A/N: I've been trying to write this for a year, so I'm quite relieved that this is finally coming together. Please enjoy, and don't forget to review, I'd really appreciate it.

Thank you again to Musee.Picasso for giving me your opinion on the summary; I was between myself trying to figure out if it was too vague or specific and you really helped.

Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade.

Prologue

Hypocrite.

She hated that word, how it formed in her mouth and sat there. It weighed down her tongue, daring her to disagree… to challenge it. How she loved a challenge; but not today. She knew she was being one, she couldn't deny it. Not today, not like this.

And she found it quite hard to suppress these thoughts, the bright yellow paint that washed the walls bombarding her with the sun's rays. Suddenly she found the chipper colour choice rather dread worthy, it drilled the fact that outside the world was awake, and she was in bed into her mind.

Closing her eyes tighter, Hilary pulled the blankets over her head. Masking the lovely reminders that it was far into the afternoon from her sight, although not entirely. Pink did that, blurring neon numbers and dulling bright skies just so that she could still see them if she chose to.

All she wanted was for the day to go away, to fall asleep in the comfort of her room and wake up in the optimism of tomorrow. That was apparently too much to ask, today wasn't giving up without a fight.

She could see him now, as if he would somehow already know, smirking smugly just at the thought. "Hey Hil, I heard you slept a little late today…. What's that, a four…?" he beckoned at his bare wrist.

Giving in to his nonexistent teasing, her eyes slowly opened as she focused on the glowing numbers. "Four thirty-eight…," she answered, murmuring to herself before burying deeper into the covers.

She wondered how much it would take to disappear, for the blankets to swallow her whole, to allow her family to forget that she was even there and continue with their plans on their own. They were the whole reason she was still in bed agonizing over the near future.

And her Mother wasn't helping. Unlike the tendencies of her daughter, Mrs. Tatibana was not an aggressive woman. She didn't like to impose on people, but rather hint blatantly to get her wishes across. This afternoon, she wished for somebody to wake up.

So through the mounds of blankets and two fluffy pillows, Hilary heard doors accidentally slam, pots and pans crash to the floor on multiple occasions, and raised voices questioning the whereabouts of obvious items. But never a crack of a bedroom door and a demand to 'rise and shine', her Mom was never like that.

Or usually anyways, but something today had told her to tense when she heard footfalls climb the staircase. And then make their reluctant way to her bedroom door, only to pause in dramatics. Yet it was the twisting of the door knob that caught her breath, having it seize in her throat.

"Hilary…?" called her Mother from the doorway timidly. She stepped into the room, making her way to the center and pausing for a response. Sighing, the woman continued, "I know you're in there."

She was rigid within the covers, pleading with anyone who could possibly be listening for her to leave. The impatient tapping of a foot on the carpet told her nobody cared, not that she changed tactics as she lay unmoving.

The older woman placed a strand of hair behind her ear as she lowered her voice to a hush whisper. "You know, if I have to suffer through your Father's family… so do you."

Grumbling, Hilary surrendered. She peaked out from under the blankets with disagreement. "I don't see how that's fair, you married into it… I sort of didn't have a choice."

Mrs. Tatibana sighed again, only this time in disappointment. "You know that isn't fair…," her Mother pulled a faint smile, placing her hands on her hips. "They'll be here any second."

"All year round we don't hear a word, and then we're supposed to drop everything to have dinner with them," the brunette complained, twisting herself further within the blankets, "That makes perfect sense."

"Well… that's distant relatives," Mrs. Tatibana shrugged, "Now will you please get ready?"

"Distant? Half of them live barely an hour away."

Letting out an unimpressed breath, like she often did when her temper appeared, the woman eyed her only child. "You're acting very immature, Hilary," she stated, causing the brunette to sit up quietly with wide eyes. "Get ready."

And with that command, she left her daughter alone within the confines of her bright yellow room. Truth be told, she had already been up at her scheduled time and had prepared for the day. Although she then decided her mood was much better suited moping in bed, dreading what was to come.

A family dinner.

If that could be said about strangers seated around a rectangular table knowing virtually nothing about one another. Uttering conversations that drag on, awkward silences that often take a toll before someone decides to acknowledge her existence. And then, the real fun begins.

Hilary ignored the thoughts, knowing reality would soon be at her door, so she unwound herself from the twisted problem she created. Stumbling slightly, she fell to the floor with the blankets grabbing her feet. Unharmed, she pushed them off as a slew of grumbles left her mouth.

Today was going perfect.

Picking herself up, she then smoothed out her clothing and checked her hair. Just because today was ruined, didn't mean she had to look bad. That being said, she deemed herself worthy and prepared for the worst.

With her bedroom door opened as she faced the incoming world, the wonderful smell of her Mother's cooking slowly crept up the stairs. She inhaled deeply, the aroma leading her to the kitchen as various dishes laid prepared in all their glory.

"Thank you," Mrs. Tatibana said, noticing her daughter had entered the room as she hovered around the stove. Her tone was to the contrary of the situation, seemingly unimpressed.

Deciding against a retort, Hilary's gaze travelled to her Father as he peered out the window frequently. "Hey Dad," she greeted, forcing a smile.

Nearly jumping from surprise, the man broke from his reverie to regard his daughter. "Oh… hey, Honey. Are you back from… uh… oh, I know their names," the man snapped his fingers in thought, "Tyler, Roy, Matt, Kyle and Kennedy's?"

Staring at him blankly, she quirked an eyebrow. She knew she shouldn't be surprised, it was her Father after all, and he had a tendency to only half hear what she said when preoccupied.

"Tyson, Ray, Max, Kai and Kenny," Hilary corrected with a roll of her eyes, "Plus you forgot Daichi."

"Right, right…," he muttered under his breath, his attention back with the outside world, "Dougie, nice kid…."

She gave up, realizing her Father would rather be entranced by watching the driveway than listening to her. Hilary focused back on her Mom, finding that she was giving the brunette a peculiar look. Looking around slightly, she inquired, "What?"

"You're not wearing that, are you?"

She felt her nails digging into her skin, her fists now balled at her sides while she attempted to control her temper. Certainly nothing was wrong with her outfit, she had even donned it after BEGA was defeated and nobody mentioned that it was horrible.

"Why?" Hilary asked petulantly.

"It's all well and good when you're out with the boys," her Mother tried to amend, "But certainly you have better suited stuff for guests."

Hilary was aghast, her mouth hung open before she attempted to retort. Unfortunately, her Dad decided to cut in. "They're here!" he shouted suddenly, jerking himself away from the window only to his head off one of the open frames, "Ack!"

"Are you alright?" she questioned, her anger dissolving into concern for the other parent.

Rubbing a hand through his dark hair, he smiled goofily in embarrassment. "Yep, just hurt my pride," he explained, trying to shrug it off, "No more arguing, be on your best behaviour."

Hilary nodded. "Do you think I look okay?"

As he was leaving through the doorway, he shot a confused look towards her. "Who said you didn't?" his voice travelled away from her, not waiting for an answer.

"No time to get changed," her Mother decided with a sigh, "Just go with your Dad for a little while, dinner should start soon."

"Hooray…," she muttered under her breath, her feet dragging in her Father's trail.

It was a somewhat small group to say the least, enough to be seated around their dining room table. Which was where Mr. Tatibana was leading them, and it wasn't until he had wrapped his arm around Hilary's shoulders that she was pulled into the conversation.

Chuckling at something her Uncle had said, her Dad threw her a gentle smile. Suddenly she knew what had happened, a lull had formed.

"Hilary, look at how tall you're getting! One day you're going to be taller than your Father."

Strike one.

Her lips pulled into a knowing smile, slight but apparent. She knew for a fact that she hadn't grown an inch, remaining at a height just above the man's shoulders. Yet it was always the first thing someone brought up, unable to handle the issue she was no longer up to their waists wearing pig tails.

"It feels like just yesterday you were only nine years old. I wonder when that changed?"

Strike two.

It was a follow up comment, and not knowing what to say, she nodded. There was not much to say, being merely idle conversation that sprouted awkward discomfort all around. It was a deadly set-up for a dangerous lull, one that caused the ultimate dread.

Now seated at the rectangular table, she fought the urge to tap the surface in rhythm. It was a nervous habit; although what was to happen wasn't a huge deal to others, to Hilary it meant something else entirely.

"So Hilary, do you have a boyfriend yet?"

Strike –

Wait a minute.

Yet? Her jaw set, her teeth gnashed together. She always had a problem with this question; their air about it always seemed to change. Although light and harmless in the beginning, recently it had seemed rather amused. Always replying with a simple no, they had come to expect it. And this bothered her.

Hilary had relatives watching her, the yet hanging in the air, but only catching her attention. Apparently this aspect of her life was long overdue, nothing else could compare to this vital information – it was all that mattered. And all of them waited for their amusement.

It was time for that to change.

"Actually, I do."

"You do?" came scattered rebuttals amongst the table, their skepticism clear. Managing to swallow her anger, Hilary pasted on a smile before nodding in confirmation.

Her Father made a choking sound, leaning on the table with his elbow, he seemed to be panicking. "You do?" he repeated, sounding more concerned than surprised.

"I do," she shrugged, her smile relaxing.

"What's wrong?" Mrs. Tatibana questioned as she carried out some of the dishes, she had her head quirked to the side in curiosity.

"I'll tell you what's wrong, our daughter has a boyfriend!"

"You do!" her Mother exclaimed, putting the dishes down before clapping her hands together. It was quite obvious her parents had separate opinions on this fact. "Who is it, Hilary? What's his name?"

She froze for a moment; she hadn't guessed they would want to know his name. She figured it would've been the same as saying no; letting the answer fade away without further prying. But she had to say someone fast or they'd become suspicious.

"Tyson," she blurted out.

Nope, not suspicious at all.

Then the name registered, and she had to stifle the urge to recoil at the thought. Out of all the people to choose, she had to choose him. Not that it really mattered, he served his purpose. Tyson managed to silence them and now he could be put away, never to find out about this little situation.

"I knew it all along," her Mother beamed, going around the table to put her hands on Hilary's shoulders. "I could tell they really cared about each other, you should hear how they speak to one another."

Hilary pressed her lips together tightly, suppressing her laughter. She had no idea what conversation her Mom heard, but odds were if someone heard them talking, they wouldn't be thinking couple.

"What are you talking about?" Mr. Tatibana intervened, utterly confused. "Tyson? I've never even heard of this kid."

Ignoring him, Mrs. Tatibana's grip on her daughter's shoulders tightened in a playful squeeze. "Hey…," she said slowly, regarding one of her sister-in-laws, "Do you think we could send an invitation to him too? You know, for Hilary's sake."

"Tyson? Oh, sure! There's still time, we'll invite him as her date. Do you know his address?"

Tensing, the brunette looked between her Mom and Aunt in frantic confusion. "Invitation? Invitation to what?"

"The wedding…," they answered slowly, both giving disapproving stares. And she would've felt guilty for forgetting if alarms hadn't gone off, buzzing in her head at a high risk factor.

"Oh… right," she pulled a small smile, but her nerves had broken right through. "What does this have to do with Tyson exactly…?"

"Poor boy must feel left out, if we had known sooner, we would've sent one out along with the other invites," her Aunt sighed. "No need to worry though, I'm sure he'll understand completely."

For some reason, Hilary didn't quite believe that. Sinking back into her seat, the adults around her began to speak animatedly as she became lost in her thoughts. She should've kept her mouth shut, let them have their laugh; there was no way she could get out of this, let alone live it down. But she did know one thing….

She should've stayed in bed today.