05

It was a Thursday morning. Chilly enough that breath came out in foggy little ghosts as MJ stood outside the school building, sleeves of her hoodie pulled halfway over her hands.

She had her earbuds in — as usual — nodding her head to something aggressive, distorted, and definitely not school appropriate. Something that made the morning a little easier.

Derek came up behind her and tugged one earbud out.

"Let me guess," he said, "the devil himself screaming into your brain?"

MJ smirked. "It's art. You just don't get it."

He rolled his eyes and bumped her shoulder with his. "I do get it. That's why I'm trying to save your eardrums."

They walked inside together, like always — backpacks slung lazy over one shoulder, MJ chewing gum even though she wasn't supposed to, Derek greeting people with a nod or a fist bump. The hall split around them like they were their own gravitational force.

No one messed with MJ anymore.

Not after the cafeteria.

Not after the girl with the knuckle marks on her cheek last semester.

MJ wasn't afraid of much anymore. And everyone knew it.

_

They sat next to each other, naturally. Assigned seating had stopped working for them after 5th grade — the teachers just gave up and let it happen.

MJ tapped her pen against the desk and passed a note under her textbook:

"If we die in a science experiment today, I blame you."

Derek snorted and scribbled back:

"You'd haunt me forever, don't even lie."

She grinned without looking at him, eyes flicking down to hide the smile.

_

"MJ, seriously, you gotta let me play you something else," Derek said, pulling her headphone cord like it owed him money.

She snatched it back. "You played me some R&B song last week. I almost threw up."

He gasped, mock offended. "You're disrespecting the classics?"

"Classics?" she laughed. "That one came out two years ago."

He shook his head. "You know what? I'm writing Metallica a letter. You've gone too far."

They sat at their usual table — middle of the lunchroom, view of everything. MJ picked the pepperoni off her pizza and ate them separately. Derek inhaled his tray like he hadn't eaten in a week.

A few boys passed their table, slowing down. Some nodded at Derek. One glanced a little too long at MJ.

Derek clocked it. Said nothing.

MJ didn't notice.

Or pretended not to.

_

Mj and Derek once again left school together.

"Think I traumatized that kid?" MJ asked, dragging her boots through a pile of dead leaves on the sidewalk.

Derek laughed. "You made him cry. Again."

"Not my fault gym brings out the worst in me."

They walked slow. No rush. Wind in their jackets, earbuds shared between them now — one in her left ear, one in his right.

It wasn't metal this time.

It was Nirvana.

They didn't talk much during the walk. Just existed. Laughed once in a while. Bumped shoulders again.

_

The house smelled like garlic bread and something tomatoey—MJ guessed lasagna the second she stepped through the door.

She dropped her bag by the couch and flopped down without asking. She never had to. This was home.

She sat on the couch with her knees tucked to her chest, Derek next to her, both of them flipping through a dog-eared TV Guide like they were eighty years old.

"Why do we even do this," MJ mumbled, half asleep. "We just end up watching Cops."

"Hey," Derek grinned, "you love it."

She groaned. "I like yelling at them for being stupid."

"Makes two of us."

From the kitchen, Mama Morgan called out, "You two better be working up an appetite, 'cause I cooked like I'm feeding a football team."

"You always do!" MJ yelled back with a smile.

Mama's voice floated back, sass and sweetness all in one: "That's 'cause you eat like a linebacker, baby."

Derek nearly choked laughing. MJ threw a pillow at him. 

_

Everyone was home—Sarah and Desiree included—so the table was full, the volume even fuller. MJ sat wedged between Derek and Mama Morgan like always.

The conversation bounced all over—Desiree's classes, Sarah's work drama, Derek's latest attempt at sneaking out of gym. MJ soaked it all in, laughing, chiming in, keeping up like she always did.

Mama nudged her after a while, eyeing her plate. "You eatin' good at home, baby girl?"

MJ gave a half shrug. "Enough, I guess. Not like this, though."

"Well, eat more. You're lookin' taller every day. Got that strong look now." Mama nodded approvingly. "Shoulders straight. You carry yourself different."

MJ blinked at that and smiled small. "Guess I learned it here."

Desiree grinned across the table. "She's grown up, huh? Remember when you barely said two words?"

"And now she never shuts up," Derek said with a smirk, taking a sip of his drink.

MJ kicked his shin under the table.

"Still sharper than you, though," she added.

Mama held up her hands. "Alright, alright! Save it for game night."

_

After dinner, MJ helped gather plates, even though Mama never asked. It was just what you did when you were part of the Morgan house.

As they stood side by side at the sink—MJ rinsing, Mama drying—there was a comfortable quiet between them.

"You know I'm proud of you, right?" Mama said gently.

MJ blinked, hands still in the warm water. "Yeah... I think so."

"You've come a long way, baby girl," Mama continued, voice soft. "You smile more. You got friends. You speak your mind."

MJ nodded, eyes low. "It's 'cause of here. Because of you. And... Derek, too."

Mama bumped her hip. "We just gave you what you always had in you. Don't forget that."

MJ glanced over, she smiled. "Thanks, Mama Morgan."

They hugged for a second — warm and tight, like only Mama Morgan could give.

As they pulled apart, Mama gave her a little look and said with a grin, "Now go tell your best friend he left his socks on the table again before I lose my mind."

MJ laughed. "On it."