06

The trouble started, as most middle school chaos does, with a dare.

It was after school, a warm Friday afternoon. The sun was out, and most of the neighborhood kids were lingering around the park near MJ and Derek's school. MJ was perched on top of the monkey bars, black combat boots swinging. Derek was leaning against the side with his backpack still on, watching her like she might fall at any second.

"Come on," MJ said with a grin, gesturing toward the convenience store across the street. "You said you were brave."

"I am brave," Derek argued.

"Then prove it. Lets go in and come out with a snack—without buying it."

Derek's eyes narrowed. "That's stealing."

MJ raised a brow. "Not if you're fast."

They stared each other down.

A minute later, Derek and MJ were ducking behind the corner store's side wall, hearts pounding. They both walked in casually, separating once they got inside. MJ went straight to the candy isle and grabbed the smallest thing she could find, a snickers bar. She quickly stuffed it in her pocket and went to the bathroom to wait a bit, hoping Derek would get caught. One minute passed, then two. Just as MJ walked out of the store, Derek came sprinting out to catch up with her—laughing, out of breath—with a single bag of sour candy in hand.

"You did it?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"No," he gasped. "I gave the cashier a dollar and told her MJ dared me to steal. She laughed and gave me the candy."

MJ burst into loud, hysterical laughter, nearly falling off the bench.

"Oh, you snitched?!"

"I'm not going down for your crimes," Derek grinned. "Did you do it?"

MJ slowly pulled the bar out of her pocket, and smiled.

"Of course you did," Derek said underneath his breath with a smile.

But by the time they got back to his house, the story had somehow beaten them home though. The door was barely shut behind them when Mama Morgan's voice echoed from the kitchen.

"Derek Raymond Morgan!"

They both froze.

MJ winced. "Uh oh."

Mama appeared in the hallway, arms crossed, apron still tied around her waist. Her eyes flicked from Derek to MJ and back again. "Somebody wanna tell me why Ms. Bonner down at the corner store said my son and his little sidekick were out starting mess today?"

"She said sidekick?" MJ whispered to Derek, who elbowed her gently.

Mama pointed toward the couch. "Sit. Now."

They shuffled to the couch like guilty puppies. Mama sat across from them, resting her hands in her lap, eyebrows raised.

"I raised you better," she said to Derek first, calm but firm. "And MJ—you've got enough fire in you to burn down the whole city. Don't use it to get yourselves into trouble. You hear me?"

"Yes ma'am," they both muttered.

Mama leaned back, sighing. "You two are smart. Smarter than this nonsense. I love y'all, but if I catch wind of another stunt like this, I'mma make you clean that store from floor to ceiling."

After a pause, Mama's tone softened. "Now. Go wash up. I made chicken casserole."

As they got up, MJ nudged Derek. "You snitched and got us a lecture."

He grinned. "Yeah, but at least we got candy and dinner."

_

The smell of Mama Morgan's famous casserole filled the house, thick with seasoning and home and comfort. Derek and MJ were at the sink, shoulder to shoulder, washing up like instructed. Their laughter still echoed from earlier, but something in MJ's eyes had already softened — like she'd let her guard down a little too far.

"Y'all better get to the table before it gets cold!" Mama called from the kitchen.

MJ smiled, wiping her hands on a towel. She felt warm, settled. Safe.

Then came the knock.

Three slow, heavy thuds on the front door.

The kind of knock that didn't need to say a word. The kind that made her stomach turn.

Derek paused, one eyebrow lifting. "You expecting someone?"

MJ didn't respond. Her back went rigid.

Mama Morgan wiped her hands and walked to the door casually. "Lord, I swear if that's some kid selling candy bars again—"

She opened it.

MJ heard the voice before she saw him.

"I'm here for my daughter."

It scraped the air like rust on metal.

Mama Morgan's whole posture shifted, her shoulders tight, body blocking the doorway. "This ain't the time, nor the place. We're about to eat."

"I said I'm here for her," the man growled.

MJ stepped into view, feet glued to the floor. Derek instinctively moved to stand in front of her, his jaw clenched.

But the second her father's eyes met hers, it was like flipping a switch.

Her entire body went still.

Shoulders hunched. Eyes dropped. Her hands curled into her sleeves. The boldness, the spark — gone.

"Mercedes," he barked. "Let's go."

She didn't say anything.

Derek looked back at her, confused. "MJ? You don't have to—"

"It's fine," she whispered, voice barely there.

"No, it's not," Derek said, stepping in front of her fully now, heart racing. "You don't even wanna go with him."

Her father took one step forward and Mama's hand flew out. "Don't even think about crossing that line, sir."

"I'm her father."

"And I'm the one who's fed her more nights than I can count," Mama snapped.

MJ finally moved, brushing past Derek before she coldly snaps. "Just let me go."

"MJ—" Derek turned, grabbing her wrist.

Her eyes met his. They were wide, hollow, scared. She shook her head once, silent.

And just like that, the girl who dared him to steal candy, the one who laughed the loudest and threw the hardest punches, disappeared behind a shadow of who she used to be.

He let her go.

They all watched as she followed her father out the door without another word.

The second MJ climbed into the passenger seat, the door slammed behind her — hard enough to make her flinch.

Her father didn't say a word at first. He started the engine with a sharp twist, his jaw tight, eyes locked on the road as they pulled away from the Morgan home.

The silence was worse than yelling.

MJ sat small beside him, hands folded in her lap, her body still and rigid like she was bracing for a storm.

Then his voice broke through — low and bitter.

"You got real comfortable in that house, didn't you?" He didn't look at her. "Letting them feed you. Touch you. Like you're not my daughter."

She didn't respond. She knew better.

"Answer me," he snapped, his voice cracking loud against the windows.

MJ swallowed. "No, sir."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "You forget who you belong to?"

Her heart thudded. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Another silence fell — then he exploded.

"You think you're something now? Huh?" His voice roared. "That boy's family give you a backbone?"

She pressed herself against the door as if it could swallow her whole.

"You don't get to act like you're better than me!" he yelled, and suddenly his hand came off the wheel, fast — not a punch, not yet — but it flew past her face so close she felt the wind of it. She jerked back, arms instinctively rising to protect herself.

He hit the steering wheel instead, the horn blaring in one sharp, angry note.

"Say it!"

Her voice trembled, barely audible. "No, sir."

The car turned sharply, tires screeching a little as he pulled into their driveway. The brakes squealed as he slammed the car into park. Her father didn't say a word at first. He just sat there, hands gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles went pale. 

"You think you're lovable?!" he bellowed, voice sharp enough to pierce her chest.

MJ flinched but didn't speak.

"Letting that colored family feed you? You're mine, girl. Mine. And don't you ever forget that! We're blood!"

She shrank into the seat, hands folded in her lap, nails digging into her skin.

"Walking around like you're better than me. Like you've got someone else lookin' out for you." His voice twisted, slurring between anger and something crueler. "You think they love you? That's not family. That's pity."

Then, without warning, he reached across and grabbed the back of her head, forcing her down hard.

Her face hit the dashboard with a sickening thud.

Pain exploded through her nose. She gasped, dazed, as warmth dripped down over her lips.

Blood.

The sting blurred her vision, but she didn't make a sound. Just stayed there, breathing shallow, hands frozen in place.

He let go, satisfied. "Maybe that'll remind you who's in charge."

MJ didn't say anything else. Didn't move. 

Just sat there in the silence, the sound of her breathing mixing with the quiet tick of the engine cooling.

And outside the car, the world kept turning — like nothing had happened.

And all she could think—over and over—was:

I'm so stupid. How could I actually be loved. I'm just a charity. I'm a Johnson