By the time Malik steps out of the house, the morning air has already settled into the same damp grayness London has been offering all week.
A van is already waiting by the curb. As Malik approaches, Coach Darren turns his head toward him through the open window in the front passenger seat.
"How's your fever?"
"It's gone," Malik says, sliding open the side door and climbing inside. "But I'm down to sixty point six. Must've sweated a good chunk of that off with the fever."
"Ah, man…" Barry groans immediately. "Didn't I tell you last night to hydrate properly?"
"How was I supposed to hydrate while I was sleeping?" Malik shoots back.
"At least the fever's gone," Darren says, giving the driver a small gesture.
The van finally pulls away from the curb. But barely three minutes into the journey, Malik already reaches for a small packet of tissue.
"My fever's gone," he says, blowing his nose into it. "But this bloody thing is still bothering me."
