

That's right. He actually laughs at my insult.

"I appreciate the emotion and all, but you did that totally wrong."

"Ha, right. I have more emotion than you could ever have." I scoff, crossing my arms and stopping in the middle of the pathway.

Tyson stops walking and backtracks until he is beside me, that stupid grin still on his face. "Watch and learn."

He places his hands on either of my shoulders and twirls me around to face him. He takes a finger and places it under my chin, slowly tilting my face upwards until my ruby eyes are matched up with his auburn ones. I suck in an unsteady breath and am met with the intoxicating scent of his body spray mixed with a lingering smell of the surrounding forest. My heart does the same little unsteady flip it did when I was apologizing to Tyson, and suddenly a memory pops up, the one of being in his arms as he caught me earlier. My legs feel a little shaky, and I think if Tyson hadn't been holding me, I would have collapsed.

What is wrong with me? It couldn't be—

Before I can register any thoughts, Tyson looks into my eyes and utters four lines that make my heart go into cardiac arrest.

"Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
My life is nothing,
Without you."

Did he really just say that? Did he mean it? And what the hell is wrong with me?

Before I can say or do anything else, Tyson lets go of my shoulders and prances away happily. I stare, speechless, as he points to a hole in the surrounding greenery.

"Oh, is that the campsite? Sorry, Hil, your time is up. Looks like I win!"

All that comes out of my mouth are random syllables and sounds of letters. I can only stand there, flabbergasted by the turn of events. Although I have to say, I'm more surprised about Tyson's poem and its effect on me. I have no idea what happened or how it happened, but somehow…I didn't mind it. It didn't feel awkward, it didn't feel weird.

But it did feel kind of nice.

It takes me a while to break out of my trance and realize what really happened with our bet. Only after I notice that I'm alone in the forest do I march outside, anger seething underneath my surface. I thought that I could win this bet easy. But I got played like a violin. I was sucked into his charming – I mean, stupid, freaking, idiotic – personality. I got conned by the most arrogant, egotistical jerk on the face of this planet.

The worst part is, I liked it. I think I'm more irritated at myself than I am at him right now…

Never Underestimate.

Never.

(A/N): How was it, people? I know, the poem thing was random. :P But I hope you liked it! A little more romance-ish stuff going on! ;) I know, it's slowly getting there. But love takes time. :P (Cheesy) Haha, anyways, lemme know how it was in a review if you'd like! Until next time. :)