Page 29 of Magnetic God

“I was looking at my phone,” I admit.

“Hannah.”

It’s strange how one word said by your parent can make you feel worse than if they had yelled or screamed.

My eyes water. “Like I said, it was my fault. I’ll figure something out with the car.”

She’s silent for a moment.

“Is it because of a boy?”

Yes. “No.”

I don’t know why I lie. Maybe it’s because I know where this conversation is going to go if I admit that it was because of a guy.

“Is the other person okay?”

“He was fine, thank god. Barely a scratch.”

I exhale. She’s right. Thank god for that.

My stepdad enters, carrying a cup of coffee. His gaze narrows when he sees that I’m awake.

“Hannah, you are very lucky that your carelessness hurt no one.”

He uses the same tone of voice that he uses in his sermons. The one that strikes the fear of god into some.

He hands Mom her coffee before crossing his arms, waiting for me to answer.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

I sit, which causes me to wince, but I need to level the playing field with the Pastor, and I can’t do that laying down.

Mom notices my pain and says, “You broke three ribs and your left wrist, all likely because of the airbag deploying. You also have a gash on your forehead, which required stitches. Luckily, there was a plastic surgeon on call tonight, so you shouldn’t have a scar.”

I’m sure the fact that Mom is an administrator for the hospital has nothing to do with the plastic surgeon being available. God knows Mom and the Pastor won’t settle for anyone in their family looking out of place, even if it is me.

“How long do I have to stay?”

“They’re keeping you overnight so they can monitor you. You have a minor concussion.”

“Well, that explains the throbbing behind my eyes.”

My stepdad says, “You’re not getting pain medicine, young lady.”

I could point out that I didn’t ask for shit. My head throbs, making it hard to focus for a moment.

Ignoring him, I ask my mom, “Did my bag make it?”

“What you’re really asking is if your phone made it.” She purses her lips together. “I think you should rest tonight.”

In other words, I’m not getting my phone.

Biting back a moan, I lean back and close my eyes. Maybe it’s for the best. As much as I want to believe the segment on Brooks was a mistake, there’s a heavy feeling that’s settled deep in my stomach that warns me to be prepared for anything. Luckily, the nurse arrives a few moments later with a pain injection. She ignores the Pastor, who says I don’t need it, and winks at me as she injects it into my IV line. Within five minutes, I close my eyes and slip into a restless sleep with dreams filled with Brooks.

The next morning I’m discharged from the hospital bright and early. But not before the doctor stops by to speak to me. The news he gives me is shocking.

“Does my mom know?”

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