Once Again

Chapter 38

(Ali's P.O.V)

I grab my shampoo bottle, mid-performance and give this dance routine all I've got.

Singing in the shower has always been one of my few hobbies. Aside from eating enough food to feed three full grown men in one day and watching an entire season on Netflix in less than a day, shower performances have always been my forte.

With years and years of practise, I've managed to choreograph many routines.

'Baby, I can feel your halo, pray it won't fade away.

I can feel your halo, halo, halo'

I prepare myself for the upcoming high note that I always aim to ace as I splash water about, pretending I'm in the midst of a music video. Despite the fact that I'm naked, that is.

'Halo, ooh, ooh, ooh'

The sound of applause immediately snaps me out of my performance mode as I let out a screech, covering my private parts with each hand. I turn around and spot Dylan bending over, clutching to the side of the sink laughing his head off.

"Dylan!" I bark, glaring daggers at him. I'm mainly mad because I was in my prime, and he completely ruined my chance at nailing the vocals. Now I have to start all over again. Damn you, Dylan Scott. "Get out," I snap as he fails to compose himself.

"I guess you can cross singing off the list of reasons why I'm with you," he chuckles at his own joke and my face remains blank.

"You're an asshole," I deadpan. Way to crush my dreams of becoming a worldwide popstar.

"Hey, don't blame it on me. I just came here to get my clothes and thought there was a cat being strangled in here so I came to help him out. Turns out, it was only you." Again, he laughs at his own excuse for a joke, thinking he's some kind of comedian.

"If you don't mind, I'm in the middle of something. So if you could do me a favour and leave," I grit out, still glaring at Dylan.

"And if you don't mind, I need to take a shower too. I thought you'd be done by now."

"Well clearly, I'm not." I state the obvious.

"So then move over," he responds, stripping off his board shorts, leaving him in only his boxers.

"No," I retort, refusing to share a shower with the douche who only seconds ago, was crushing my dreams of being a singer and mocking my vocals.

He sighs, "I didn't want to have to do this," before I can begrudgingly ask what, he plays a recording of me singing. "I will show this to everyone, that is, if they haven't already had the misfortune of witnessing it themselves." He threatens, but I know it's an empty threat. He wouldn't do that.

As I listen closely, I notice that there's probably something wrong with the recording. My voice sounds way out of tune and it keeps cracking on every single high note, which in the song I was singing, there are a lot. That can't possibly be me, can it?

I listen as the part I thought I nailed came on and to my dismay, I do sound like a cat being strangled. No, that's an understatement. That would be like calling Ava shy or saying that Jake is a picky eater.

As I listen to it until the end, lets just say that I finally realise that there's as much chance of me being a popstar, as there is me flying to the moon tomorrow for breakfast. Pretty much in the category of slim to none.

My face falls as I realise this. I mean, I know I wasn't anything like Beyonce but I didn't think I was borderline Rebecca Black.

Dylan must have noticed the dejected look on my face because he's by my side in an instant.