Chapter 1

Before I got sick, I was a soccer player. I played soccer every chance I could, and was the star striker on my team. I loved playing soccer, and I was hoping to become a professional athlete. 

Then I found out I was “special”. 

My world is different from yours. In my world there are two kinds of people: those who are sick and those who are normal. The people who are normal lead normal lives, where they go to their normal jobs and come home to a normal family and have normal fun like they should. 

But the sick people are different. Because the sick people have powers. Powers that normal people couldn’t even begin to imagine. There’s just one downside to having those powers. The more powerful you are, the more sick you become. Let’s say someone had the power to go invisible. That’s a pretty simple power, and a lot of people have it. The only thing wrong with them would be allergies, or maybe a small cold. 

It started on a typical morning.

***
“Mom! I need to find my cleats!” I yell up the stairs. “I’m running late as it is anyway.” 

“I know, I’m getting them,” she replies. A moment later she comes down the stairs and hands me my soccer boots along with my shinguards and socks. “Have fun today, sweetie.” She plants a kiss on my cheek as I try pulling away. 

“Thanks, Mom, gotta’ go bye!” I say hurriedly. I run out the door and into the car as my dad pulls out of the driveway and heads toward the match. 

I slip on my gear as my dad talks me through today’s opposing team. “They have a tight defense and a rough stopper, so don’t be afraid to use your weight a little in this match.”

I roll my eyes. “I know, Dad. I’ll just play the way I play.” 

He nods approvingly. “You know what to do.” 

When we get there my team is about to start warm-ups, and I throw my bag down with the others as I join them. We stretch first, talking about our weeks as we go. After that we start passing back and forth, and I start to feel more awake and ready. 

Five minutes before the start of the game, Coach James shows us the lineup. 

“Zara, you’re in goal. Andersen twins, left and right fullbacks.” He goes through the lineup until he reaches my name. “Danielle, striker. Let’s have a good game today, guys.” 

We put our hands in and yell our cheer, then do some last minute stretching to get ready to go on the field. As I run out there I feel something tingle in chest, like a tickling sensation. I place my hand over my heart and make sure nothing weird is going on, and I can feel it beating like normal. I shrug and dismiss it as nothing. 

The ref starts the game and I take off running towards the ball. My legs move of their own accord, and I feel a rush of adrenaline propel me forward. This is why I play soccer. 

Then suddenly the tingling sensation returns to my chest. The ball gets passed to our defense, so I slow down and hang around the halfway line. I place my hand over my heart again and feel it speed up noticeably. 

It’s probably because I’ve been running around, I tell myself. This is normal. But it’s not. Soon my heart starts speeding up even more, and I find it harder to breathe. I hunch over, my hands on my knees in an attempt to catch a full breath of air. I try to breathe deeply but my throat and chest feel restricted. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe and my heart is beating way too fast. 

Then suddenly I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel anything and I watch the world around me spin as I fall to the ground. I hear voices calling my name, and the ref blows his whistle somewhere off to the side, but it’s incredibly disconnected. I don’t feel real. I can’t breathe. My heart had sped up so fast it feels like one constant vibration instead of individual beats. 

After a while an unknown man and woman appear over my face. They’re wearing white uniforms with patches that say something I can’t make out. 

“Danielle? Can you tell us where it hurts?” the man asks. 

I shake my head, unable to speak. I feel blackness pressing in on my vision, and I try to fight it. 

The woman looks at the man. “We need to get her to the hospital.” 

The darkness swallows me and I lose consciousness. 

***
I wake up in a room I don’t recognise, but I assume it’s the hospital. My mouth feels more parched than Death Valley, and I look for someone to ask for water. 

A nurse sees me wake up and walks over to me. She hands me a cup of water and checks my chart as I guzzle the cold liquid. When I’m done she refills my cup. 

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

I assess my current state. “It doesn’t hurt anywhere, and I can finally breathe properly,” I say, my voice hoarse and croaky. 

“That’s a relief to hear,” she says. “Looks like you won’t have to be here for much longer than.” 

“Do you know what’s wrong with me?” 

She shifts her gaze and purses her lips, a sure sign that it’s something very bad. 

“Why will I be able to get out of here soon if I have something horribly wrong with me?” I ask, hysteria turning my voice a strangled tone. 

She looks at me with pity, and I instantly feel frustration and distress rise in my stomach. “Well . . . you’ll have to wait until your parents get here.” 

I flop my head on the pillow, certain that this is end of my soccer career. “Great,” I mutter.

My parents arrive a couple minutes later, along with my doctor. They hurry over to me and hug me until I feel crushed, peppering me with questions. 

“How did this happen, Dr. Samson?” my mom asks. 

Dr. Samson folds his hands and looks my parents straight in the eyes. “There is nothing physically wrong with your daughter.” 

My dad’s eyebrows crease in confusion. “What does that mean?” 

“It’s just as I say. There is nothing physically wrong with her,” Dr. Samson answers. 

“So does that mean there’s something mentally wrong her?” my mom asks in a quivering voice. 

The doctor takes a breath before he answers. “Not exactly.” 

“Just tell me what’s wrong with me, already,” I say forcefully. 

Dr. Samson looks me head on and shares what could possible be the worst news I’ve ever had. “You have powers.” 

Nothing. The room is completely silent. My parents look at each other with confused expressions and return their gazes to the doctor. 

“Well that’s okay, right? We can deal with allergies or a small cold every once in a while, right?” my mom asks. 

Dr. Samson shakes his head. “It’s more than just a small power. Your daughter’s power is incredibly strong, meaning that she will start to get very sick, very soon. She will most likely be limited to walking and sitting, definitely nothing strenuous.” 

“So that means continuing soccer is out of the question,” I say, more of a statement than a question. 

The doctor nods, then turns to my parents. “I know this is a lot to take in, so take your time deciding what you want to do. There are only a couple of options in Danielle’s case since her powers are so extravagant. You can either keep her in the hospital to take daily meds, which I strongly recommend against, or you can send her to the top training academy in the states for people with high levels of power like Danielle.” 

“Training academy?” my mom interrupts, her voice strewn with worry. “But I thought people with strong powers can’t use them because they’ll die.” 

“That is true in most cases,” Dr. Samson answers. “But this academy has a way of training that makes it so that they don’t exhaust all of their life force.”

My parents grasp my hands and look at each other with worry. Meanwhile I’m sitting in this hospital bed feeling my entire world come crashing down on me. I love soccer. How could this happen to me?

Look on the bright side, a small voice pipes up inside my head, at least now you have these really cool powers.

Too bad I’ll die if I use them. 

“Do . . . do you know what my powers are?” I ask hesitantly. 

Dr. Samson shakes his head. “No. That’s not my specialty. But if you go to the academy I recommended, they will properly diagnose your powers as well as how to deal with them.” 

He walks away and leaves me and my parents with the decision: leave me at a hospital or leave me at a boarding school. 

***
The ride back from the hospital is held in an eerie silence, and I almost wish my parents would cry, yell, laugh, or do anything to get this silence lifted from the car. 

When we get to the house I go to the back of the car to get my stuff and find that I’m suddenly feeling faint and shaky. I lean against the trunk to catch my breath when my mom sees me. She looks horrified and dangerously close to tears. 

“Mom, don’t worry,” I say. But my voice is still hoarse and I have to wipe sweat from my forehead. How can I do anything if I’m going to become a walking corpse wherever I go?

“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll get the stuff from the car. You just go inside and rest, okay?” I step out of the way as she opens the trunk, her gaze avoiding me. Feeling frustration go through me again, I walk slowly into the house. 

The walk up the stairs is a battle for me. I barely make it up the first couple of steps without feeling faint again, and I have to rest every couple of seconds or I’ll exhaust myself. I finally make it to my bed in one piece and I gratefully get under the covers. 

My dad and mom walk into my room and sit by my bed, and my dad hands me a bottle of water. 

“Danielle,” my dad starts, “we just want you to know that we love you and support you, and we want to see you happy. We think the only way to make sure you get the care you need is if you go to the training academy.” 

“You’re sending me away?” I say in disbelief. “Just like that? You’re throwing me out?” 

“No, sweetie,” my mom insists, tears in her eyes. “We’re just trying to do what’s best for you right now. It’s either the academy or the hospital and we thought the academy seemed like a better choice.” 

“Whatever.” I close my eyes and take in this news. No more running, jumping, dancing, or doing anything strenuous. No more soccer. Just a lifetime of becoming exhausted from the sheer act of walking. 

Yay.