Chapter One

It wasn't until a few years ago, when the movie Spiderman came out, that I discovered the eerie parallels between his life, which was fictional, and mine, which was simply unlikely. We were both in high school. We were both science geeks, although I was more of a geek by proxy. When I came to the part where he decided to use his his powers for good because of his Uncle Ben, I fell off the my couch laughing. That damn guy was responsible for my superpowers too.

Up until then, I was an average child. Compared to my parents, I was well below average. Mom was a Pulitzer Prize-winning composer. Dad was a scientist at a top-secret government agency. Their combined IQ was off the charts. To balance that, they had the parenting skills of fresh-water fish.

I had turned eighteen in early November. My final year of high school was already starting to slip through my fingers and it looked increasingly unlikely that my senior year grades were going to significantly change my grade point average. My father had always been puzzled by my lack of academic achievement. My mother had been puzzled by my complete lack of interest in music, or at least in what she considered music. But they didn't really become alarmed until their alma mater, Hartley College, turned me down for early decision. The letter from the admissions office was not encouraging; it contained a barely veiled suggestion that they would turn me down for timely decision and late decision if I had the effrontery to apply for them.

That was the point at which my parents became aware that I might need some sort of guidance. They were still puzzled, of course, and at something of a loss to figure out what that sort of guidance might be. Perhaps my school had some sort of guidance counselor, they suggested. Honestly. Of course it had a guidance counselor. Mrs. Johnwhistle was guiding me toward a career in the sanitation engineering industry. But Mom and Dad didn't want to hear that.

When my father mentioned that he had heard something about some sort of "Career Day" at the agency, my mother insisted that he take me with him. It wasn't until he and I arrived that we learned — and when I say "we" learned, I really mean that I learned; I'm not sure my father's awareness extended to such things — that it was in fact "Take Your Daughter to Work Day." He blithely propelled me into an auditorium with some some sixty thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds where we listened to a presentation on all the opportunities available to us as young women.

Then the Director spoke to us by video-link, although his face was digitized so that we would never be able to reveal his identity. He advised us to study hard and listen to our parents. It became increasingly obvious that he had never had any actual contact with my father.

That was followed by a tour of the parts of the agency that did not require an A++-level clearance. These were pretty much the medical center and the vending machines. Then it was time for lunch. I was astonished to see Mushroom and Spinach Orzo on the menu. Trés chic, I thought. I was far more astonished to learn that in place of orzo, which is made from wheat, they were using rice, the result of recent federal budget cuts. Cafeteria staff apparently thought that Uncle Ben's rice and orzo were interchangeable.

I felt my throat begin to constrict as soon as I took the first bite. I had only minutes left before I lost the ability to breathe. I put my hands around my throat and looked around in horror. The room was filled with teenage girls alternately giggling at me and pronouncing my behavior "ga-ross." Getting to my feet, I dashed out of the cafeteria toward the medical center, which I remembered from the tour. It was three doors down the hallway on the right hand side.

My memory was faulty; it was on the left hand side. The door to the health office was open, in fact, and the nurse looked up and screamed as she saw me vanish into the room across the hall. She was still screaming when the door closed behind me, with its "WARNING: DO NOT ENTER," its "INTENSE ELECTROMAGNETIC FIELD," and its "STAY OUT" signs clearly visible to all but the rice-impaired. I was told afterward that it had required a considerable effort for me to avoid the protective shielding and stumble into the very center of the disc upon which the electromagnetic field was operating.

I have never, before or since, experienced that sort of agony, that sensation of thousands of tiny barbs ripping and tearing at your flesh. The good news was that it completely cured my rice allergy.

When I woke up, several days later as it turned out, my nose filled with the smell of antiseptic, my ears with the rhythmic beeping of machines. The top of my head, including my eyes, was covered with cloth. I tried to lift my hands but found them pinned to my sides.

"Well, hello there."

She had a lovely contralto voice.

"Where am I?" I asked, trying to keep the terror from my voice.

"In the medical center," she answered. "You were in an accident. We tied your hands to prevent you from tearing off the bandages. Do you feel up to answering a few questions for me, honey?"

"Sure."

"Wonderful. Your name?"

"Isaac Newton Mason."

"How old are you, Isaac?"

"Eighteen."

"Excellent."

"Do you remember what happened to you?"

"I had an anaphylactic reaction to rice. I ran out here, but I must have gone into the wrong door. I was in a room and the last thing I remember is horrible pain."

"That was just an illusion, Isaac. You ran into the middle of an enormous electromagnetic field. Your body is fine. Believe me, it's more than fine."

"In what way?" I asked. She had said the last sentence in a low murmur.

"And there's nothing wrong with your memory," she continued. "Or your hearing, apparently."

She paused.

"So if it didn't do anything to me, why am I tied down?"

"I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, honey. The accident in the laboratory appears to have burned your eyes. We didn't want you to tear at the bandages when you came to."

"I'm blind?"

"That's right, honey. I'm so sorry."

She put a warm hand on my bare arm. I could smell honey and lilacs. Her face slowly came in to focus, its full lips speaking, its deep brown eyes filled with concern. Her soft brown hair fell down around her as she leaned forward.

"What's wrong, honey?" she asked.

"I'm blind?" I repeated.

She shook her head with sadness, her eyes welling with tears and her mouth tightening in sad sympathy, before saying, "I'm afraid you are, Isaac."

"Really? So..."

"I know it's going to take some getting used to, honey. Right now there's a bandage over your head. Here. Let me show you."

She untied my right wrist and lifted my hand up so that she could place my fingers on my face. Under her guidance, I felt my jaw and my nose. Then I felt where my cheek disappeared under a thick layer of gauze. Disbelieving, I put my fingers on my eyes. They were covered with gauze as well. And yet, I could see my fingers.

"Huh."

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"A little stunned, actually. So you're, like, a doctor? Or a nurse?"

It wasn't a completely unreasonable question. She wasn't wearing a uniform of any kind. Instead, assuming all the while that it was actually her that I was seeing despite A) the bandages and B) the supposed blindness, was a plush terrycloth bathrobe that she hadn't made all that much effort to close. Underneath it, she was wearing some sort of purple nightie decorated with a frilly white lace.