When I was 13, I had an English report due on Carl Sandburg and I hadn’t done it. I panicked and feigned a stomach ache so I could stay home and do the report. Well, I didn’t get it done, so the next day I pretended that I was worse and stayed home again. I had to eat in secret so my mom wouldn’t catch on to my faking. I played it out with great drama, so well in fact that that my dad marched me off to the doctor who did a little poking and prodding and took a little blood, then whisked me off to the hospital for an emergency appendectomy.
I felt pretty guilty about all that (and yeah, post surgical ouches) until they explained that it was about to rupture, they could tell from the white cell count and the poking and prodding.
I honestly had felt fine.
I still had to do the report.