This is who you are:
You are born into wealth and bred for success. Son of a second wife and second child of a highly successful economist, you are pampered and spoiled by the nanny and the other staff around the house. Father rarely at home and Mother busy at work, you find maternal figures in your older sister and nanny, and paternal figures with the butler. The gardener's practically your uncle.
Father makes it clear that you are to inherit a portion of his fortune and company. Your future is laid out for you the moment you're born, and all you have to do is walk the simple path towards it. He slips in your pocket the promise of fame and fortune and prestige, so long as you're obedient and hard-working. You should be wanton of nothing, and yet there's an ever-present need that is never fulfilled.
( You later name it "freedom" )
This is what you are:
You are made of bruises and scrapes, of broken bones and scratched-up nails. Calloused hands from climbing the trees and grubby fingers from falling in the dirt. You want attention — you live off it, you thrive on it. And so you do the boldest, brashest, most dangerous things to get it.
You climb from your window to your roof, barely caring about the height. You're three floors up and the nanny nearly faints when she finds you teetering where the shingles end. Heights never bother you, not even after a tree branch snaps under you and you fall, breaking your arm.
School is a gauntlet of gangs and bullies, of sharpening your words and choosing your battles. You make friends and break enemies. Bloody knuckles and bruised ribs are commonplace. You're a familiar face in detention, and you've become used to the disappointment on Father's.
( There's more to you than fight and gall, but he never seems to see it )
This is how you are:
You follow your gut. You seek the good times, whether it be with jokes and smiles, with alcohol, or daring deeds. You gamble and get good at it — friends know better than to play cards with you. By the time you're old enough to drive, you're not unfamiliar with spirits and back-street alleys, with parties and hidden fervent kisses.
You confirm around this time that you're not just interested in girls. But you know what Father's reaction would be, and so it becomes another thing to add to your list of secrets.
And when your mother leaves and your father remarries, you spend more and more time at your friends' houses, going wild. You skip classes to take the occasional smoke in the parking lot. Sometimes you follow a friend and help graffiti a wall in the undergrounds where the trains run. Because it helps to distract you, helps to keep your mind and body busy.
( Home isn't where you belong )
This is where you are:
You have few goals and many things on your mind.
You think of your older sister, caught in a car accident and now lying in a coma. You think of your younger sister, over a decade younger than you, and wonder how you can be the best possible brother figure for her. You think of trying to mend bridges with your father and stepmother, of possibly finding some compromise to heal the years of mistakes. You think of your friends and of wanting to continue this lifestyle as a free spirit, but you know it can't last forever. And with this being your final year at Peachtree, you're frantically drawing together the few plans and dreams you have for your future.
( But that won't stop you from enjoying this year to the fullest )