Financial Security

Chapter One

It was an ugly day. It wasn’t anything to be called beautiful. It wasn’t a cool summer’s day, where the temperature was just right and the sun beams would kiss your nose. No, today was not that kind of day and the only thing kissing noses was frostbite. But what could one expect from winter other than such undesirable weather. This was no scenic winter’s day like portrayed in magazines and movies. This was a slushy, bitter day.

It was days like this where Morgan liked to stay in bed and gaze lazily at some book, not focused enough to take in the literature. But no, today he had school. While all the other school remained closed for the third day in a row due to the uncanny downfall of non-stop freezing rain, his school remained open for the third day in a row. Why Ryerson Public High would not close its doors for even one day was a mystery. It was the only school forcing its students to trudge through knee high sleet to walk to their buses, which in themselves were a death trap. Every day of venturing out on the roads of black ice was a game of Russian roulette. A game Morgan had been fortunate to survive thus far.

He stared blankly out the window of the yellow Laid-law bus. There was nothing to be seen. The snow and frozen rain acted as a smokescreen around the bus. The bus would be late arriving to school today, for the third day in a row.

Although he could not see the lane next to the bus or the oncoming traffic, if he focused enough, he could see his own reflection staring back at him. Those uninterested hazel eyes, his naturally ashen complexion and his wavy brown hair. It has been a bad day to go to school without a pony tail. His hair was soaked, dangling just above his shoulders. His brown tresses were in the midst of a battle, never quite be able to decide how they wanted to be. Sometimes his hair was straight, sometimes curly, sometimes in between. Today is seemed his hair would be leaning more towards the wavy side with the odd spring-like ringlets here and there. That was Morgan’s favorite way for his hair to fall though. The ringlets were fun to play with. He would uncoil them and let them bounce back into place whenever he got bored in class, but that would have to wait until his hair was dry.

As usual no one was sitting beside Morgan. No one sat beside anyone unless with was absolutely necessary. But it was always necessary. In some case there were even three to a seat, a situation Morgan found less than desirable. The bus was overcrowded, yet nothing had been done about it. There used to be two buses, but funding must have been cut down, because there was only one now. It was a safety hazard, but no one seemed to care.

As suspected, the bus was late by a matter of minutes. Morgan entered the school as O’Canada began to play on the announcements. He wasn’t about to stop and stand in attendance like the rest of the teenage zombies in his school though. He was late enough, and had chemistry to attend to. He made his way up the stairs to the second floor and began to head to the other side of the building. His feet were soaked. He didn’t have a pair of boots, so he would always come to school in his sneakers. Fortunately he had his ‘school shoes’ in his locker along with a pair of dry socks. He may not have been able to afford a new pair of boots, but it’s not like he didn’t have a back-up plan.

He hung his coat up in his locker and placed the required books in his bag. He never took his books home. He never did homework. It wasn’t in his best interest he would often tell himself. Lugging those heavy books home for no reason wouldn’t be good for his back. He wasn’t a bad student, he didn’t skip often, and his grades were fine. But that’s all he wanted them to be. He didn’t need honor roll grades, he didn’t want to bother try to excel academically. He just wanted to go at his own pace and find where it would land him.

“Good morning, Morgan.” Ah. The first interaction of the day. Always the same person too. A strange freshman girl who had somehow learnt his name. He didn’t know hers though, so in his mind he always referred to her as freshie. Her locker was next to his, it was rather unfortunate. “My bus was late too,” she smiled. Her blue eyes glowed with happiness as he turned to look at her for a moment. But after the small acknowledgement, he slammed his locker shut, locked it up tight and walked leisurely to class. Stupid girls and their stupid crushed. Morgan was a junior in school, and had no interested what-so-ever in girls younger than him. Then again, he had no interest what-so-ever in girls.

“You’re late,” Mrs. Manjit said in her thick Indian accent. She was his chemistry teacher, from India of course.

Morgan shrugged and took his seat in the back of the class. “Blame the bus,” he sighed. “It was late, not me. I got to the bus stop on time.”

“Do you have a late slip?” she asked. Sometimes he couldn’t understand what she said. Sure, she was a great teacher when he could understand her, but at times it was a wonder why she was allowed to teach such a complex subject as chemistry if none of her students could understand her.

“I don’t need one.” Morgan pulled his chemistry text book out of his back. The cover was red and black. There was no text on it what so ever. But it was an ancient book and an amazing feat that it was still in such great condition.

“Go to the attendance office and get one,” she sighed. “You missed it, but the on the announcements your principal said all late students are required to get a late slip.”

“Oh what bull.”

“Alex, would you please take the attendance down and escort Mr. Wace so that he doesn’t get ‘lost’ again like last time?”

“Of course, Mrs. Manjit,” a young man with short black hair said, getting up to take the attendance book from the teacher’s hand. Alex Ferrari was the biggest pain in Morgan’s neck. He was the smartest boy in all of Morgan’s grade, not to mention the richest. He always looked at Morgan thought his sleek blue, glasses adorning eyes with the most condescending look possible. “Come boy, lets go.”

Morgan took time to mutter something under his breath about being called boy. The day was already bad enough. He decided to hurry along through the door, ahead of Alex, not bothering to hold it open. Fire burned in his eyes as he trudged down the hall. The discomforting feeling of his soaked jeans scratching against his legs didn’t help his mood either. Today was a bad day. The third bad day in the week thus far.