Sing For Me

Chapter One: The Old Apartment

Author's Note: Hello, Marshmallows! Just a quick note to say a massive THANK YOU for taking a chance on Sing For Me.  I very much appreciate your precious reading time, and I hope you enjoy it!  Emxx

Abbey skips into the kitchen. "Alexa, play You're the One."

My stomach curls. "NO! Alexa, no! Alexa, don't you dare—"

In pure defiance of my objections, cheery pop music blares from the tiny speaker on our even tinier kitchen counter.

"Dammit, Alexa! It's seven o'clock in the freakin' morning!" I shoot an evil glare in Abbey's direction. In return, she pulls out her best, full-bottom-lip pout.

"Have you even listened to the Spotify playlist I made for you, hmm?!"

I hold my finger in the air and open my mouth to rebut her, but Abbey's too quick for me, waggling an accusatory finger of her own in my direction. "Don't. You. Even. I know you haven't listened to it! Meggiekins, Puh-lease... I'll do anything..."

Well, crap. From skipping to begging in under three seconds, and all before I've had my morning coffee? Surely in any reasonable society, this would count as first-degree torture...

I narrow my eyes further, transforming my face into a suspicious scowl. Abbey is surely some kind of best-friend manipulating genius.

Well played, Abbey. Well played.

"Come on, Meg... you don't want to be the only one there who doesn't know any of the lyrics, do you?!" Abbey's bottom-lip pout juts out even further, if that is even humanly possible, and she folds her arms across her chest.

I sigh. I mean, I'd prefer not to be going at all, period. Because let's face it... boybands are pretty much the worst. And on the long list of things I'd prefer not to be thinking about before coffee, this was pretty high — especially on a work day. 

I run my fingers through my bed hair as I open the fridge, contemplating my options.

Then I sigh again, a little more dramatically this time.

Because, yeah... Abbey's absolutely my best friend. And so when it comes to her, I don't have any options — not if the answer to the question involves making her ridiculously happy or borderline depressed.

"Okay, okay, Abbey! Sheesh, put that damn bottom lip away already. I guess I'll listen to it during my lunch break or something." I reply, although not as eagerly as Abs would have hoped. As I turn around, milk carton in hand, she changes tact, twitching her chin and flashing me with her best puppy-dog eyes.

Curses! She knows I'm a sucker for her puppy-dog eyes!

And although internally I'm screaming, How on earth am I going to survive this? I give her my best, cheesy, as non-satirical-as-humanly-possible-at-this-time-of-morning smile.

"Yaaaaaaaaaas!" Abs throws her hands in the air and starts the Fortnite Jubilation dance, right there in the kitchen — jazz hands above her head, running in place — and I can't help but snort-laugh. Thank god I'm not drinking my coffee yet, as it wouldn't be the first time Abs had made me snort liquids out my nose from laughing too hard.

"You are so amazing, Meg! Thank-you thank-you thank-you thank-you!" She squeaks, jumping in circles around me in our super-cramped, all-the-rent-we-could-afford kitchen. She knocks into my elbow, and half the contents of the milk carton in my hand splash to the floor.