After legging it out of practice, I narrowly avoided disaster on the bus home. With every bump and turn I was whacked by some tall guy’s obnoxious guitar case, each jab setting off whatever crazy fizzling feeling had made the beakers explode in chemistry. I got off two stops early because the itching under my skin had become unbearable and it felt like I was about to implode. And I’m not having THAT in my obituary!

“Sarah Michaels, promising 15 year old and local rising star, explodes on e45 bus, covering commuters in bodily goo.” No thanks.

I hoped the fresh air would help, and it did, but the moment I closed the front door, the burning feeling was back.

I rushed up to my room, ignoring mum’s shouted inquisition about my day. Heading straight for my bedside table, I picked up the cursed book and started scanning the pages for anything that might explain what the hell was going on with me.

The more confusing diagrams and ancient words I read the more my mind started to panic, and suddenly my whole body was glowing with some sort of insane light.

I was trying to get it under control, when a startled sound from behind made me spin around. I barely managed to catch a glimpse of Matt, standing there with his headphones on and his homework outstretched in surrender, before the light burst out of me.

I was thrown back, and by the time I peeled myself off my bed, he’d vanished. And in his place was a small grey cat… with headphones hanging from its neck.