Mr. Cinderella (5SOS) {discontinued}

(20) This Ship Is About To Sail

"Guuuuys," I whine as I collect more empty plates from the table, drawing out the vowel.  "Could you maybe, I don't know, help for once?"  The four boys are all still seated around the half of the table we set up for lunch - just as they have been for the past fifteen minutes - while Kat and I have been trying to wash up plates and clear away rubbish.  I groan again when I realise that none of the boys are moving, despite my constant complaining about their laziness (although, to be fair, it did take about ten minutes and the promise of a chocolate bar for Kat to convince me to help out).

A moment later, Luke leaps to his feet before gathering empty pizza boxes and taking them, I assume, to the recycling bins outside.  I grin at him gratefully as his eyes lock onto mine, and he pouts in response, evidently not happy that he has to help out, or that since we're now together he can't exactly refuse to assist me.  Still, it's not like me or Kat even live here, so theoretically this should be their responsibility anyway.  

While it seems like the other three boys are ignoring me, Ashton's shifting eyes alert me to his uncertainty; clearly, he doesn't want to help Kat and I to clear away, but I suspect that he's also worrying a little about how being lazy and leaving the washing up to us might detriment Kat's opinion of him.  Figuring that I may as well use this to my advantage, I say, "Kat's having a lot of trouble washing the plates - I'm pretty sure hunching over the sink like that with no one helping her will just give her back pain or something bad like that."

As reliable as ever, Ashton huffs as he drags himself towards the kitchen, taking an armful of plates with him as he lowers his eyes guiltily.  I raise my eyebrows at Calum and Michael, who still have yet to move;  Calum's eyes are glued to his phone screen while Michael is slumped in his seat with his head resting on the table, eyelids closed.  When neither of them so much as glance at me, I cough loudly, causing Calum to roll his eyes.  "You forced me to help you with you chores every time I visited you until a couple of years back.  I think you can handle this one by yourself, Yazzy."

"Yeah," Michael agrees without opening his eyes or moving from his napping position.  "You've already got Luke and Ashton whipped enough to help the two of you, so why do you need us too?"

I stare at the two of them for a couple of seconds before realising they do have a point - Calum always used to help me tidy my room and set the table for dinner when his family visited, purely because I insisted that in England, doing chores is considered cool.  When he eventually realised that I had been making the whole thing up (which, by the way, was only about five years ago) he still helped me, even when I got snappy with him.  So, on some levels, I do still owe him, infinitely.

Michael, on the other hand, doesn't have much of an excuse, although he's right about not much more help actually being needed - when I left the kitchen to come recruit more helpers, Kat and I had already washed and dried most of the plates, and since Luke just took out the cardboard pizza boxes to be recycles, all that is left to do is cleaning the table.  I sigh.  

"You're off the hook this time," I concede, heading back towards the kitchen.  "But they aren't whipped!"  I yell at the last minute, feeling indebted slightly to Luke and Ashton for being the only two members of their band to actually offer - or, I guess, be coerced into offering - assistance.  

"Calum, you're whipped too!" Michael hollers after me, and it's only when Calum appears by my side that I can make sense of the comment.  I ignore Michael's words, feeling a swell of gratitude instead as Calum takes the plates from my hands.