I don't own Magnet, or the idea of him stealing a dog. The rest is mine.

Right everyone, here it is, my story of Magnet's past. Yeah! So, I hope you all like it as much as I do. Read, review and enjoy. Rated for underage drinking and hard partying, hey at least I left out harsh language. -OyNebach42

Chapter One: Hangover

The blaring of his alarm clock woke José. Each of its winning calls seemed to bore through his skull. The Mexican youth moaned bitterly to himself as he rolled over and pulled the pillow over his head. Memories of last night flashed before his eyes, the party, the load music, the girls and all the liquor. José's head throbbed from his entice hangover. The alarm clock buzzed.

A heavy banging came from his door, "wake up, José." His mother called, "or you'll be late for school!"

José groaned, but forced himself to sit up. A shattering pain erupted at the base of his neck and spread his temples. The Mexican youth winced. He turned off the alarm clock, happy for the silence. José returned to bed. He had only gotten four hours of sleep last night. With a painful sigh, he let his eyes close.

Another knock came at the door. "José are you up?!" His mother asked.

"Yeah," He replied in a painful whisper. José forced himself to rise, even thought the throbbing in his head was unbearable, and glanced in the mirror across from his bed. A tired face looked back at him, with blood shot eyes, rumbled eyebrows and an expression twisted in pain.

While he dressed, the door shook form harsh knocking and his mother would call out asking if he was up.

The Mexican youth's mind was still a little clouded from the previous night's drinking, it took him long to dress, for his senses were dulled.

After José buttoned up his shirt wrong and had to do it over, the door opened. José's father, Alberto Gonzalez, Stood in the hall. His gray eyes revealing a storm of anger beneath thick eyebrows.

"Hurry up!" Alberto ordered, "You've already missed your bus. I'm going to have to drive you to school. I won't be able to make my flight to New York. I'm going to get some gas and when I get back, I expect to see you ready to go." He closed the door letting it slam harshly.

José shuddered. His day was starting out bad. With a massive hangover, the last thing he needed was his father's anger.

Alberto Gonzalez was an insurance agent for factories. He often traveled to large industrial areas in order to have more customers. Like New York.

The Mexican youth cursed angrily in his native tongue, and abandoned his button shirt, in favor of a plain t-shirt. One he couldn't mess up in putting on. José grabbed his backpack and headed down stairs.

The house was small. A cheap dwelling in a semi good neighborhood. It was a three-bed room, one bathroom, and red-bricked rattrap.

José clambered down stairs. His feet tripping on themselves, and headed for the kitchen. As he expected, there was little left from breakfast, save a few scraps that had escaped the twins.

Despite how many times he wished his were, José was not an only child. His five-year-old twin sisters proved this; their constant noisy and greedy natures always agitated the Mexican youth. But because of his blinding headache, José merely dropped weekly into his chair.

His mother was washing dishes. She looked up at her son and frowned at his weariness.

"Is something wrong, José?" She asked as she rubbed a cast iron skillet with a brillo pad. The sound was murder to José's headache.

He winced, "I have a headache…."

Mrs. Gonzalez washed off the pan. "I'm not surprised, the way the neighbors were playing that music all night…"

The Mexican youth winced again, only not from his hangover. His conscience was angry, he was living a lie. Mister and Misses Gonzalez knew nothing of their son's wild night parties, his weakness to liquor and women for that matter. They had no idea that at least three times a week, José climbed out of his window and crawled across the semidetached roof to the neighbors' house where he would party with his gang. I'm not talking about, 'his gang of friends,' either I mean, 'his illegal, shoplifting, under aged drinking gang.'

That's right, the Gonzalez lived next door to Pedro 'Lobo' Lopez, the leader of the only adolescent Mexican gang in Amarillo Texas. It was just their luck who José hung out with.

It started simple enough, common neighbor heplfullness 'you wanna go bike ridding? How about a trip to the arcade, my treat?" Quickly escalated to 'Hey José that tire looks flat, you know Wal-Mart's having some new ones brought in. How 'bout we go check it out' and 'you know there's a way you can play the same game for three hours straight with one quarter."

Like many young inexperienced adolescents, José had fallen onto the laws wrong side in three easy months.

"José!" his mother called, a steaming mug in her hand. The Mexican youth blinked himself back into the real world. "I asked if you wanted some coffee, sometimes it helps with my headaches."

He looked up gratefully and accepted the hot cup. "Thanks mom."

His mother seemed happy with this answer and reassumed washing dishes. She glanced out the window, a black station wagon pulled in the driveway. "You better hurry up dear," She warned José, "your father's back."

The Gonzalez boy hurriedly gulped down the last of his coffee grabbed his lunch and was gone.

The caffeine had soothed his headache. Therefore, he felt no pain as he jumped up and bolted towards the door. His father had only honked once by the time José reached the car.

"Get in," Alberto ordered. José opened the passenger's door and climbed in.

The drive was made in silence.

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Jose entered the schools double doors, careful to keep a low profile. He was one lateness away from detention. Luckily, he made it to his locker without incident.

The metal door swung open with a clang. A tall quivering stack of papers threatened to fall. José shot out a hand and barely caught it in time to halt the avalanche.

"Hey José," a voice called from behind him. "Nice party last night hu?"

The adolescent shoplifter turned to come face to face with Grande Gato, another of Lobo's bunch. Jose raised a hand and greeting and sighed as his papers. "Don't remind me, I woke up with the worst hangover."

Grande sympathized, "Lobo's having another one tonight. You know Wal-Mart's upgraded their security now?!"

José snorted. "Are the guards wearing x-ray glasses now?"

"You wish," the other chuckled heartily, "it's something to do with idem scanners at the front door."

"Big deal, carry a couple of magnet's in each pocket. The machines won't since a thing."

"Does it work?"

"Yeah, I pulled it on a big lots once, lifting a V.C.R the thing didn't make a sound."

Grande nodded, "you should tell Lobo, he likes to hear new ways to beat the system."

José frowned. "I don't know, Grande. I'm thinking about not coming tonight."

"Why not!?"

"I'm still pretty messed up from last night."

The other shrugged, his massive shoulders lifting in unison. "Suit yourself, José, but I'd come if I were you. Some body's going to be disappointed if you don't show up. A very important someone."

"Who?" The Gonzalez boy asked even though he was sure he knew.

"How's Cristina for an important someone?"

Cristina, the very name intoxicated José, he could all but feel her tender lips and smell her perfume. He would come if she was there.

"O.K so maybe I'll come."

Grande smiled, "I thought you would, but remember, its Lobo's house so you'd better not try anything funny."

José frowned. Unfortunately, he was not the only one who cared for Cristina. He and Lobo had clashed many times over who was more worthy of her affections. In the end, Lobo ended it by saying he was leader, but Cristina never listened. She kept both guessing who the one she adored was.

Before either of the Mexican youths could speak, a voice boomed down the hallway. "Do you boys have hall passes?"

Instantly, the two ran in opposite directions and dodged into class. Principle Gordon was one person you didn't want to get detention from.