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“BJ,” is all I managed to choke out because even then I knew it was true. He is what I need.
That got Marsaili flared up immediately. “I am not,” she growled. “Am not calling that boy. She can’t disappear for half a week and run away with him and have a tantrum when she doesn’t get to see him—”
“You think this is a tantrum?” my mum yelled at her — one of the only times I’ve heard her defend me. “Look at her! She is a shell of who she was when she left here Monday morning.”
“Then obviously something’s happened!” Mars yelled. “Magnolia, did he hurt you?”
“He would never,” my sister whispered from the doorway.
They all kept tag-teaming and trying to get me to calm down, but I’d thrash away from them if they ever got too close.
After a few hours, probably — retrospectively — of being very deep into a very serious panic attack, someone (my money is on Bridget) called BJ.
Lily drove him over and he ran up the stairs, Lil close behind him. I could feel him moving through the house, hear him, before I could see him. He pushed my father out of the way, pulled his sweater up and over his head, discarding it on the floor and just climbed into my bed, pulling me back into him.
Our parents stood at the doorway watching us, so completely baffled at what was happening and why — how we started the week as two separate people then came back at the end of it fused as one. He lay with me, breathed loudly into my ear til my breathing slowed to match his, and then he stayed. Stayed til Monday morning when we went back to school where we lied about our week. Told all our friends we snuck to Cannes to get away from our parents. He went along with it — whatever the fuck I needed, even before that was a thing, it was always our thing.
I thought it always would be.
