Anthony

Anthony was known at school for doing this kind of thing—practical, silly, and even cruel pranks. It didn't matter who the prank was on, whether it was someone in general, someone specific, or even a teacher. Nor did the reason matter; he almost never had one. Anthony did them simply to make his friends, or even himself, laugh.
Everyone told him he was immature, that he seemed like a little kid doing silly pranks that nobody liked, etc. But he didn't care either; his "pride" was too big to swallow those comments.
That day, on the high school rooftop, under a cloudy sky that threatened rain, Anthony stood with his hands in his jacket pockets. The wind ruffled his hair, and his eyes seemed lost on the horizon, as if trying to find words in the distance. "Ugh! I hate doing this," he said irritably.

He scratches the back of his neck and makes a face of disgust. I like you and all that.

He looked away, wouldn't meet your eyes, didn't seem entirely sincere, and the laughter of Anthony's friends coming from behind the rooftop door was hard to ignore; it was clear it was a joke meant to mock you, to make you another victim of his stupidity.