You did not feel good. Your stomach was churning and you felt a horrible pressure at the base of your throat, like something was trying to claw its way up. This would have sucked if you were at home, snuggled up in bed, but you weren't so lucky. Oh no no no, you were in school. In your math class. In the middle of a test. Wonderful.

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And, to make things even worse, you had one of those teachers. Everyone knows them. Older than dirt. Squinting at you over a pair of glasses like you were about to kick her puppy. That sort.

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The first time you asked for a pass to the nurse, she denied you. The second time you asked for a pass to the nurse, she denied you again. The third time, you were done playing Torture-The-Teen, and you simply left the classroom, earning you your peers' admiration and your teacher's ire.

'Complain all you want, lady,' you thought. 'Would you rather have to call the janitor to clean up vomit?'

When you finally made it to the nurse's office, a startlingly white room that reminded you, fittingly, of a hospital ward, she took one look at you, sat you down with a bucket, and called your father to collect you from the premises.

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Alec, of course, was rather less than thrilled to get a call from the school asking him to come and get you. He wasn't angry with you, of course. The stomach bug had been going around as it did every winter. Really, it was only a matter of time before you, Daisy, or he himself caught it. He was more so irritated with the timing. There was a new case for him to work, and he'd just picked up a lead when the call came in. However, sick kid trumped new case, so off he went, yelling to Miller to investigate the lead for him while he was gone.

It was only a five-minute drive, and before Alec knew it, he was loading your backpack into the backseat while you buckled in.

Boy, you did not look good. You were positively green. Still, he tried to put on a happy face. For your sake.

"Hey, kiddo. How're ye feelin'?"