Saving Michael Jackson

The Dance

"Glory Days" by Bruce Springsteen hums softly from the radio, threading through the house like a memory that refuses to fade.

I wake up to laughter first—Wanda's and Michael's—sharp, bright, impossible to ignore. It fills the space before I'm even fully conscious, bouncing off the walls louder than the song itself.

"She is already awake, I know it!" Wanda yells from downstairs
.
Of course I am. The whole house sounds like a freaking zoo. I didn't even think I'd sleep this long—not after last night. And I still have to meet Liam... talk to him about it. He has to have an explanation for my sudden breakdowns, for whatever is happening to me.

I push myself out of bed and head downstairs.
Wanda is in the kitchen like she owns the place, already cooking, while Michael stands near the radio, completely at ease as if this chaos is normal life.

"Oh good morning, princess. I hope we didn't wake you up," Wanda says, wiping her hands with a tissue.

"Oh no, not at all," I reply, voice dripping with sarcasm. "What's with all the excitement?"

"Well," she says, opening the oven door, "we're celebrating your relationship." She pulls out a tray of cookies like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"My... relationship?" I glance at Michael.

"Okay," Wanda says, already sighing. "Do I have to teach you everything? How old are you? When two people kiss and sleep together, they're in a relationship. Well—except if it's just a one-night thing."

"Sleep together?" I blink. "We didn't sleep together. Me and Michael are not together."

"We didn't sleep together that way, Wendy." Michael corrects quickly.

"Whatever," she says, setting the tray down. "And stop calling me Wendy."

I turn to Michael. "Michael?"

"Don't look at me," he says immediately, raising his hands. "I told her nothing."

"And hey," I add, gesturing around the kitchen, "I was used to waking up to classical music, not... this." I point at the radio.

"This," Wanda says proudly, "is Bruce Springsteen, and he is amazing." She emphasizes it like it's a scientific fact and sits down at the table.

Michael and I follow, sitting across from her, and somehow end up eating cookies with milk. Cookies and milk. Breakfast has officially given up. Someone please explain where the normal breakfast and classical music went.

"Oh, you'll love this," Wanda says suddenly, jumping up.

"Hm. They're good," Michael mutters, tightening his lips as he studies a cookie like it's suspicious.

"Boom." Wanda slams a magazine onto the table.
My stomach drops.