A/N: Hey, look at that, it's only been a month. Hopefully I can get chapters done at this rate more often, or you know… sooner. Sooner would be better, but I'm also busy trying not to fail Math… so, we'll see how things go. Anyway, it's another 4500 word chapter, so it probably has a mistake somewhere. Feel free to tell me if you see any. Like always, reviewing would be awesome.
Thanks goes out to AJ, Christin, stilted-stylus, Sony89, Hunny Spectrum, Unfunny Joke, Musee.Picasso, sanaa and Haine-chan for the reviews!
Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade. Breaking news there. XD
Chapter Four: Walking In Heels
"Is Tyson dressed?"
"Uh… I prefer the standard hello, but is Tyson dressed to you too."
Hilary rolled her eyes skyward; the amusement within Ray's jeer did not go far with her today. Rather, she let out an annoyed huff of air, cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder as she flaunted her hips in front of her bedroom mirror.
"I'm not in the mood for your jokes," she explained to him flatly. His quick response was to laugh dryly into the receiver, causing her to frown.
"Oh, that's right! It's wedding day."
"I'm sure you forgot," Hilary accused.
"Nah, you're right. I wrote it down on the calendar," he paused, making a humming noise before continuing, "Yeah… it definitely says: 'the day Hilary will live to regret.' I can't quite get what I meant by that title though…."
The brunette scowled at her reflection, twisting her body to the right for a better angle. "Can you just tell me if Tyson is ready?"
"Why? Are you planning on matching?"
"Someone's being elusive."
Ray snorted, "I'd rather be elusive than a liar."
"Oh, here we go again…," Hilary muttered, grabbing the phone from the crook of her neck. "So, what? You're not going to tell me a thing about Tyson because I'm a liar?"
"Yes," he confirmed, "What do you say about that?"
"Max is way cooler than you."
Ray chuckled, expressing that there weren't any hard feelings between the two. "You can talk to him then," he retorted and after a moment's silence she overheard an exchange in the background.
"Hello…?" came the reluctant greeting of the blond. He sounded somewhat off; weary at the concept of them talking.
"Hey Max," she said carefully, "Do you think you can do me a tiny favour?"
"Another one, you mean," he murmured, shuffling a bit on his end of the line, "As long as I don't have to go over to your house…."
Hilary's eyes narrowed, turning away from the mirror, she questioned, "What's wrong with my house? Are you allergic to it or something?"
"No… that would be stupid," Max admitted, debating whether or not he should open his mouth. Letting out a light sigh, he added, "I'm allergic to your Dad."
"My Dad?" she repeated with awe.
"I completely see where you get it now."
"Get what, exactly?" Hilary demanded.
"Uh…," stalling, the blond laughed nervously, "Your energy…?"
"Mmhmm…," she grunted, deciding it was in her best interest to let his true intention go. "My Dad's a good guy, Max, honestly. He wouldn't hurt a fly."
"Lucky fly," Max said incredulously. "I'm not too sure if he was fond of me or Tyson though… the look in his eyes, it was freaky."
"I can't believe you're scared of my Father."
"Were you not there?" Max practically shouted, having the brunette hold the phone away from her.
"Thanks, Max," Hilary scolded, "Just what I wanted, for my ears to bleed."
"Sorry," he quickly apologized; lowering his voice considerably as she reluctantly brought the receiver closer. "So… this favour? What is it exactly?"
"Can you tell me if Tyson is dressed yet?"
"That's it?" Max asked surprised.
"That's it," she repeated.
"Are you planning on matching or something?"
Hilary smirked, "Ray already made that joke. And amazingly, it hasn't gotten funnier."
"That's the downfall of hanging around the same five people," the blond sighed, "We have the risk of all sounding the same. Except for maybe Kai…."
"Yeah, I realized he wasn't into the 'let's all make fun of Hilary' brand of joking either."
Max chuckled, "Well, I was going to say something along the lines of him being quiet… but that works too."
"What about Tyson?" the brunette asked.
"Tyson?" he repeated with amusement, "I would have thought of all people, you would know this best. It's his absolute favourite brand of joke when it is at your expense."
"Yeah, well, unfortunately I know that all too well," Hilary admitted with a sad sigh, "So is he ready or not?"
"Ready, last time I heard… for the most part. I haven't seen the latest news report," he answered with a trace of sarcasm, "But if my ears serve me correctly, I hear someone struggling with a tie."
"I see," she smiled, looking over her shoulder towards the mirror. "I know that sound well."
Max grunted in reply, allowing silence to sink in between them. "So… are you ready?" he wondered, shifting the phone slightly.
"As ready as I'll ever be," Hilary shrugged, giving herself a once over. "Although I could look better. My Mom wants me to dress way too simple. With my luck, I'll be the worst dressed."
"I can't really tell from over the phone."
"Max, your flattery is absolutely amazing," she scoffed at his blunt honesty.
"I don't know what you expect me to say, seeing how your boyfriend is just in the other room. It wouldn't be very appropriate for me to flirt with you," the blond mocked, defending himself.
"Well if he's in the other room," Hilary retorted with a pang of anxiety, "You shouldn't be making jokes like that."
"Relax, will you? Tyson only hears what he wants to. And I don't think he's been waiting to hear that, to tell you the truth," Max sighed, "You sound sort of uptight, are you okay?"
"Exhausted," she explained, "Between helping with the wedding and worrying over Tyson…. I haven't got much sleep. Do you think it shows?"
"Uh… Hil, I'm on the phone, remember?"
"Right," she smiled sheepishly, "Stupid question."
"Know what might help though?"
"A vast amount of make-up and a large cup of coffee?"
Max laughed, "Very close, but that would be a negative. Nothing calms the nerves quite like telling the truth! What do you say; want me to go get Tyson?"
Hilary didn't reply right away, staring steadily into the mirror with a blank expression. "You know… you're right. You and Ray are starting to sound the same," she tilted her head to the side, "So when did he convert you?"
"Convert me?" he repeated, sounding disappointed, "I've always been against the idea. I just wanted to be your friend… both of your friends, at the same time."
"And I appreciate it, Max, I really do," the brunette agreed, "But to be frank, you sound like a broken record."
"Well, Frank, I can't help but feel I need to repeat myself before it sinks in. You don't seem to understand what you're doing is wrong."
"Now you kind of sound like Tyson," Hilary grimaced at his bad joke. "I do know I did something wrong, I'm trying to fix it. You guys can't seem to remember that part."
"But you're not facing the consequences, it kind of defeats the whole purpose if you avoid that step," Max pointed out, determined to set her on the right path.
"For the record, forcing your opinions on girls, Mr. Justice, isn't very attractive."
"Don't I know it."
"What?" Hilary asked surprised.
"Uh… nothing…. I'm going to hang up angrily on you now, seeing how you're not taking my warnings seriously, if that's alright," the blond explained softly, "We're still friends though, right?"
Smiling, the female rolled her eyes. "Yes, we're still friends. But I get to hang up on you next time."
"Fine," he scowled before lightly putting down the phone.
Hilary turned the phone off, tossing it onto her bed without leaving the face of the mirror. Her hands were positioned on her hips as she again twisted from side to side slowly, moving her legs in the process.
"That's an interesting dance."
The brunette froze, her face reddening at the same time. Laughing, her Father walked into the room, amusement lighting up his gaze as a grin embraced his features. On the contrary, Hilary ducked her head out of embarrassment.
"You know, I use to do something very similar when I was much younger," the man stated, taking a seat on her bed. He leaned forward on his knees with a thoughtful look, "Of course, I use to do it when I had to go to the washroom."
The brunette groaned in disdain, "Dad…."
"What?" Mr. Tatibana grinned, "It's all in good, clean fun."
"Right…," she said skeptically. Her eyes reluctantly met his again, shyly rocking on her heels. "How long were you there?"
"Oh, just passing by. Why? Were you talking to your boyfriend?" he inquired, his joyful expression depleting.
"Nope. Just Max."
"I see," he acknowledged with a nod. "You look pretty, by the way."
Hilary shrugged, looking down. She had to disagree, finding that the simple black dress made her hips look large. "Thanks, I guess. Mom suggested it, if you know what I mean. I'm sure it will knock Tyson out," she added, "Maybe into a coma…."
"Hmm," Mr. Tatibana grunted, not holding much remorse for her last statement. "Know what might help, a nice shawl?"
"A nice shawl?" Hilary gaped at her Father incredulously; her eyes were wide with alarm. "How about I go call Grandma and see if she has matching knee high socks to boot?"
"Young lady," he warned, attempting to hold a serious tone, "You're going to wear something over your shoulders. Don't make me go get your Mother."
Hilary raised an eyebrow at his statement, suppressing the want to giggle at his sudden strict behaviour. Calling his bluff, she inched towards her doorway. "How about I call her for you then…," she told him, sticking her head out into the hallway. "Mom! Can you come up here for a second?"
Mr. Tatibana nearly collapsed into his hands, concealing his face from his daughter. "Why did you have to call your Mother…," he muttered, rubbing his eyes in a pattern.
Hilary wandered back into the center of the room, hands folded together behind her, as she gave him an innocent look. "But Dad… I thought you wanted Mom to get involved."
"My daughter, the comedian," he commented with deadpan. Removing his hands from his face, he smoothed out his clothes; hearing the familiar squeak of the stairs.
It wasn't long before Hilary's Mother entered the room with a concerned expression. Her eyes traveled over her daughter at first; from head to toe she evaluated her. And then her gaze turned to her husband seated on the bed wearing an apologetic smile.
"What's wrong…?" she questioned, deflating.
"Dad thinks it would be a good idea if I wore a shawl to the wedding," Hilary explained, "So it will cover my shoulders."
"In my defence," he jumped in, almost literally, as he bolted upwards, "They're in dire need of covering."
"There are straps!"
"Well, there should be more."
"Children," Mrs. Tatibana interrupted, crossing her arms. Silence followed begrudgingly before she faced Hilary, "You know a shawl might not be a bad idea, it might even help out your hips."
Mr. Tatibana, who had been ready to pump his arm in victory, came to a screeching halt. He sucked in his lips, holding his breath hostage, as he cautiously eyed his daughter.
"How about I just put a bag over my head?" Hilary retorted, moving for the door. Unfortunately, she was seized by a comforting grasp.
"Hey, hey… don't be mad at me," her Father sighed, pulling her back for a hug. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her into his side. "I wanted you to wear a shawl because I'm insecure about your boyfriend. Remember, I said you were pretty?"
"Thanks," Mrs. Tatibana glared at her husband. "You know I didn't mean it like that, Hilary. I was just trying to appeal to the problem in a girly perspective."
"Fine…," Hilary decided, "It might help my hip situation…." She then looked up to her Father thoughtfully, "And if it will stop you from hounding on Tyson all night, I guess it won't be that bad."
"Aw, that's not going to happen at all," he smiled genuinely, kissing the top of her head. "But thank you for humouring me honey, I appreciate it."
"Now that all that drama has been taken care of…," Hilary's Mother smiled, "I can just grab a nice white shawl out of my closet for you. Just tie it loosely over your shoulders and you'll look perfect."
The girl rolled her eyes, escaping her Father's embrace reluctantly as she trailed behind her Mom. "Thanks for the suggestion…."
"You know what though, your Grandma is probably already on her way," Mr. Tatibana sighed, managing to confuse his daughter. She peered over her shoulder as he entered the hallway. He shook his head sadly, "I guess those knee high socks are completely out of the question."
With the comment, her ruby gaze lit up. "My Father, the clown," Hilary mocked, making him laugh.
Mrs. Tatibana, on the other hand, stared at them oddly. During their quick exchange, she had somehow retrieved the light shawl from the organized depths that was their closet. Putting it around their daughter's shoulders, she turned curiously to her husband, "Can you check how it's going in the backyard? I'm scared to look."
"Scared to look? I thought you slept back there yesterday…," he murmured, obeying orders and descending the stair case. "You both look beautiful," he added afterwards, shouting the compliment on his way out.
"Are you okay?" Mrs. Tatibana inquired, tying the shawl, "You look a little sickly."
Hilary wouldn't have doubted it. Her stomach felt like it was churning, mixing vile that managed to just sit in her throat. "Nervous," she stated knowingly, "Do you know if Tyson is here?"
"No," the older woman answered. A smile then appeared on her lips as she smoothed out of the fabric, "But I told someone to come fetch you if any cute boys stopped by."
"Mom…," Hilary whined at the thought, wanting to bolt for her bedspread and be buried in it once again. It was an odd feeling, the battle between paling out of mortification and turning absolutely scarlet because of embarrassment. She wasn't even too sure who had won out.
"Oh, calm down," her Mother assured her, hands lightly positioned on her shoulders. "You're fretting over the smallest things lately, it's pretty silly."
"You mean like flower arrangements and chairs?"
Flashing a wry smile, the older woman held a glint of amusement in her eyes. "You're a lot like your Father, you know that?" she shook her head, "Both of you think you're hilarious."
"For me," she decided with a faint smile, "It's more of a know factor."
Mrs. Tatibana squeezed her shoulders; turning toward the stairs as someone came bouncing up them. "Looks like your messenger is here."
"Hilary!" a little girl shouted, reaching the very last step with a huff. She was wearing a puffy white dress decorated with flowers and her brown hair was tied into pig tails. "My Mom told me to tell you a cute boy was here for you." She had run over to Mrs. Tatibana by this time, latching herself onto her side with her head tilted upwards. Curling her nose, she added, "But I've seen him… and I don't think so."
"Well, that must be Tyson," Hilary realized. She bit her lip in an attempt to stifle her laughter; the little girl still held a look of absolute disgust. "Can you tell me where you saw him?"
"Out front on the sidewalk. He looked like he might take off at any second," the girl gave her a pointed look, "I'd let him, if I were you."
Hilary snorted. "As much as I would love to, he's my date," she sighed, "I should go make sure he doesn't bolt on me."
"You're acting like he has cold feet," Mrs. Tatibana stated in amusement. Hilary smiled wanly at this before shrugging. She separated from her Mother's grasp, heading for the stairs. "Don't be shy."
"Am I ever?" Hilary muttered, taking the steps carefully because of her shoes. They lifted her off the ground by at least an inch, but it might as well been three feet. Luckily for her, nobody was hanging around in the front foyer of her home to watch her wobble after especially long paces.
Making it to the door, she took a deep breath. She touched up her hair and smoothed her dress, and then remembered on the other side, it was only Tyson. It didn't really matter what he thought.
Hilary opened the door, revealing the dolled up front yard. White and pink balloons were attached to practically everything that was nailed down, and ribbons always hung near by. Something made her frown though; there was no annoying world champion to be seen.
She wandered off of her front step curiously, looking around for the boy as anxious thoughts began to bubble towards the surface. If that little girl saw him, there was a good chance someone else had too. They could have dragged him to the back….
"Ahh!"
She found herself flying forward; the heel of her shoe had gotten wedged between a crack in the sidewalk when she had been daydreaming. But someone had stepped in front, preventing her fall, yet allowing her to crash hard against them. Hilary winced at the pain as hands pushed her gently away.
"Baby's first steps." The brunette looked up to see Tyson smiling contently. He helped her regain her balance, still holding onto her shoulders. "So close, yet so far."
"Where did you come from?" she tilted her head to the side, nursing her forehead from where she banged into him.
"What? No thank you?" Tyson grinned, dusting off his tuxedo with fake arrogance. "I am appalled! But not really surprised…. To tell you the truth, I was just waiting around for you to come out."
Hilary gave him an even look, "You know, that works better when you ring the doorbell."
"I didn't want to disturb anyone," the navy haired boy reasoned, giving a shrug. His smile vanished though when she zoned out, it felt like her gaze traveled right through him. "Uh… Hil?"
She bit her lip; words would simply not reach her mouth. He stood there in plain day, a serious expression etched out on his face, although she now realized, because of her, it was turning confused. He was wearing a black suit with matching dress shoes and tie; not even his white dress shirt had a crease in it. He was a prime example of picture perfection. All except for one minor detail.
"What is on your head?" Hilary broke the silence; her eyes were wide with panic as she gestured weakly.
Tyson relaxed, rolling his eyes in the process. "The same thing that's always on my head," he answered knowingly, "My hat."
The brunette took a step forward, almost closing in the space between them. "Are you telling me you're aware that you're wearing that thing?" she inquired skeptically, "Have you gone mad? You can't wear hats to weddings!"
"Before you start your lecture," he warned, raising his hands in defence, "I think it's important that you know I have a good reason."
"If you say hat hair, I swear…."
"Uh… of course not," Tyson laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "That would be the most immature answer ever. I've come a long way, you know? I outrank that sort of stuff."
"Mmhmm," Hilary nodded, reaching forward carefully and snatching the cap from off of his head. Waving it in front of him, she smiled, "I guess you won't mind if I take this for the day then?"
"Well, I didn't give you my reason yet," Tyson reminded, although he didn't attempt to grab his prized possession back. Rather, he shoved his hands into his pockets with a pout, "Talk about unfair."
"Tell me," the brunette shrugged.
"Heh… um, you know, it's not very important."
"That's what I thought," Hilary told him. "Come on, I'll put it in my room. Otherwise, it might be taken by little kids and ruined…. They kind of like to do that on this side of the family."
"Oh, sounds lovely," Tyson said sarcastically, he followed behind as they retreated for the house. Running a hand through his hair, he gave her a nervous glance. "You'll make sure it will be kept in a safe place, right? It's kind of like an heirloom."
She glanced back at him as they reached the door, realizing his sincerity. "Of course," she reassured him, "I didn't know it meant that much to you."
"Hiro gave it to me," Tyson stated, giving a faint smile. "It used to be his. Looks better on me… but you know."
Opening the door for them, Hilary repeated herself, "I didn't know."
"Probably because it's a boring story," Tyson grinned, shrugging the fact off as he walked into the familiar room. "Have I ever told you about the time I won my second championship in a row though? That's a good one."
She scowled, smacking him on the arm. "I was there, in case you forgot."
He quirked his head to the side curiously with an amused expression. "Were you really? What section exactly? It was a huge stadium."
"Please, you must save this sense of humour for the dinner," Hilary rolled her eyes, heading for the staircase. "You'll have the whole wedding party rolling in the aisles."
"I can't help it," Tyson said in an attempt at modesty, he covered his heart with a hand. "You just set yourself up perfectly."
Hilary ignored him, climbing the stairs yet again with an elegant pace. The last thing she needed to do was face plant right in front of him; he would have ammunition for the rest of the night. But Tyson was practically on her heels, waiting for the blessed moment.
"Better be careful," he warned as they reached the top, "You know how you fare on straight walkways…. I'll let you in on a trick, you put one foot in front of the other – that always works for me."
"Would you like to try and walk in heels?" the brunette challenged, turning to look at Tyson and almost tripping in the process.
His hand reached out and grabbed her for balance, a smirk twisting onto his lips. She waited for a second, anticipating his insult, but instead he just helped her down the hallway. "Know what I don't get?" he finally asked, "Why I have the option to wear heels and not my hat. What do you think will grab more attention?"
"Good point," Hilary agreed, deciding not to press her luck. "I guess you won't be wearing heels either."
He frowned, "Darn. And I was really looking forward to it too."
The brunette separated from his grasp, walking into her room as Tyson lingered out in the hallway. He leaned against the door frame, gazing around the room with interest. She attempted to forget about him for a second, trying to place where she could hide his hat, but it proved impossible. The expression on his face was bothering her.
"What?"
His eyes returned to her at the sound of her voice. "I thought there would be more pink," Tyson said thoughtfully, "You being a girl and all."
"I prefer yellow," Hilary stated, "And not all girls like the colour pink. Can you say stereotype?"
"I was just saying," he rolled his eyes, "Leave it to you to go off the deep end. Besides, if anyone here would know about stereotypes, it would be me. How about dumb jock?"
She tilted her head to the side in question. "When have I ever called you that?"
"I didn't say you did," Tyson smiled, wandering into the bedroom. His attention went to the mirror with a smile, "You're different from people who think like that. You don't consider me a jock."
Hilary laughed, watching him play with his hair in the mirror in an attempt to fix it. She took the moment to covertly put the hat in one of her drawers, all the while, making sure it was tucked away safe.
"It looks fine," the girl smiled, seeing his annoyed expression. "I think that must be a fun house mirror anyway, I can't help but feel horrible whenever I look into it."
Tyson looked at her through the reflection, his eyebrows raised with surprise. "I think you look great… in a non-weird way," he quickly added, shooting off a sheepish smile. "But my hair looks like a hurricane whipped right pass me on the way here. Always a great style to have for weddings."
"I think it kind of suits you," Hilary decided, "It's about as unruly and spontaneous as you, it's endearing."
The navy haired boy didn't say anything for a moment, giving himself one last look over. He turned to face her with a grin, "You're right. I think I'm over-reacting about my hair anyway, acting like a girl…."
"Stereotype," she interrupted.
"Whatever," he waved it off carelessly, pulling at the sleeves of his tux. "So what was wrong with you, according to the mirror, I mean?"
Hilary was reluctant to say, this conversation about flaws seemed to have sprung out of nowhere. Because of his massive ego, she would not have even believed he had an unconfident bone in his body. "Hips," she said with apprehension, "According to my Mom as well."
"Really?" Tyson said with awe, "Uh… about your Mom, of course. I wouldn't know about the hip thing… I don't really look at you like that… like… uh…. You look nice."
"I figured as much," Hilary nodded, suppressing her laughter for his sake. "Can you promise me something though?"
"It all really depends."
"Reliable," she retorted sarcastically. "It would mean a lot if you didn't make any stupid jokes about my Grandma and I matching."
"Will you be…?" Tyson inquired.
"The shawl."
"Oooh…," the navy haired boy realized, snapping his fingers with understanding. "I know what you mean; my Grandpa ruined Hawaiian shirts for me. If I wear them, I'm afraid I'll start talking like him…."
"Thanks, Tyson."
"Hey, no problem," he flashed her a smile, smoothing out his clothing yet again. Noticing her puzzled expression, he explained, "I'm a little nervous. I've never been to a wedding before. Have you?"
Hilary couldn't help but smile back at him, he seemed very hopeful for her answer. "When I was younger," she told him, though that made her sound a lot older than she was. "I don't remember much, other than sitting in a hot room wearing an itchy dress and shoes that really hurt my feet. I had blisters for weeks, but I think that was because of the buckles…."
"Fascinating…."
"Well, that's mostly what I remember. We're just sitting in chairs, I've seen you do it before, you're not bad at it," the brunette shot back.
"I completely blow your walking skills out of the water," Tyson agreed. "Although if we were in water, technically we would be swimming…."
She didn't say anything to that, feeling that there was no point for it. She just stood across from him, finding that he truthfully did not look half bad, considering he was Tyson.
"What did you do with my hat?" he frowned, noticing within the silence that it had disappeared into thin air. He glanced around the room in confusion, expecting it to be somewhere.
"I hid it, remember?"
"I know that, but you couldn't even show me where?"
Hilary gave him an odd look. "What does it matter?"
Tyson took a step forward; a challenge was within his eyes. Wetting his lips, he asked, "What did you do?"
"I'm… sorry?" she stuttered against her best wishes, side stepping the boy in the process. "I don't know what you're talking about, but we should go downstairs. A lot of guests are probably here by now."
"Whatever you say…," he grinned, but his suspicion did not relent whatsoever. "You're keeping my hat hostage for some reason… and I'm going to find out why. Hilary Tatibana, I will know your secret by the end of tonight."
She did not like the sound of that.
