Page 1 of Magnetic God

1

THEN

Hannah

“I’m sorry. You want me to go where?” I ask, not bothering to hide my laugh.

My best friend, Jessica, looks insulted that I’m laughing at her. We’re standing outside the classroom of the only course we have together this term. When she said she needed to talk, I thought she was going to ask for notes or something. Not this.

“It’s not funny.”

“It kind of is.”

“No, it’s not.” She pushes her blonde hair over her shoulder. “My brother has two extra tickets. Said we can tag along just so they don’t go to waste.”

“Yeah, I heard you say all that the first time. What I don’t get is why you want to go and why you think I want to go.”

“Hear me out. I need you to go to be my wing woman. And I don’t really want to go, but Matt is going to be there…” She gets a dreamy look in her green eyes. “This will be the first time we get to hang out.”

“Jess, this is nuts for so many reasons. One, your brother is going to be there, which is who Matt will be hanging out with. Two, you don’t even watch wrestling. Three, I have no desire to go.”

“You watch it, though, or used to!”

“Yeah, when I was nine and trying to impress one of my mom’s boyfriends.”

Little good it did, I think bitterly. I was left with yet another shattered dream and a drawer full of wrestling figures that I never played with again. The kicker is that mom ended up marrying the next guy she dated, changing our lives forever.

Jess’ gaze narrows. “Hannah, you wore a wrestling t-shirt in our fourth-grade class photo and used to walk around quoting different wrestlers.”

“Again, that was like ten years ago!”

“Please,” she begs. “Please, please, please.”

Each word is drawn out, causing a dull ache behind my eyes.

“Jess, I have class tomorrow.”

“We won’t be out late.”

I roll my eyes. “Shows how much you know. The TV taping won’t even be over until eleven, and then we’ll still have to get out of the arena. It’ll be at least one before I get home.”

“Hannah, please.”

“For the love of god. Stop saying please and I’ll go.”

She throws her arms around me. “You are the best! I knew I could count on you! We’ll pick you up at six so we can head downtown.”

She bounces away before I have time to change my mind. Smart girl, really.

I should probably call her and tell her no as soon as I get to my dorm room. Instead, I grab my travel toiletry basket and take a quick shower in the shared bathroom before going back to my room to change into jeans and a black shirt that makes my boobs look good and manages to hide my pudgy stomach at the same time. Sometimes it’s hard not to wish that I was as thin as Jess, but I’ve slowly started to love my body, especially since starting college, where I now have the freedom to wear what I want without facing massive guilt trips.

Those guilt trips were always courtesy of my mother and her husband, Pastor Jeremiah Sullivan, who firmly believes that women should wear modest clothing, like long skirts and dresses. Definitely not jeans or, god forbid, shorts or a skirt. I still think about the time my mother tore through my closet until she found the shorts I had hidden and threw them in the fireplace. I was seventeen at the time, and they weren’t even that short.

No! I’m not going to think about them. Not today.

Instead, I focus on straightening my shoulder-length blonde hair with the flat iron. Where Jess’ hair is a darker blonde, mine is on the platinum side, and it’s all natural. Believe me, I’ve been asked more than once if it’s my real hair color. I keep my make-up simple since I’m not trying to impress anyone. My aqua eyes are bright today. As much as I want to downplay this, I can admit that I’m excited about going to the show. Wrestling was always so much fun to watch. I mean, it’s basically a soap opera targeted at men instead of women. Good storylines and beautiful people. What more can a person ask for in a show? Tilting my head, I make a silly face at my reflection. I’ll never admit it to Jess, though.

Two hours later, Jess and I follow her brother, Peter, and his best friend, Matt, into the Dickies Arena. We’re running a bit behind, but only because it took forever to find a parking spot that didn’t cost an arm and a leg. Parking in Fort Worth is the worst, but not as bad as Dallas. I shudder, even thinking about it.

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