Page 12

Poor Little Rich Boy

Harrison

City lights wink at me from across the East River as the subway car rattles its way over the Manhattan Bridge. It’s a view I’ve seen countless times before, but somehow, with Charlie and Daniel by my side, it feels different. New. Exciting.

We reach the apex of the bridge, and the car sways gently from side to side. For the briefest of moments, it’s as if we’re floating. Suspended between two worlds—Brooklyn and Manhattan. Between the past and the future.

I sit precariously on the edge of the bench as Charlie sprawls his long legs across it, stretching out beneath the No Smoking sign.

I don’t mind. It’s worth it to see him content, grinning at his phone as he watches another ridiculous cat video.

Daniel stands nearby, holding the metal pole in a death grip.

His eyes are wide with terror as the car jostles us back and forth.

“Are you okay?” I ask, smirking at Daniel’s white-knuckled determination to remain upright.

“Totally fine,” he says shakily.

Charlie glances up and snickers. “You look a little pale there, buddy.”

“I’m good,” Daniel insists.

The subway car plunges into the tunnel, and the cityscape outside transforms into a blur of graffiti-covered walls.

I admire the tags and murals flashing by—each one a declaration of defiance and creativity.

Excitement runs through me; these boys don’t know what they’ve signed up for.

It’s bold, risky even, but more than that, it’s a chance to show them who I really am.

Daniel’s body goes lax as we approach Canal Street. The moment we step off the subway, the pulsating energy of Lower Manhattan rocks us to the core. Up above, the streets are alive with people, lights, and noise.

I lead the way, weaving through the throngs of people with practiced ease. Charlie and Daniel struggle to keep up, their larger frames making it harder for them to navigate the streets.

“Dude, slow down,” Charlie calls out, dodging a woman dragging a suitcase. “Some of us don’t have your ninja skills.”

I peer over my shoulder and smirk. “You’re just jealous of my superior agility.”

“More like superior ability to be a pain in the ass,” Daniel mutters as he gets jostled by a guy bigger than him.

Turning down a side street, the towering buildings give way to older, more historic architecture.

Brownstones line the block, their stoops adorned with potted plants and wrought-iron railings.

Charlie and Daniel eye everything with interest, the hustle and bustle of the city momentarily forgotten in our quaint surroundings.

Charlie points to a huge potted fern. “Hey! A plant even I couldn’t kill.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” Daniel responds with a grin, nudging Charlie playfully with his elbow. “Your record is zero days without a plant incident.”

As we round the corner, I come to such an abrupt halt that Charlie and Daniel nearly crash into me.

“What the hell, Harrison?” Daniel grumbles.

But I’m not listening. My attention is fixed on the building in front of us that is extremely out of place among the more traditional structures surrounding it.

It juts out, all concrete and glass, towering over its neighbors with a sterile arrogance.

The building has no soul. No warmth. Only a cold, impersonal facade that screams of wealth and detachment.

A twinge of resentment mixed with determination runs through me. This is what I ran away from. The world my parents built for themselves—and tried to build for me—without ever asking if I wanted it. Tonight, I’m taking it back. In the only way I know how.

“Welcome to Casa de Price,” I sneer.

Charlie whistles low, his eyes widening as he leans back to take in the skyscraper. “Whoa. Your folks live here? That’s insane.”

“It’s…something.” The memory of stuffy dinner parties and endless lectures on propriety suddenly assaults me. I close my eyes and breathe through my nose until they’re gone.

Daniel traces the rigid lines of steel and stone with a knowing nod. “Let me guess—minimalist chic?”

“No. Maximum control.”

We cross the street toward the alleyway that runs behind the building. My parents would die if they knew I was here, let alone what I was planning to do to their precious condo tower. The thought makes me grin.

“If your parents live in a place like this, why are you…” Charlie trails off, gesturing vaguely at my paint-splattered shoes. The same shoes I wore to work that netted me a dirty glare from Danielle.

“My parents are…difficult,” I begin, choosing my words carefully.

“They’re the kind of people who care more about appearances than substance.

Growing up, it was all about maintaining the perfect image—the right clothes, the right schools, the right friends.

Anything that didn’t fit into their carefully curated world was swept under the rug. ”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the inevitable questions. But Charlie and Daniel remain silent, their expressions open and nonjudgmental. It gives me the courage to continue.

“They never understood my passion for art. To them, it was a frivolous hobby. Something to be tolerated as long as it didn’t interfere with their grand plans for my future. They wanted me to be a lawyer, or a doctor, or a fucking investment banker. Anything but an artist.”

I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. The memories of countless arguments and disappointed frowns are still fresh in my mind, even after all these years.

“They used to trot me out at their fancy galas and charity events as if I were a prized show pony. ‘Look at our son, the prodigy,’ they’d say while I stood there in an overpriced suit.

A fraud. They have no idea that I’m a graffiti artist now.

If they knew, they’d probably disown me on the spot.

” I let out a humorless chuckle. “Not that they haven’t already done that in every way that matters. ”

Daniel’s eyes widen in surprise. “Wait, your parents don’t know about your graffiti art? At all?”

I shake my head. “As far as they’re concerned, I’m nothing but a disappointment who refuses to ‘kiss the ring.’”

“Damn, H. That’s rough,” Charlie says. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all that.”

I shrug, trying to play it off like it doesn’t still hurt. “It is what it is. I’ve made my peace with it.”

But have I? Standing here in front of their building, all the old resentments and frustrations bubble to the surface. The part of me that’s still that lonely, misunderstood kid is screaming for attention.

For validation.

For love.

Daniel clears his throat, drawing my attention away from the gleaming eyesore. He studies me intensely. My skin prickles as a chill runs through me that has nothing to do with the chilly night.

“I get it,” he says gruffly. “The pressure. The expectations. Knowing you’re never good enough.”

I blink in surprise. “You do?”

He nods. “My parents are wealthy too. Not quite on the same level as yours, from the looks of it, but they’re well-off. They also have extremely specific ideas about how my life should go.”

“How so?”

“They want me to work with my dad on Wall Street after I graduate. Settle down with a nice girl from a good family and pop out heirs that’ll carry on the Hollingsworth legacy.”

I wince in sympathy. “I’m guessing that’s not your dream scenario?”

“Not even close.” Daniel kicks a pebble on the sidewalk and watches as it skitters into the gutter. “I love baseball. It’s the only thing that makes me feel alive. But to them, it’s not a career. It’s something to keep me busy until I’m ready to step into my predestined role.”

“That sucks, Hollingsworth.”

“Tell me about it. They don’t even come to my games. They’re too busy schmoozing with potential clients or jetting off to some exotic locale.”

Charlie, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet throughout this exchange, suddenly pipes up. “Shit, you guys. I feel like a total dick now, complaining about my mom nagging me to call more often.”

A pang of longing hits me square in the chest. “Your mom cares.”

His expression turns wistful as he gazes up at the building. “You know, growing up on a small farm in Pennsylvania, I never could’ve imagined being friends with people like you two.”

My heart skips a beat at him calling me a friend already. “People like us?”

“Yeah, you know. City boys. Trust fund kids.” His beaming smile takes the sting out of his words. “Where I’m from, the biggest drama was when Old Man Noble’s prize pig got loose and ended up in the town square.”

Daniel snorts. “Seriously?”

“Hand to God.” Charlie raises his right hand solemnly. It’s big, bigger than mine, but leaner than Daniel’s. I don’t know why I notice that, but I do. “It took half the town to wrangle that sucker back into its pen.”

I try to picture Charlie as a young farm boy chasing after escaped livestock. It’s so far removed from my childhood spent in stuffy parlors and at fancy prep schools that I can hardly wrap my mind around it.

“The closest I ever came to nature as a kid was when our housekeeper forgot to trim the topiary in the garden,” I tell him.

Charlie rolls his eyes. “Poor little rich boy.”

“Hey, those unruly hedges were straight out of a little shop of horrors,” I joke, bumping my fist against his bicep. “I’m lucky I made it out alive.”

We end up lost in our thoughts, the weight of our shared confessions hanging heavy in the air.

It’s Daniel who finally breaks the quiet. “So, Price. Not that I’m not enjoying this trip down memory lane, but why exactly did you bring us here tonight?”

A spark of mischief ignites in my chest. “I thought you’d never ask.

” With a grin, I crouch down and pull aside a moldy cardboard box to reveal a nondescript black duffel bag.

Beside it, a collapsible ladder is propped against the wall.

I unzip the bag and pull out cans of spray paint in every color of the rainbow.

“Gentlemen, tonight we’re going to strike a blow against the establishment and leave our mark on this soulless monument to corporate greed. ”

Charlie scratches his head with his index finger. “Meaning…”

“We’re going to tag the ever-loving shit out of my parents’ building.”