Kenny held his reading lamp to his forehead until the last possible minute. He heard her coming down the hall and switched it off.
His door opened and she put her head in. “Up and at ‘em. You’ll miss your bus and I can’t take you.”
“I don’t feel well,” he croaked. “My head hurts.”
She came to the bedside and felt his head. “You’re a little warm.”
“I feel like I’m burning up.”
“I don’t have time to find the thermometer,” she said, exasperated. “I’m late as it is.”
“I need to throw up.”
“Jesus. Not on my dress.”