Prodigal Son

It was another windy spring day in the city. Under the bridge, new grass was just emerging to blow in shiny strips along the road. Pyry was supposed to be being homeschooled, but this bridge was about as far from his house as he could get. The ground was damp and cool under him, as he stared down at the river. It was a normal day for him – every day seemed normal. The same thing, over and over.
"You going out to the club tonight, Py?" the black-haired kid looked over his shoulder at him. What was his name?
"Nah," Pyry said, taking a slow drag on the cigarette, "probably goin' home. Gotta eat sometime" he played off a grin to the other two, glad his sunglasses were concealing his eyes. These boys were acquaintances of his, not really friends, but they sometimes came around and gave him cigarettes, if he sat under the bridge long enough. He didn't really like them – the cigarettes, that is – they were just another way to fit in. He wished he could remember the black haired one's name, the other was Jean. They laughed at his joke but he wasn't so sure they found it funny. Maybe they found it sad, and maybe it was. But it's not like he wanted to hang around that house, with his damn father banging on the door and telling him to come out, or his stupid twin sister being the child prodigy.
He took another drag, his lungs itched but he'd almost gotten used to it. He knew these kids didn't like him; it was the same with all the other club-hoppers. Everyone knew everyone to hang, or get drugs, but there was no friendship. They faked strong bonds as an excuse to get into fights.
He looked down at his rollerblades and exhaled. There were three of them here – supposedly a crowd – but he still felt like he was by himself. The only difference from home was that it was quiet here.
The roar of cars above their heads bothered him less than the sound of his father's voice.
"Hey I heard something about you, Py." They'd shortened his name to that, maybe they didn't realize the way it sounded.
"Yeah?" He looked over, making sure to turn his head so they could see the motion.
"What's your last name? I heard you're rich."
The disgust – or was it disappointment – inside him rose again, and he flicked the cigarette away into the damp grass. They'd probably have found out eventually anyway, but he wished this wouldn't happen every time. "My dad is. Got nothing to do with me." He was feigning apathy with his heart pounding in his chest.
"Star says she saw you go into a mansion the other day." Both boys were both staring up the slope at him now, eyes suspicious.
"Like I said, gotta eat sometime." His breath was getting short, and not from the smoke. He didn't like the look in their eyes that he knew all too well.
"Bet you got something we could use." Black-hair's voice was serious now. Not serious the way that Pyry had hoped for.
"Hey man…" Pyry stood up slowly, keeping his blades at and angle so he wouldn't roll right at them, "Got nothing to do with me. He doesn't give me nothing."
"And that's why you've got those blades? Yeah, nothing at all."
The second he saw them lunge forward, he was digging his wheels into the dirt. It was awkward, and probably looked stupid, but he took off up the hill until he got to concrete. They couldn't catch him skating away; they couldn't run so fast.
Soon, he was in the heart of the city, headed to the last place he wanted to go. Things always ended the same. He wished he could cut all traces of his father from himself. Everything that made people think of him differently. His father couldn't care about him, so why did he have to stop every chance Pyry got of having someone else do it for him? Friends, yeah. Pyry would have liked that, but all he had was girls who rejected him, and boys who tried to kick his ass. Sun was setting in the city as he idly rolled down the streets, hands in pockets. He'd crawl in through the window; dad wouldn't know he was back maybe for a couple days. Or if Kiffy told him before then. But at least he could get one night's sleep before having to hear that voice again.