Author note: To be fair, I rarely read author notes, so I will understand if you will skip to the actual story.

But there are few things I must clarify:

First, English is not my native language. Hebrew is.

So I NEED your constructive criticism.

Second, even though I doubt non-Animorpher or non-Starkid-rangers would even go here, my story can be read by people who belong to only one of these fandoms: For Animorphers it is like a 2018 AU with adult OCs, for Starkid-rangers it will be like an AU with other aliens and no music.

Of course, the best experience would be for the rare souls who belong to both fandoms.

The M rating is mainly because of swearing- some characters here will be OOC if they will not swear.

Sex can be mentioned, but not described.

Violence will be around Animorphs level if violence.

The opening chapter is very similar to the opening scene of TGWDLM and the next episodes will remind you of Animorphs book 1, it's necessary for the start and I will try to be more original when the plot will go forward. You will find most, but not all of the people who were infected by the musical zombies will be infected by yeerks in my little crossover.

I hope you enjoy!

My name is Paul.

That's my first name, obviously. My last name is Matthews. There is no reason I will not write this, because no one is going to read it anyway. It's not like I am going to publish it as a series of books or anything, that would be crazy, the controllers are everywhere. Everywhere. They can find me even if I will give myself a fake name and obscure important details like where I live (Hatchetfield, America).

I am writing this all down as sort of a journal, or a diary. Maybe if, somehow, humanity will survive until the Andalites return and rescue us, as they promised they would, I will publish my story.

Maybe.

I was an ordinary man. Ordinary, that is, until one night at the old Starlight theater.

But I better start earlier at the day.

It started as a normal day: My friend Bill accidentally sent a document to my printer, Mr. Davidson asked me to give him reports, I refused to join the company's softball league.

The first extraordinary thing to happen was when my colleague answered a phone call.

"C.C.R.P Technical, this is Charlotte, how can I help?" I heard her answering, "Oh, hi, Sam! How are things down at the precinct?... Well, I am sorry to hear that. Well, my day's been... Oh, really? That's so sweet of you, Sam! I can't believe you did it for us! Of course, Sam, of course. I love you too. Bye."

I glanced at Charlotte, who seemed genuinely happy.

Usually after she receives a call from her husband it ends up in her attempt to smoke a cigarette to relax herself, an attempt I always must stop.

"We are going to see Mamma Mia!" Charlotte said cheerfully, "Me and Sam. Together."

"That's great, Charlotte," I said.

Surprisingly, I meant to what I said.

It was nice to hear that maybe Charlotte and Sam's relationship is becoming healthy and mutual again.

"Hey, you are going to see Mamma Mia too?" Bill asked, smiling excitedly, "Me and my daughter are coming! After my ex-wife took Alice alllll the way to New York to see Hamilton, this show is right here in the Starlight theater of Hatchetfield! I am so lucky! Hey, Paul, you wanna come?"

I sighed.

"Bill... No," I replied, "Sorry."

"You got other plans?" he asked disappointedly."

"No," I admitted.

"So you would rather do nothing than come with us to see Mamma Mia?" he asked in disbelief and dropped face, as if I just rejected the offer to join the eternal and blessed life in Paradise itself.

"Bill, I'd rather do anything than go see Mamma Mia," I answered.

"But what if you don't come a meteor will crush into the Starlight theater and the world will slowly turn into a zombie alien musical?" Charlotte asked, glancing at us with worried look on her face.

"What the fuck?" I responded.

"I had a strange dream about that... And it felt very real," Charlotte replied.

Bill blinked, confused.

"Well... It's not about the dream, Paul," he said, "It will be fun! You used to babysit Alice, you can have a great time with us! Charlotte and Sam will come, and I think Ted will come too. All your friends will be there. Why won't you?"

"I will think it," I said, "Well, I, um, going to Beanie's, do you want anything?"

"I just want my daughter back," Bill answered.

"How about an iced caramel frappe? Nothing better!" I suggested awkwardly and left the room without waiting for his answer.

"Hey, are you going to Beanie's?" asked Ted suddenly, seemingly popping out of nowhere as he likes to do.

"Yeah," I answered.

"You didn't invite me," he said, staring at me annoyingly.

"Sorry, Ted. Do you want to come?" I asked, hoping he would say no.

"No, no, no, no, no," answered Ted, fulfilling my secret wish.

"I don't wanna 'show you up', yeah?" he added, winked, clicked his tongue and nudge my shoulder.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

I think my face froze.

"Paul, come on. I know why you walk that extra block instead of just going to Starbucks across the street," he said, grinning.

Shit.

"I don't want to give my money to some corporate chain-" I began to explain, but Ted interrupted me.

"Uh huh, uh huh, uh huh," he teased and his grin grew wider, "You sure it doesn't have anything to do with that cute lil' barista over there, huh?"

I felt my face heating up.

"That's not the reason," I lied.

"Yeah, the 'Latte Hottay'?" he practically shouted, using ridiculous fake accent, and then went back to normal speaking, "as she's known throughout the land, it's like, Ma wife, right?"

He laughed a little and tried to say something more, but I kind of ran away from him.

Fuck.

How does he know?

Had I been that obvious?

What if the barista noticed too? If she did, she probably thinks I am lame. Maybe I am lame. If I wasn't, I would have the courage to flirt with her. But maybe I am not handsome enough to flirt with women naturally. Well, I am tall, I have blue eyes and women tend to like features like those, but I am still not considered notably attractive. Maybe I am not muscled enough, maybe it's my face, which is not ugly but don't tend to make girls swoon either.

The barista is very different from me. The nickname "Latte Hottay" actually fit her- but it's not like I am going to tell her that.

She has skin like chai latte, mocha hair pulled into bun and eyes dark as black coffee.

She is very cute and nice too.

When I entered the coffee shop I immediately heard the barista's angelic voice saying: "Oh, no, what am I gonna do without that DOLLAR I have to split with five other people?"

A random customer replied angrily: "You know what? I'm never coming back here again. That's sign's bullshit!"

"Oh my god, so mean!" whined the barista and presented him her middle finger.

I looked at the customer who left the shop, wondering what the hell just happened.

Another woman in Beanie's clothing talked to the barista.

It seemed like she was her boss, and she was scolding her.

After their conversation ended, the barista turned to me, slightly defeated.

I smiled at her.

"Hi, can I help you?" she asked.

"Yes, I got an easy one for you: just a cup of black coffee."

She nodded and started making it.

I tipped her.

"Jesus! Really?" she asked, annoyed for some reason and started to sing: "I've been brewing up your coffee-"

"Oh, no, no, no. No, no, no," I interrupted her, "I'm sorry, no. I don't need you to sing."

This was the moment I noticed the "Tip for a song" sign on the tip box.

"I just tipped because you know…"

I wanted to say: "Because I like you", but I didn't know how she will accept that.

"People should tip," I finished.

"Well, thank you," she answered, "I mean because if I have to sing for it, It's not really a tip, right? It's like I have another shitty paying job on top of my already shitty paying job."

I nodded in agreement, glad to have an actual conversation with the little barista.

"cause, I mean, most of my tips are less than a buck," she continued, "So after the split, I'm making, like, not even 25 cents a song. That's less than a fucking jukebox. Only a jukebox doesn't also have to make coffee for these assholes. Oh, not that you are an asshole."

She considered it for a moment.

"Well, maybe you are. What did You tip?"

She checked the tip box.

"Five bucks!" she said, impressed, took out the bill, glanced back and asked: "You meant it just for me, right? Like I don't have to split this with anyone…"

"Oh, no, that's for you. I don't give a shit about them," I answered.

She laughed.

"That's very sweet," she said and put the bill in her pocket.

"God, I am just so sick of Nora and Zoey," she told me while making the coffee, "Who is technically my manager even though she is ten years younger than me. Ugh, she hired all her little theater friends and they will not shut the fuck up"

She sang the last four words, and then went back to normal speaking: "about some shitty production of Godspell they did last summer."

"Oh, that was the one on the rec center, right?" I said, "I think I had to see that. I didn't like it."

"Yeah!" she replied joyfully, "It sucked, right"

"Yeah, they shouldn't call it Godspell, more like God-awful," I joked."

"Yeah," she agreed, "Or like God-damn-that-was-bad"

I laughed awkwardly.

"I don't like musicals," I said, "watching people sing and dance makes me very uncomfortable."

"Well, why did you come to the singing coffee shop?" she asked, handing me my cup of coffee, "You know, there's a Starbucks across the street."

"Oh, uh, well, you know… Some things are worth it," I answered.

She looked at me, confused.

I realized what I just said and immediately tried to cover it up.

"Like," I added and sipped, "damn good coffee."

I raised my thumb.

She did the same.

"I see you in here all the time, don't I?" she asked, "what's your name?"

"Paul," I answered.

"Hi Paul," she replied, "I'm Emma."

"Excuse me!" erupted a nerdy looking boy, "I have been waiting a very long while"

"Sorry, sorry," Emma said and started making his order.

I intended to leave, but then I remembered Bill.

I sipped more of my black coffee and waited.

"You are still here," Emma remarked after the boy got his hot chocolate.

"Yes," I confirmed, "I almost forgot, I need to get iced caramel frappe for my friend."

"Ok," she answered and started making it.

Then she talked to me again.

"You know, I am actually gonna try and get along with Zoey. She invited me to see Mamma Mia tonight with her friends and for some damn reason I didn't say no."

"Oh, my friends tried to convince me to come with them to see it too," I told her.

"Well, maybe you should go there," she said, "I know you don't like musicals, but you can find out-" she smiled slyly "-that some things are worth it."

I blushed.

"M-maybe I will be there," I said.

And that's how I found myself later watching the show that changed my life forever.