The dull throbbing headache that made itself known shortly after he woke up didn’t particularly help matters, either—just what he needed, really, to make the day perfect. That was, unless Clyde—who was nothing if not an opportunist—could turn the situation to his advantage. “Oi!” he yelled—though not very successfully, with his head buried under the pillow and all. “Mum, I really don’t think I’m feeling very—“
And then, the abrupt silence of someone who’d finally bothered to open his eyes and notice that he had most definitely not woken up in the same place where he’d fallen asleep.
Clyde sat up with a heartfelt groan and took stock of his surroundings. Definitely not his own room, he concluded; probably not London; maybe not Earth, though the technology at least still looked human. Weirdest of all—though Clyde’s idea of weird had nothing to do with anyone else’s any more—half his things were still lying around: schoolbag, sketchbooks, an open closet with what looked like his own clothes.
“Right then,” Clyde said aloud to the room, and hopped to his feet, grimacing at the brief dizziness the sudden movement brought. (For a moment he could have sworn he was somewhere else again, but that was crazy. Even by Bannerman Road standards.) A minute later he was fully dressed and venturing out into the hallway, schoolbag and all—you never knew what you might need, after all. “Guess this means I won’t be worrying about that algebra quiz for a bit longer.”