I put my head down on my desk, trying to alleviate the pounding, throbbing pain in my skull. I remain in that position for the entire period, through the teacher’s half-hearted attempts to wake me. I’m not exactly in prime condition for scholarly behavior with my killer headache.

The bell rings. I sit up in a foggy haze, trying to make sense of the muted sounds and blurs of colors around me. I’m incredibly sick, but missing school isn't really an option. I can’t afford to fall behind on homework--even missing one day is brutal.

I stand up too fast and the world spins around me. Clutching my chair for support, I try to get a grip on myself. My mind scrambles to gain purchase on the slippery slope of concentration, but I can’t seem to manage it. I wander out of the room and in the general direction of the gym for my next class. I’m on autopilot, my feet shuffling of their own accord. My eyes are squinted to avoid stimulation. My stomach twists and turns as I hobble down the stairs.

Somehow, I overestimate the size of one of the last few steps. My right foot extends too far as my left starts to rise. My right foot comes down, planning for a step, and hitting only empty air. I’m thrown off balance, crashing forward. My right foot continues downward and smacks into the floor, hard, my ankle absorbing the impact. I start to crumble but I manage to clutch the railing for support.

Fiery pain shoots up my leg but there’s not much I can do at the moment. I limp along, reaching the entrance to the gym just as the bell begins to sound.

I grab the handle to the heavy wooden door and pull it open with superhuman effort. My ankle is killing me. Something is driving nails into my skull. All of my internal organs are trying to escape through my mouth.

I take a step inside the gym to be greeted abruptly by a basketball to the face.

I topple backwards as pain erupts on my nose. I collide with the floor again, jarring me further.

It occurs to me that I should have stayed home today. I endured most of the morning—and now I can’t bear any more.

I know the nurse’s office is located just a hallway away. There’s no one in the halls, and I don’t think I have the strength to stand back up any time soon. Besides, the most recent fall had jarred my ankle even more and I doubt it can support any weight. I drag myself along, crawling unceremoniously towards the health room.

I feel something sticky on my face. I tentatively reach up and touch it. I realize that I’m bleeding profusely out of my nose. Somehow, in my pain, I hadn’t noticed. I glance down at myself and discover that blood had dribbled down my neck and was making a piece of art on my shirt--a tribute to the awful day I was having. Using tremendous effort, I turn behind me and see that I’ve made a nice line of blood through the hallway. My nose is almost certainly broken.

I continue to crawl along, given no other options. My pilgrimage seems to take an eternity, but soon enough, I arrive in front of the nurse’s office.

My arms give out. I roll over onto my back and rest, panting. The door is securely closed. Using the last of my strength, I raise my fist and knock once.

Every muscle in my body throbs. My foot is sticking out at an unnatural angle. I’m covered in blood, with a trail of it behind me courtesy of my nosebleed. I’m curled in the fetal position. My eyes struggle to stay open. I can’t even fathom how terrible I must look.

I hear the door creak open. II look up at the school nurse, poised over me. She looks at me expectantly. I just stare back, bleary-eyed and dying.

“Well, where’s your pass? I can’t admit you without a pass from your teacher,” she tells me with disgust, gesturing to the sign on her door that reads “Passes Required” in yellow block letters.