07

The night MJ's father slammed her face into the dashboard was the kind of pain that didn't bruise skin as much as it cracked something deeper. Her nose bled quietly, hot and fast, while his voice drilled into her — sharp words she'd heard a hundred times but never with that much hate. He didn't hit her again, not physically, but the things he said?

They stuck.

You're trash. Ungrateful. Always causing problems. You don't belong anywhere.

By the time he finally stopped, MJ was already somewhere else in her head. Somewhere quieter. Numb.

She didn't cry.

She didn't speak.

Not even when Derek showed up at her door the next day, worry all over his face.

She told him she was fine.

She wasn't.

After that, MJ tried to pull away — not from school, not from the world, but from them — the Morgans. The only people who'd ever made her feel safe. Mama tried to feed her. Derek tried to make her laugh. But MJ started showing up less and speaking even less than that. She felt ashamed, like her presence alone was a stain on their kindness.

She tried to run once, quietly. Just packed a bag and disappeared. Slept in a playground tunnel with a hoodie as her pillow and a switchblade tucked under her arm.

She came back the day after.

But she came back different.

She apologized for everything to the morgan family. And gradually thing went back to normal in a way. But since that night, MJ never stopped hearing the words her dad spoke of.

Freshman and Sophomore year, MJ tried to blend in. She didn't talk about the bruises that had long since faded. She didn't mention the way her stomach twisted when someone raised their voice. She wore normal clothes, faked smiles, even tried hanging out with girls who didn't know her history.

Derek was already finding his place.

Football became his world. Coaches saw his potential. Girls saw everything else. He got stronger, faster, louder.

And MJ?

She stayed on the fringe — still close to Derek, still tethered by something old and quiet — but she watched him shine from the shadows. She didn't resent him. If anything, she was proud. And a little scared. Because it meant he was moving forward... and she wasn't sure she could keep up.

By Junior year, they had both changed.

Derek had grown into his frame — tall, built, already carrying the confidence of someone people listened to. MJ had grown too. She gained maybe an inch in height but she matured far more in other ways. Her face was more striking than before and well ... she was noticeably attractive everywhere else.  Her hair looked better loose. Her eyes popped in contrast with her tan skin

She didn't pick fights anymore. She didn't dare people to do stupid things. She didn't raise her voice unless she had to.

But she was still MJ.

Still metal in her veins.

Still fire under control.

And Derek?

He never left her behind.

Even with the games, the popularity, the weight of being "the guy," he still walked with her after school. Still leaned in when she whispered dry jokes under her breath. Still knew how to make her laugh without trying too hard.

They didn't talk about what had happened.

They didn't need to.

But somewhere between then and now, something else had started to form between them — slower than friendship, quieter than love, but undeniable.

It lived in the way his hand brushed hers when they sat too close.

The way she looked up from her locker and caught him staring — just for a second too long.

The way silence felt warm between them, not awkward.

They didn't name it.

They didn't dare.

But it was there.

Burning slow beneath the surface.

_

MJ spotted them near the bleachers — Derek and some girl in a varsity hoodie, laughing about something too far away to hear.

The girl leaned in too close. Touched his arm when she laughed. The kind of flirtation MJ could spot a mile away.

MJ didn't flinch. Didn't stop walking.

Just flicked her eyes toward them for a half-second too long... then shoved the feeling down.

Not my business.

Never was.

She pulled her headphones on, let the music swallow it whole, and walked home without waiting for him.

_

The house was full — voices bouncing off the walls, silverware clinking, chairs scooting over worn tile. Dinner at the Morgans' was never quiet, especially with the girls home.

Derek sat next to MJ like always, sweat still fresh in his hair from practice. On his other side, his sisters were mid-conversation, talking fast about cheer tryouts and the horror of gym class.

"You should've seen Sarah's face when I dropped the baton," one of them laughed.

"And don't even get me started on that music choice—"

"Hold up," Derek cut in, his grin spreading. "Let me tell you what happened in chem today."

MJ glanced up only briefly before going back to her plate.

"So Brooke — she's new, I guess, transferred in from Lincoln? Anyway, she slides into the seat next to me like we've known each other since elementary school and goes, 'Didn't know football players could do math.'"

The table laughed.

"Harsh," one of his sisters said.

"She's bold," Derek said, clearly amused. "And kind of funny. Said if I pass the next quiz, she owes me a milkshake. I might take her up on it."

MJ's fork stilled, just for a second.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "A milkshake? That's like one step away from a date."

"I mean... maybe," Derek said with a shrug, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "She's chill. Kinda loud, though. Talks a mile a minute. Got all these stories. Makes fun of my cleats."

"Sounds like someone we know," the other sister teased, nodding toward MJ.

MJ didn't bite. She just raised her brows faintly and said, "I've never made fun of his cleats."

"No," Derek grinned, nudging her under the table. "You just threaten to burn them."

"More efficient," MJ said flatly, finally taking a bite.

Mama Morgan chuckled softly but didn't say a word — just gave MJ a knowing glance as she refilled the pitcher of water. Her eyes lingered a little longer than usual.

One of the sisters leaned over toward Derek with a mock-whisper, "So... she loud and flirty and new. Not quiet and scary like MJ?"

"I'm not scary," MJ muttered.

"You are scary," Derek replied, smirking at her.

"And yet," MJ said smoothly, "you've been sitting next to me for nine years."

His grin faltered for just a second.

Only Mama noticed.

She moved around the table with practiced grace, setting down the basket of bread and tossing in, "Some girls you joke with. Some girls you trust with your life. Both have their place."

It sounded casual.

But her eyes were on MJ.

MJ didn't look back.

She couldn't.

Instead, she just took another bite and pretended her chest didn't ache with something she had no name for.