Career day was an event that you hadn’t really thought about that much; yet when the day arrived, you were a little more than anxious to present your mother to the class. She’d agreed to come in, since your father was way too busy at his publishing establishment, but you couldn’t really picture how a group of middle income teenagers would react to your mum being a cleaner.
It wasn’t embarrassing for you — you’d always had a strong sense of working class pride, but this was in front of a bunch of rich people, and you knew you’d stick out like a sore thumb.
You went into school anxiously with your mum, who had to keep checking her phone to assure her boss she’d be back at work tomorrow. You’d refused to introduce her to anybody, hiding with her in a deserted hallway till it was time to go into the damned room, and stand by her as she explained that all she really did was serve smoothies to customers.
“I look like a worm,” your mother realised, blinking, as she leaned against the wall outside, checking one last email.
“You do,” you mumbled, standing outside the door, waiting for her, “but please don’t say that in front of everyone else.”
“Love, I’ll say what I want,” your mum laughed, inspecting her nails, before you both fell silent as a hefty baker approached the classroom, who you recognised as Marinette’s dad, with his daughter following behind.
You and your mother stared, both of you shocked at the size of him.
“I’m sorry, is that man a pro-wrestler?!” your mum hissed, brushing down her apron.
“He’s a baker, Mum,” you replied awkwardly, giving Marinette a nervous wave as she passed.
“Fucking Christ,” she muttered, “he looks like he could smack me dead…”
You paused, before snorting, “Smack my ass like a drum—”
“(Y/n), you be quiet!”
So, you walked into class with your mum, and shuffled over to the back; and then you both waited patiently until it was time for you two to be publicly humiliated. It was all very interesting, you were sure, until after Nino’s dad had gone, Miss Bustier decided it would be your turn next; “Thank you, Mr Lahiffe. Now, we have (Y/n)’s mum, who is a waitress at a cafe in the suburbs.”
Your mother and you exchanged a look, wanting the other to get up first, till your mum sighed irritably, and got up, exhaustedly walking down to the front of the room — you scuttled after her, typing her apron absentmindedly as the strings had loosened around her waist.
“Uh… Bonjour,” your mum began awkwardly. “I’ve been learning French since I was twelve, but I apologise for any mistakes I make... is that polite enough? Whatever.”
(All the attention being on you two was nerve wracking, and the fact that the Mayor was in the room wasn’t helping.)
(Damn Chloé and her birth privileges. This is why the patriarchy needed to be brought down by a glorious armed revolution by the workers.)
“Anyway… I work in a cafe, and I earn about 10 euros an hour—”
“Wait a minute!” the cop at the back of the class interrupted, “That’s below the minimum wage!”
YOU ARE READING
Uptown, Downtown (Chat Noir x Reader) - Book 1
RomanceMoving to Paris from London was not what you wanted. Nevertheless, for the sake of your parents, you try very hard to adapt to your new setting; attempting to speak fluid French, and fit in at your new posh school. Two young men, one a handsome mode...
