September 21

Morgan had set his alarm to get up early, but it turned out that he didn't even need it. He awoke fifteen minutes before the alarm was set to go off, and hurried himself to the bathroom. Happy sixteenth birthday, Morgan thought to himself. He was whistling as the water started for a shower, and upon looking in the mirror, Morgan decided that he looked better today. Older, wiser, happier somehow. A whole new universe had opened up to him.
The truth was, he felt like a new man altogether. His coming of age had happened last night, in a way, and revolutionized his life. It was as though Morgan had been locked in a vault and was suddenly free. The vault was Paige . . . the key, Arizona.
Morgan hopped into the shower, feeling slightly guilty at this analogy. Was he only interested in Arizona to get his mind off the endless Paige crush, which would never happen? Contemplation fogged his eyes.
"Screw it," Morgan said out loud. He had liked Paige, but he was tired of it. This new girl was here, in his life, probably the third and final new member of The Gang. She was cool, laughed at his jokes, decent looking. Hell, she was in his height range.
That was a cheap shot, he scolded himself.
Morgan popped down to the kitchen an hour or so later. He was showered and wearing the only birthday present he'd received early: a Beatles' Abbey Road t-shirt from his uncle. "Good day, Mum," Morgan announced in a voice that was boisterous, playful, and with his friend Garland's famous fake-British accent. "Lovely isn't it? Chop chop and all."
Mrs. Chonce smiled at him, but was distracted. "Eat, Morgan, we're going to pick up Arizona and Patty in about an hour. Make this place look festive." Cheryl returned her attention to the phone, which was practically glued to her ear.
"Happy birthday, Morgan."
Morgan was startled to hear his father's voice coming from behind the newspaper. His dad didn't actually speak to him very much, plus he had such a benign presence that Morgan hadn't actually registered the fact that Quint was even in the room. Hell, he was kind of surprised his dad even realized it was his birthday.
"I got you a present," Mr. Chonce's voice continued from behind the cover of the paper. "I'm going to be gone during your party, but it's wrapped and on my bed if you'd like it."
Chocolate-brown eyes stared, emotion-stricken, at the back of the sports page. This was the closest to a conversation that his dad had made with him in . . . months. Morgan wondered if he should jump on the opportunity to ask his dad all the questions that dads are supposed to answer for their sons. No - better not. Not now. Might overload the poor old man.
"Thanks," was all Morgan could manage. He turned from the kitchen to get his present.

*********************** Hey! First of all, thanks for reading! Secondly - consider it a contest of some sorts if you want - I'm looking for a better title to this story. So in your reviews, or if you want to email me, I'd love title suggestions. (It will eventually be called The Gang:_insert new title here_) Thanks a million!!!!