2 You | Jean Kirstein part cinq ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖
synop; only son of the multimillion dollar Kirstein estate Jean returns to his hometown after six years to attend Marco’s engagement party and stumbles into something he never expected
parts i ⋆ ii ⋆ iii ⋆ iiii
cw; teen pregnancy, baby daddy jean, cliche asf but it’s indulgent for me lmfaoooo
˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡
The Kirstein house was one of those houses that was perpetually quiet. No noise aside from when guests were over and Jean's mother, Marinette, was busy hosting and entertaining. Every other day the house would be dead silent. The dining room was big, way bigger than necessary for a family of three. It always showed just how empty the home was when it was dinner time, the long lacquered oak table never being filled up. Jean's father always sat at the head of the table. Jean's mother to the left, and Jean across from her to his dad's right. Jean sat stiff in his usual spot, looking down at his lap as their family chef sat the food down in front of him. Holstein steaks with buttered scalloped potatoes and lemon zested asparagus topped with freshly shredded parmesan straight off the block. Jean's dad was on a steak kick and ticking off the types of steaks to find his favorite one. Last week was black angus steak seared and served with a side of baked truffle macaroni and cheese.
Jean waited a few seconds, letting his father cut into the medium rare beef and eat a couple bites before he even thought about dropping the bomb of news onto him. His dad chewing rather loudly as he nodded in approval, looking up as the chef stood with perfect posture to be relieved of his duties.
"Mhmm, perfect as always, Lemieux," Jean's father spoke with his mouth half full, already cutting into more of the tender steak and stabbing it onto his fork alongside a few scalloped potatoes. Their chef nodded, wiping his hands on a rag and walking back into the kitchen as Jean's mother gave her quiet thanks as well.
Jean picked at his plate, poking at the butttered scalloped potatoes, stacking them like casino chips on his fork, middles all mushy and mashed from how much he was jabbing at them nervously. His eyes kept flicking up to his dad, not sure when the right moment would be to speak. If there ever even was a right moment to tell him this. But then like any other middle school boy his age, his inner thoughts told him, 'c'mon, don't be a pussy Jean. Just do it.' So he did.
"So," he started suddenly, clearing his throat as he still looked down at his plate, swirling some of the cut up steak that was now on his fork into the au jus sauce that was pooled on a section of his plate. "There's this new school they built last year." He said it like it was just a passing thought, like he was just trying to make conversation during dinnertime like it was a usual thing his family did. Like a normal family.
Jean's mom looked up first, faintly surprised that Jean had even initiated a conversation. Jean was always fairly quiet during dinnertime unless Marco was over for dinner. Or to answer his father. Who, by the way, continued to chew on his steak while only paying half attention. Jean noticed that, his father flitting his eyes up then focusing once more on his food instead. Typical self involved behavior that Jean had grown used to in his twelve years of living. He always wondered how his mom could even put up with it.
Jean took a deep sigh, shaking his head but continuing, at least his mom was paying attention. "It's called Rolling Hills. It's a magnet school here in the city, near Golden Gates Heights." His eyes looked up lowly at his mother, who was paying attention, but still slowly piecing her baked salmon into little bite sized squares. Where Jean's father was on his streak of steak dinners, Jean's mother was into trying different diet fads. Currently? A pescatarian diet.
"Magnet school?" She tilted her head to the side, clueless. Jean's mom was like one of those adults Marco was talking about earlier that day. Growing up in that wealth bubble. She was essentially raised to be a rich wife. Just like her mother. It was just how things were. Her father, Jean's maternal grandfather, was a furniture designer, and made a nice little fortune off of it. Enough for Jean's mom to grow up having a horse and going to Sacred Heart, where she had met Jean's father. The more Jean thought about it the more he started to realize Marco was completely right. It was a small small bubble some of these rich people lived in. Including his mother. She barely knew about anything that didn't have crap else to do with her lifestyle. She didn't know anything about public schools or charter schools, let alone magnet schools. If it wasn't private school, Sacred Heart to be more specific, she genuinely didn't have a clue.
"It's kinda like private school. But different. Like more modern I guess? They have a robotics lab and they have media electives. And free dress days. It's not super strict like Sacred Heart. It's like a cool version," Jean was nervous but excited to explain it to his mom, words just rambling from his mouth as he tried to reiterate everything he remembered from the brochures him and Marco were leafing through earlier that day. He had one on his lap, fingers curling around it, just a little too nervous to bring it out just yet.
His mom's eyes were wide in that taking everything in way, like she was soaking up what he was saying but didn't know what to say back. Slowly chewing on her salmon as she listened to her son speak. Jean's eyes shifted to his dad, who clearly heard but looked like he couldn't care less. Which was a bruise to Jean's spirit. And with Jean being an Aries, and a twelve year old boy nearing puberty, he got upset easily. Like the apathy he could feel from his father had oozed into him and turned into some sort of passive aggressiveness.
"Marco's going," Jean mumbled, whole attitude shifting. Eyes no longer sparkling and voice no longer bubbly in excitement. Dramatically stabbing into a piece of steak. Jabbing it into his mouth and chewing harshly like it'll ease some of that quiet anger that was starting to build up in his system.
Jean's dad paused his steak cutting, now looking up at Jean. "Marco Bodt?" His dad raised an eyebrow. Jean's dad was familiar with both parents. Didn't very much agree with them on all aspects of life, moreso the more liberal ideals they had, but Jean's dad knew they were very smart people. He knew Marco's dad always knew what was going on behind the scenes when it came to academics and education, he was after all a professor at Stanford and was on multiple boards of education so he knew what was what when it came to schooling.
Jean nodded, just a tiny bit of that hope returning when he had realized that mentioning the Bodts had piqued his father's interest. "Yeah, his dad knows somebody who runs the school. He's already registered to transfer." His posture stood straighter, eyes more wide with excitement. "He said it's a really good school. And his dad said the curriculum is innovative, newer and more modernized than Sacred Heart's."
Jean's dad rested his elbows on the edge of the table, lifting up his glass of water to take a few sips as he starts to read between the lines of what Jean was trying to say. "...And you want to go with him?"
"Well... Yeah. He's my best friend. I don't wanna go to Sacred Heart alone. Plus I think it'd be good for me," Jean stuttered, getting nervous from that serious look his father now had on his face. His father was always serious, and it was engrained in Jean to always be weary and almost always be walking on eggshells when it came to his dad. Jean knew all of his father's little behaviors, his little tics and tells that showed Jean when to be cautious. When to pander. When to roll over and just be the mindless bot of a son that his father had oh so obviously wanted Jean to be.
"You think it'd be wise to follow?" Jean's dad steepled his fingers together, posture all slack and relaxed but still tense like it was when he'd be in his office chair at work. That's what it felt like to Jean in the moment anyway, like he was one of his dad's employees that were in the hot seat. He'd seen it countless times when he'd go with his father to work during the summer. His dad leaning forward without a care in the world, knowing he ran the company, whereas the employee was literally fighting for their life, trying to put up a case and defend their explanation or reasoning behind whatever they had did to even end up being questioned by Mr. Kirstein himself.
But Jean was his father's son, with the same stubborness, so he straightened up. "Yeah, I do. I'd rather not be miserable alone at school. Marco was the only thing that even made Sacred Heart bearable,"
Jean's mother could see the tension rising between them. Between father and son. She knew Jean was growing up, getting to that age where he might start to rebel. At least that's how she saw it in her eyes, and those parenting books she'd read in her never ending free time. So she took turn to speak, hoping it'd diffuse some of the tension, "But sweetheart, Sacred Heart has always been your school. You've been going there since kindergarten. You already have your spot in their high school. You know how hard it is to get into their high school program." Her face had that motherly concern etched into her brow along with her pursed lips.
A low sigh left Jean's lips as he set down his fork and knife, resting back on the dining room chair. Marco's words had really made a difference for Jean. He started to think about his life in a deeper aspect, deeper than he had ever thought about it in all his time being alive, even if it was just a mere twelve years. His school was chosen, the after school activities he was forced to do, the sports he could play. What he could watch on tv, who he could hang out with. His entire room was designed by a damn interior decorator. Hell, even the clothes he wears was either chosen by his mother or the stylist she hired to curate his wardrobe. "That's the thing. It's all mapped out. Everything was chosen for me. I never get to choose anything."
This made his father's brows furrow, his jaw tense and lock into place. Anything to him that wasn't agreeance was defiance. "You are a Kirstein, Jean. We make choices that benefit what that means. We don't make choices off of some whim."
Jean's hands turned into frustrated fists under the table, including the one hand holding the school brochure, crunching it up and crinkling it. "It's not a whim, it's just school. I'm freaking twelve, not thirty five. Why do I have my whole entire future already picked out for me??" His voice was strained, like he wasn't trying to raise his voice even if his inner emotions were begging him to.
All his mother could do was blink, startled by the tone in Jean's voice that she hadn't heard since he was a toddler and didn't want to wear scratchy wool sweaters. His father just squinted, as if he wasn't sure Jean knew who the hell he was talking to. "Because we know what's best for you," his father said simply, "everything we have done for you has been an investment for your future. For your success. Sacred Heart is the best of the best here. The best teachers. The best academics. All your peers there have parents that are in my network. Need I say more, Jean?" His father went back to cutting his steak, already tired of the conversation.
That just frustrated Jean even more. Everything sounded like it wasn't even for him, it was just all for his dad. For his namesake. "Why do you care more about your stupid network and legacy than me?"
His parents stopped cutting their food abruptly. Just pure silence of shock. His father's grip on his fork and knife tightening. His mother's jaw visibly slacked open in surprise. "That's not fair, Jean," his mother's soft voice said.
Jean crossed his arms, looking down at his lap, down at that brochure that was now slightly crumpled like how he felt in the moment. "Well, its true. You don't ask me what I want. You never have." His eyes dart up straight to his mother, whose lips were parted like a silent gasp.
Where Jean's mom was shocked and rather hurt by what he said, his father didn't budge. Didn't get that wave of sympathy that his mother just did. He was utterly stuck in his ways and what he thought. "Like I said Jean, I know what's best for you. The Kirstein men have all gone to Sacred Heart. My grandfather, my father, me. It's tradition. It's our legacy. And you're spitting on it by even entertaining this nonsense."
"It's not nonsense!" Jean finally snapped, tired of not being heard or even having them just agree to think about it. "It's how I feel, dad. I'm tired of not getting a choice. I'm tired of just being the Kirstein kid at school. I wanna know who I am outside of that." It's like the spirit of Marco was there in him, that little freedom that Marco always encouraged, the autonomy him and his parents made Jean feel whenever he was at the Bodt's house.
The table was dead silent again, like literal pin drop silent aside from Jean's heavy breathing from being out of breath. His father stared at him, unmoved as he clasped his hands together "You sound like a child, Jean."
Jean snorted, a breathy bitter laugh as he rolled his eyes, "I am a child."
It said everything to him when his father said that. He didn't want a child, he didn't want a son. He just wanted an extension of himself. Someone to carry on the Kirstein name so it wasn't all a waste. Now that Jean was thinking of it, he saw it more and more. Yeah, Jean got whatever he wanted. All the new toys for Christmas, Burberry coats and calfskin loafers. Fancy birthday dinners and incentives for doing good in school. But... he was a father. Not a dad. Not like Marco's dad. Who knew what book Marco was reading. Who asked actual questions about Marco's day at dinnertime. Who spent time doing things Marco liked to do.
Just the thought started making Jean breath heavier, shallow and heavy breaths as his eyes started to sting. He didn't know what he was feeling. Anger. Hurt. Frustration. It was all a swirling hurricane in that body of his. He pushed his chair back abruptly, the legs screeching against the marbled floors. The Rolling Hills brochure dropping from his lap as he stood up.
"Thank you for dinner," he mumbled before tears started to fall down his face. Leaving his untouched plate on the dining table and both of his parents speechless. His mother's eyes trailing and watching him walk off, while his father simply just shook his head in disappointment, already getting back to chewing that damn steak of his.
Jean's mother took a deep sigh. She didn't really like seeing her baby boy sad. He was her only child, the light of her life honestly. Her eyes drifted to where he was just sat, to the dinner plate that wasn't touched, just played with. And that's when she saw it, that brochure that had been crumpled in his fingers out of frustration. Jean's mother stood up, eyes glued to the brochure as she walked around the table, bending down to pick it up. Trying to straighten some of the creases out as she took a look at the cover. Just to see what Jean saw in that school. Why he wanted to go so bad. By no means was it Sacred Heart, but if Marco's parents thought it was good enough for him, then surely it couldn't have been a bad school. Right?
Her eyes were still on the brochure, flipping through the pages as she said, "Maybe I'll just... talk to Marco's mother about the school. Just to see what she has to say about it."
⋆.𐙚 ̊
Jean stomped up the stairs, going straight to his room. The Kirstein house so big that his parents downstairs couldn't even hear the door slam. Some of the housekeepers did though, softly gasping in shock, Jean had never been an angry kid. Whatever must have happened at dinnertime must have really upset him. He threw himself onto his bed, onto the thousand count thread sheets that were in a navy blue color. Not even his favorite color. Nothing in his bedroom reflected who he was as a person. It was all heavily curated. He didn't even get to give any input to the interior designer that his mother had hired. They were just told to have it match the rest of the house, simple and upscale. It almost had a nautical aesthetic, navy blue and whites. White walls and navy blue curtains and accents. Even the bookshelf he had in his room was curated. Jean didn't even know half of the books that filled the shelves. There were no books he liked, no Diary of a Wimpy Kids or Percy Jackson books. No books any normal kid his age would have read. Just stupid old classics and 'quirky' finance books for children that his father approved of. Any book Jean had actually read was always lent to him by Marco.
He hated it. Looking around his own bedroom and barely seeing anything that was him. The only thing that was truly his was his xbox, the newest one that his dad had bought him for christmas, but all the games were bought when Jean would go shopping with his nanny. Probably the only other person in Jean's life that genuinely understood him aside from Marco and his parents. Camille, a girl in her early 20's who reminded Jean of the babysitter from Monster House but actually cool. On paper she was perfect, she was going to San Francisco state and took up nannying for the Kirstein's part time. Usually staying over in her designated guest room when Jean's parents were away on business trips and such, which would be sporadic but sometimes often. In front of his parents she was the perfect girl, long sleeves and tied up hair and the kindest voice. Making Jean his after school snacks and taking him to his lacrosse practices. But as soon as the Kirsteins left she'd lounge back, kind of acting like Jean's older sister in a way. Sometimes on the phone with her girlfriend, which his parents had zero knowledge of, while she asked Jean if he wanted a chai and cronut from bakery said girlfriend worked at.
That's part of the reason Jean liked her so much. She didn't treat him like a baby, or a child who couldn't make any decisions. She didn't treat him like an extension of the Kirstein name, like the legacy kid. To her he was just Jean. The kid who liked to go to game stop to peruse the new games. The kid who liked froyo with popping boba as long as the flavors meshed well, he'd usually go with tart yogurt and strawberry popping boba unless Cami teased him about being a boring old man in a kid's body. He wished she was there right now, just to be that comforting big sister that he oh so needed right now.Just someone that would understand how he felt instead of thinking he was being childish. Like he was ungrateful. Like he was stupid for wanting something different than what was expected of him as a Kirstein.
Jean looked up at the ceiling. Even that was curated. Those type of lights that were set into the ceiling. No glow in the dark stars like in Marco's room. There were no posters taped up to the walls crookedly out of excitement. No photos of friends or drawings or anything at all that showed that it was a twelve year old boy's room. It looked like a damn Ikea room, all perfect and pristine like an actual person didn't even live in it. He grabbed one of the decorative pillows, mostly polyester and itchy and not meant for a bed, clenching it tightly as he looked at it, what it started to mean to him, and he threw it. Tossing it as hard as he could against the plain white wall, knocking down some framed print of he didn't even know what.
The frame splintered, a big crack in the corner where it had fell, the glass cracking but not shattering all the way. He winced at the damage, already knowing it's gonna be a pain in the ass to have to explain to his mother, but it also felt cathartic to act out like that even just for a moment. Plopping back onto his bed, he snagged one of the brochures off of his side dresser, looking through the pages again for the millionth time. How all the kids looked different. Some with dyed hair, others wearing hoodies and sweaters over their uniforms instead of having to wear blazers all the damn time. Actual shoes and sneakers instead of loafers and mary janes with the required socks. They looked genuinely happy. Not performative or trying to make the school look good. Just kids being able to be kids, actually being encouraged to learn and explore different pathways than the rigid and so on course curriculum that was expected at Sacred Heart. There were home economics classes, boys learning how to sew and cook and one even holding ones of those plastic babies that cried and you had to change and feed. There was a school garden, with actual kids digging in the dirt and planting vegetables instead of curated gardens full of roses and topiaries that were kept prim and proper by a maintenance team.
It just seemed like a completely different reality than what Jean was used to. It had color. Diversity. It looked like a community, an actual community rather than the 'circles' that were at Sacred Heart. Circles that felt like ulterior motives, like they knew whose parents were the richest or had the biggest houses or who was gonna take over what family company when the time came. Fake friends to say the least. And maybe that's why Jean didn't want to go to school without Marco. The only friend who truly felt genuine and didn't want anything from Jean other than his friendship. He never asked to go on Jean's dad's boat like Roland did. Or tried to put in a word for his father through Jean to Jean's dad like Henry. Marco just wanted to hang out with Jean, always invited him over to his place because they could actually run around without getting in trouble. Always showed Jean the new movies that were out since Jean's parents didn't have the time to take him to them. Marco's house actually felt like a home to Jean. Not just a place to live and host parties and stay empty most of the time. But a home that was lived in, every single day.
Jean sighed, turning on his side as his eyes started to water. He really didn't want to go to Sacred Heart if Marco wasn't going to be there. He could feel the tears welling, already about to silent cry until there was a soft double knock and his bedroom door creaked open.
"Hey..." That soft raspy voice Jean grew fond of spoke as the person poked their head in.
Jean sat up quickly, sniffling the snot away as he turned towards his bedroom door, "Cami??"
She was wearing her usual 'look good for the parents' outfit, always an open cardigan over some shirt that covered her tattoos and leggings. Hair in a fishtail braid thrown over one shoulder. "I heard the slam," she said, looking to the fallen picture frame, "that was very un-Kirstein like of you." A chuckle left her throat, going to pick it up off the floor to set on his desk.
"What are you doing here? I thought you had this week off? My parents are home for the week," he sniffled again, wiping at his nose with his sleeve.
Cami nodded, sitting at the edge of Jean's bed, "Your mom called me. Kinda told me you were upset about something. Don't think she knows what to do or say to ya right now."
Jean scoffed out a laugh bitterly, "Of course she'd send you instead of being a mom and doing it herself." It frustrated Jean just how much his parents were emotionally absent. The whole thing filled him with resentment, even if he never showed it, it was full and well there inside of him.
"Hey, she sounded really concerned on the phone though. Maybe she just doesn't know how to handle it without fear of makin' it worse, ya know? It sounded like she felt real bad," Cami tried to diffuse, while not invalidating Jean's feelings.
Another scoff left Jean's lips, but it wasn't as harsh as the first one, "She always feels bad. But nothing changes." Which was true. Jean's mother had always put Jean's dad first and foremost. It was just the way she was raised, husband first. Even if she felt all the love in the world for her son, it was deeply engrained into her being that her job was to always appease her husband.
Cami just looked at Jean, seeing the frustration written on his face. Those always arched eyebrows even more arched, wrinkly in between the fronts. An actual frowny pout on his lips. His posture for once not straight like it usually is, he was hunched over, arms wrapped around his knees as they were pulled in. Finally looking like the child he was instead of the kid that tried so so hard to be grown and overly mature like his father wanted.
"...So, what happened downstairs?" She asked, finally prying to assess the situation Jean's mother was pretty cryptic about over the phone when she had first called. His mom all hush hush into the receiver like she didn't want Jean's father to overhear her. Jean's mom had sounded concerned in that strained voice of hers, something Cami had never heard from the woman in those years she had been working for the Kirsteins.
"Told my dad I wanna transfer schools. To Rolling Hills," Jean's voice was cracked, burning from that pull that you get when you're crying and frustrated and upset and your body just won't let words come out of your throat properly. Also something Cami had never witnessed in the time she had been Jean's nanny.
"The magnet school?" Cami had to shake herself out of that empathetic introspective stare she was giving Jean to ask that.
Jean's head lifted up from its sorrowful looking down, neck craning up quickly as his soft eyes got bigger, "You know about it??"
"Duhhh, kid. I'm in child development at SFSU, all my education friends are like totally hyped about it. Some of my friends who graduated last year are gonna be teaching there this year," she smiled all knowingly, thinking it was adorable the way Jean's face lit up at just knowing about it.
"Really?" Somehow Jean's eyes got even more wide with excitement, his hunched posture already straightening back up.
"Really," Cami nodded, giving Jean that reassuring smile. Jean loved it. Loved it in a way that made it feel like she was his older sister rather than some nanny that his parents paid. Most of the time Jean forgot that Camille was just another person employed by his father, just like the personal chefs and housekeepers and tutors. With Cami it felt genuine, like she wasn't there just for a paycheck. To Jean it felt like she really cared. Not just because he was the Kirstein's kid, but just because he was Jean.
It made Jean feel heard when Cami had brought up that she had heard of the school as well. That she knew of something Jean was curious about. It made him think that maybe it wasn't just a silly stupid idea to want to go to this new school he had barely found out about hours prior. That straying from what his parents had planned for him to go on a new path with his best friend wasn't dumb or some whim as his father had told him while chewing some overpriced steak.
Then Jean remembered the way his dad looked when he mentioned Rolling Hills. The way his dad didn't even bother to listen, just brushed off everything he had said like it was redundant. "Dad said i'm spitting on Sacred Heart and the family legacy by even wanting to go there." Jean's voice sounded little, a muffled mumble against his knees he was tucked into once more.
"Oh geez," Cami mumbled under her breath. Not knowing whether to feel bad or upset, but she was equally both. She appreciated being hired and employed by the Kirsteins but she couldn't stand how they treated Jean sometimes.
"He said I sounded like a child," Jean looked up at Cami, like he was wondering if he really did do something wrong. Yeah, now this is what Cami couldn't stand. This was a definitive moment of it. A prime example of where there was dissonance when it came to children and raising one and how to treat one.
"Well," she said as she snorted, knowing that what Jean's father said was stupid because, "you are twelve. That constitutes you as a child.., like both legally and developmentally..."
Jean nodded his head excitedly, happy that at least someone validated his feelings. "Exactly!! He tried to make me feel ungrateful and like I was being like a petulant child or something!" Cami had to purse her lips to hide the smile that was about to form. It was always adorable to her how Jean spoke. How his vocabulary was different from other kids his age that she babysat or knew.
"Wanting to make your own choices doesn't make you ungrateful. It's just you growing up," Cami started, turning more towards him on the bed. Her child development class knowledge starting to seep into the convo, "And your dad... He's probably scared."
Jean raised a questionable eyebrow like it was unbelievable that his father, thee Claude Kirstein, could ever be scared. "Of what??"
"Of you growing up and becoming your own person," Cami had said matter of factly, with a casual shrug of her shoulders.
"Oh," was all Jean could say, his little twelve year old brain trying to comprehend the concept of his father being emotionally fearful.
"I learned a bunch about different parenting styles in one of my child development classes. And parents like him? They build a blueprint for their kids, map out their whole lives meticulously like a to do list. So when you start redrawin' the lines, it freaks em out." Cami's hands come up, shaking a bit to add emphasis to the last few words.
Jean was staring down at his bedsheets, just absorbing her words as they perfectly described his father. "It's just.., I just don't wanna go to school alone," he admitted, voice cracking with guilt he was somehow feeling even if he kinda knew he shouldn't feel guilty at all for wanting different. "Marco's going to Rolling Hills. He's already starting his transfer. And Sacred Heart without him is gonna be freaking miserable."
Cami half smiled, Jean didn't care about much. Never really did. But when it came to Marco? "You love that kid."
That made Jean look up at her. "He's my best friend, is it so bad I wanna keep going to the same school as him??" He replied quickly, in that defensive tone Jean could get sometimes even when he didn't mean to.
"It's not bad at all, kid," she chuckled, shaking her head.
"And it's not just cause of Marco," he continued, looking at the brochures that were now on his bed from reading them for the umpteenth time, "It's also cause that school looks different. Like it's real. The kids look happy, like they're actually having fun at school and not just there because their parents went there or it's some freaking elite private school that gets you into ivy leagues."
"So you want something real," Cami nods as she starts to understand more and more why this means so much to Jean. Why he actually argued with his father for once in the whole time she had been nannying for the Kirsteins.
"yeah. I do. I want something different. And the way Marco described the school to me made it seem fun. Like I might actually enjoy it instead of just doing what I'm told to do," Jean sighed, tossing himself back on the bed like a dramatic tweenager that he definitely was becoming.
Cami just watched him, that longing and frustration on his face as he looked up at the ceiling. She felt for him, she really did. After all it had been almost two years since she had became Jean's nanny. Back when he was 10 and she was 18 just starting college. She had seen him grow, go through phases. Always staying that stubborn boy with a heart of gold, even if he was a bit spoiled and bratty at times. He always meant well. Mostly. And it sure was something to see him grow and change as he got older and closer to Marco.
"Okay, here's the deal kid," she leaned in, voice getting low like she didn't want anyone else to hear in on what they were gonna do. Jean looked at her, still laying down cause he was comfy, "we'll get you to take that placement test. You study like hell, score high enough that your dad can't help but be impressed and has to let you go to the school."
Jean sat up, eyes wide like he was given a green light, "You think I can??"
Cami snorted like it was obvious nudging his shoulder playfully, "You're smarter than half the grown men at those dinner parties your parents throw. You just don't flex it cause you're not a little shit." That made Jean finally crack a smile. A tiny one, but still. Progress, right?
"But what if I don't get in?" He asks, voice all soft and vulnerable. Nervous for once. Jean had never been an insecure kid, ever. This was also something new to Cami. Seemed like a lot of firsts she was witnessing and all because Jean wanted to go to a different school.
"Highly doubt it, kid. But in the off chance you don't get in? At least you know you tried and you didn't just roll over and give up. You didn't just do what you were told to. You actually tried," she gave him that reassuring smile she always gave him when Jean was in his head too much. he was definitely a bit of an overthinker, she had found that out quickly into her nannying for him.
"You're really gonna help me sneak and take the placement test without my parents knowing?" His brows raised up for once, instead of together or down like they usually did. Up like his hopes, eyes all glossy as he bit his inner cheek.
"Well duh. You keep my secrets, don't you?"
Jean smiled, it was moments like these that made him not feel like an only child. Whereas Marco was like his brother, Camille filled the older sister void that Jean, especially the way he was growing up, oh so desperately needed. "uh huh. Always." He does the scouts honor fingers, thumb to pinky as he holds it up to his head, something they always did for their promises.
"Speaking of secrets," Cami picked up her tote bag that she had dropped on the floor, digging through it, 'brought you one of em." She pulled out a parchment bag, stamped with the bakery logo where her secret girlfriend worked.
"You brought me something??" His eyes lit up, mouth agape and open in a grin.
She tossed the bag to Jean, who caught it easily and quickly unwrapped it. "Mhmm. Chocolate strawberry croissant, Bri's on night shift and I stopped by on the way over. Told her you had an emergency so she gave me one and said she hopes you feel better."
Jean was already scarfing down the croissant, bits of chocolate on his face, "When are you gonna let me meet your girlfriend anyway? You talk about her all the time and you're always on the phone with her when my parents are gone. Yet I've never seen her face," he said with a mouth half full.
"And you're not gonna til you learn to finish chewing and swallowing before talkin'," she laughed, playfully giving Jean a tap upwards on his jaw like she was gonna shut it.
Jean chuckled, all boyish with his eyes crinkling. Cheeks still fat as he finished chewing that bite. Swallowing before he started to speak again, "Okay, okay. But seriously. When do I get to meet her?"
"Why do ya wanna meet her so bad?" She asked, started to pick at the edge of Jean's croissant and popping it into her mouth.
Jean shrugged, picking a strawberry out of the croisssant and chewing it, "I dunno. You're kinda like a big sister to me. Isn't it normal for them to meet the significant other?"
Camille's heart swelled, a smile on her face. Jean really could be sweet when he wanted to. "Awhhh, kiddoooo," she ruffled his hair, "okay. Tell ya what, if you pass that placement test, and get into Rolling Hills, we'll go visit her at the bakery, yeah?"
Jean's eyes lit up, "Deal. I'm soooo gonna ace that test. And I'm gonna get the strawberry chai and cinnamon apple cronut. And pistachio cream croissant. Maybe even a sandwich too." he started to list off every little thing he liked from the bakery, Cami sometimes bringing him some extras that she had got on her way to his house from school. Always something weird and unique that he had never tried before. Or did at some stuffy rich people restaurant that had half the flavor and two times the pretentiousness.
"Woah woah, as long as your parents give ya the card, kid. Broke college student here, remember?" She held her hands up playfully, all defensive as she smiled and chuckled.
Jean tilted his head and raised an incredulous eyebrow at her, "When have you ever paid for anything while working here, Cami?? Like ever??"
"Touche, Kirstein," she snorted. Jean could be funny when he wanted to. When he wasn't fully serious or annoyed with everything. She leaned back on her palms, taking a good look at him. Seeing how much he had grown in the two years she had been his nanny. So short of time, but so much growth. From the little bratty ten year old who would give her attitude to the turning tall and lanky twelve year old in front of her. "ya know.., this is the first time I've ever seen you actually fight for something."
"What do you mean?" Jean tilted his head, a little clueless as he took another bite of the flaky buttery croissant.
"You usually just.., roll your eyes and deal with it," she shrugged, "you complain about it, but just roll with whatever your parents tell you to like it's final say. You don't ever really push back."
Jean blinked as he thought about that. All the summer weeks he'd spend at lacrosse camps he hadn't wanted to attend but went anyway even if he wanted to go to a different camp with Marco. The piano lessons he had stuck through from ages six to ten until his dad had finally let him quit. The ugly brown suits his dad had made him wear to dinner he was forced to attend and sit up straight and not talk at unless spoken to. All the things that were never really about him and were moreso about his father. Like everything else in his life.
"I guess I never cared enough before," he said with realization, eyes looking up at Cami after the quick look off in the distance.
Camille smiled at him all proud, "And look at you now. Growth."
Jean sat the bakery bag on his side table, "Do you think... that he'll ever actually listen to me? What I want?"
Cami sighed. She wasn't one to sugar coat, she never really did. Especially with someone she cared about so much like Jean. "I think, with the man that he is, he might not know how. Your dad grew up a certain way. The way his father did, and his father before him did. Same expectations, same pressure. That stuff becomes familiar like an identity. So when you say you don't want it? He hears rejection. Like you don't want what he's worked so hard to give you. Not that you want independence or a bit of individuality."
Jean looked down at his hands, fingers lacing together and bangs falling in his face, "I'm not rejecting him. I just don't wanna turn out exactly like him. I don't wanna be a carbon copy. I don't wanna be Claude Kirstein 2.0" He had seen just how much his father had tried to be like his grandfather, who was just like his great grandfather. Jean didn't want to be the same monotonous man. It didn't seem all that appealing to him.
"You don't have to be," she reassured him, patting his knee two times, "you're only twelve. Barely starting middle school. You have all the time in the world to figure out who you want to be. You don't have to follow exactly in his footsteps. You can stray the path a little bit, even if you end up in the same destination. You can take a couple detours." Camille was truthful, she knew no matter what, Jean was going to end up taking his dad's role owning most of the Kirstein's corporation when the time came. The vineyards, the real estate, the new tech company his father had founded. All the investments and hedge funds. "You're still a kid, you still get to choose exactly who you are."
It sounded different when Cami said it. When Jean's father had called him a child, it made him feel small. The way Jenny said it? Made him feel like he had time. Like an opportunity filled with countless possibilities.
Cami stood up, doing that little dust off on her legs like people always did when it was time to move on from a serious conversation. "Alright my future rebel scholar, tomorrow we start that test prep."
"Tomorrow??"
"Yup, tomorrow. I'll make some practice questions. Start with math first since that's where you get cocky. A little too cocky and careless if ya ask me," she tilted her head, lifting her tote from the floor and slinging it over her shoulder.
"I do not get careless," Jean scoffed, crossing his arms.
"You totally do," she crossed her arms back, giving him a raised eyebrow, "you get cocky and rush cause you know you're smart and never double check your work cause you assume you're always right."
Jean opened his mouth to argue, thought for a second, then stopped. "Okay fine, maybe I do."
"Mhmm, thought so, kiddo." She chuckled, opening his bedroom door to go to her room since it was a little too late to drive back to campus. She stopped though, right when she was halfway out the door. "And Jean?"
"Yeah?" He looked up, already getting comfortable under his duvet and blankets.
"Im proud of you.., really," she smiled, soft and tired.
Jean smiled the same way. He needed that. Really needed that. Especially after everything that had happened earlier that day. "Thanks, Cami."
Cami gave him that lil salute they always did to each other, Jean doing it right back as she shut his bedroom door. Jean could hear her steps getting further away down the hall, and once again the house was that quiet it always was. Just less eery now that his nerves had settled. Now replaced with a silent excitement as Jean close his eyes, imagining what school would be like if he actually gets to go there. To Rolling Hills alongside Marco. Thinking about what clubs he would join. What shoes he'd wear since he wouldn't be forced to wear those shiny black dress shoes that were required at Sacred Heart. What he'd wear on spirit days and free dress days. And even though it was still only a maybe, Jean's heart was dead set on going to that school and he was gonna make sure that he got in. No matter what.
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