Chapter 15: The Unquiet Neighbor

Over the next few days, the Jacques family learned more about their nouveau riche neighbor. Jules, as it turned out, was a walking, talking embodiment of every cliché about suddenly acquired wealth. He was in his late twenties, with the kind of aggressively sculpted physique that screamed "state-of-the-art home gym," which, naturally, he’d boasted about at length, smoothly extending an invitation to Sacha to "check it out sometime." Sacha, who already had a perfectly adequate gym at home, politely declined. He had no desire to witness Jules flexing his biceps while simultaneously extolling the virtues of his latest protein shake.

Jules’ fortune, it seemed, had sprung from an early adoption of Bitcoin. He’d ridden the cryptocurrency wave to millionaire status, a fact he never let anyone forget. He styled himself a "CEO," peppering his conversations with buzzwords like "synergy" and "disruption," and vaguely alluded to a portfolio of "startups," most of which, Sacha suspected, had gone the way of the dodo. He drove a ridiculously ostentatious sports car – a bright orange Lamborghini that roared through the quiet neighborhood like a mechanical peacock – and seemed to define his entire personality by his financial success.

But the most irritating aspect of Jules, by far, was his relentless flirting with Sacha. Even after learning that Sacha was, in fact, male, Jules persisted in his flamboyant displays of affection. He’d greet Sacha with a flourish, calling him "Ma fleur" – my flower – as if Sacha were a prize rose in his personal garden of conquests. Sacha found it incredibly annoying, but also somewhat amusing as Jules was so transparent, so desperate to impress.

"He’s like a cartoon character," Sacha commented one evening at dinner, rolling his eyes as he recounted Jules’ latest attempt to woo him with an invitation to a "private yacht party."

Stefan, who’d been quietly listening, snorted with laughter. "A yacht party? Does he even own a yacht?"

"Probably rents one," Papa Jacques grumbled, shaking his head. "These nouveau riche types, they’re all flash and no substance."

Maman, ever the diplomat, sighed. "Well, he seems… enthusiastic," she offered, trying to find something positive to say.

"Enthusiastically obnoxious," Sacha corrected, spearing a piece of asparagus with his fork. He knew he should probably just confront Jules, tell him to back off, but something about the whole situation felt absurdly comical. It was like watching a particularly inept peacock strutting its stuff, its feathers slightly askew, its calls for attention falling flat.

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The revolving door of guests at Jules’ house was a constant source of gossip in the neighborhood. It seemed like every other day, a new face – male or female, it didn't seem to matter to Jules – was spotted coming and going from his ostentatious McMansion. And despite Sacha's repeated rejections, Jules remained persistent in his pursuit, his flirting becoming more brazen, more...explicit, with each passing encounter.

One afternoon, as I was checking the mail, Jules materialized beside me, his cologne hitting my nostrils like a chemical weapon. "Ma fleur," he purred, leaning in close enough for me to count his impeccably whitened teeth. "How about that date? Just one drink, my treat. We could even take the Lambo." He gestured towards his obnoxious orange car, which seemed to gleam even under the midday sun.

"For the last time, Jules, I’m not interested," I said, trying to inject as much ice as possible into my tone. "And please, stop calling me 'Ma fleur.' It's creepy."

Jules just chuckled, undeterred. "Come on, even just once. You'll never know," he winked suggestively. "I love femboys like you..." he murmured, his eyes raking over me with an unsettling intensity.

"Excuse me!" I exclaimed, completely taken aback. I may have heard the term "femboy" before, whispered in hushed tones on the internet or late-night talk shows, but I'd never been directly addressed as one.

And as if summoned by my bewilderment, Stefan appeared beside me, as if by magic. My brother had an uncanny knack for materializing at the most awkward moments. "What's a femboy?" he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion as he absently scratched his stomach.

"Don't look it up," I hissed, shooting him a warning glare. But it was too late. Stefan, ever the inquisitive one, had already whipped out his phone and was furiously typing away.

A beat of silence, then Stefan let out a roar that could rival Jules' Lamborghini. "Sacha's not a femboy!" he declared, his face turning an alarming shade of crimson. "He doesn't even like the frilly dress I gifted him for his birthday!"

My eyes widened in horror. Too much information, Stefan! I clapped my hand over his mouth, my face burning with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. "Okay, that's enough!" I hissed, fixing him with an icy stare.

Jules, just blinked at us, his expression a mixture of confusion and amusement.

I took a deep breath, trying to regain my composure. "Look, Jules," I said, my voice tight. "I appreciate the…compliments? But I'm not interested in dating you. And frankly, the term 'femboy' is offensive and inaccurate. So, if you'll excuse us…" I grabbed Stefan's arm and dragged him towards the house, leaving a bewildered Jules standing alone in our driveway.

Life in the suburbs was never dull, that’s for sure.

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The afternoon sun had painted the living room in a warm, drowsy glow, lulling me into a peaceful post-lunch nap. I must have drifted off, because the next thing I knew, the sound of Jules’ obnoxiously loud voice was piercing through the quiet neighborhood, shattering the peaceful silence like a rogue bowling ball in a library. It was impossible to ignore, like a siren song of obnoxiousness.

Curiosity piqued, I pushed myself off the couch and padded towards the window. Peeking through the blinds, I spotted Stefan and Jules outside our front gate. My brother was smiling, as Jules, with his arm slung over Stefan’s shoulders, continued his incessant bragging. From the animated hand gestures and Jules' booming laughter, it was clearly a one-sided conversation, with Stefan playing the role of the captive audience.

They actually seemed…chummy. I couldn't believe it. Stefan was willingly associating with Jules, the human equivalent of a glitter bomb? What kind of voodoo mind control was this?

Intrigued and more than a little apprehensive, I slipped on my sandals and headed outside. "Oh? You guys are friends now?" I asked, my tone laced with disbelief as I approached them.

Jules' eyes, like a pair of overeager puppies, immediately snapped to mine. "Ma fleur!" he exclaimed, his face splitting into a wide, slightly manic grin. He even attempted a sneaky caress of my arm, but I smoothly sidestepped him and moved to stand beside Stefan. Jules, with his narcissistic soul, didn’t even seem fazed by my blatant avoidance.

"He has a nice gym. State-of-the-art!" Stefan declared, his eyes practically sparkling with childlike wonder. My brother, had a weakness for cutting-edge technology, and it seemed Jules, with his penchant for extravagant displays of wealth, had tapped into that.

Jules puffed out his chest, looking ridiculously proud of himself. "Only the best for my friends," he announced, flashing me a smug grin.

I rolled my eyes internally. I swear, the boy was allergic to subtlety. It was official: Jules had somehow managed to lure Stefan into his web of nouveau riche excess.

I had to hand it to Jules; he'd managed to do what I’d thought was impossible – befriend my brother. They were an odd pair, a study in contrasts. Stefan, with his quiet demeanor and naturally sculpted physique, a reflection to years of manual labor. And Jules, with his flashy clothes, protein-shake physique, and a personality as subtle as a foghorn. It was like watching a nature documentary where a sleek panther somehow befriended a preening peacock. I just hoped Stefan wouldn't get lost in the glitter and noise.

Stefan, with bluntness, shared his observations. "There’s so many people in his house," Stefan mused, more to himself than anyone else. "Men and women."

Jules’ composure seemed to momentarily crack. "No, no, they’re not my lovers! Ehehehe," he stammered, throwing me a panicked glance, as if seeking my approval. As if I cared about his…whatever it was he had going on in that McMansion of his. I just rolled my eyes and let out an exasperated sigh.

But Stefan wasn’t finished. "You kept touching them," he continued, his brow furrowed in thought. "Mostly, their barely covered butts."

Jules practically choked on air. This time, it was my turn to be surprised. Normally, I’d find Jules’ floundering entertaining, but the image of Stefan witnessing…that…sent a wave of protectiveness washing over me. My little brother might be taller, broader, and scarier-looking with his hair cut, but he was still innocent in so many ways.

"WTH!" I exclaimed, grabbing Stefan's arm before he could launch into another one of his alarmingly detailed observations. "Okay, that’s enough. Let’s go home now," I said, my voice firm as I tried to steer him back towards the safety of our front gate.

"W-wait!" Jules sputtered, his face now an interesting shade of puce.

I stopped, but didn’t let go of Stefan’s arm. "Stop inviting Stefan to your…house," I said, my tone brooking no argument. "It’s improper." My grip on Stefan tightened, as if physically shielding him from Jules’ corrupting influence.

Stefan just looked genuinely confused. "Why not?"

"Didn’t you say something about almost bare…bottoms?" I hissed, shooting him a warning glare.

"Yeah, it’s like they’re so comfy, so at home… It’s like when you were young, just wearing your boxer–"

Before Stefan could unleash any further horrors upon the world, I slapped my hand over his mouth, effectively silencing him. "Stefan, shut up. And stop talking. We’re going home. Now." I practically dragged him back inside our gate, the click of the lock echoing like a sigh of relief. I loved my brother dearly, but sometimes I swore he had a sixth sense for stumbling into the most awkward situations imaginable. Jules, with his revolving door of scantily clad houseguests, was officially off-limits.

Once safely inside the house, I released Stefan, who was now regarding me with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "What was that about?" he asked, rubbing his hand across his mouth where I’d clamped it shut.

"Jules is…complicated," I said, deciding it was better to avoid a detailed explanation of Jules’ questionable social life. I wasn't sure I even understood it myself.

"He seemed nice," Stefan said, shrugging. "He offered to show me his weightlifting routine."

I sighed. "Stefan, trust me on this. Jules is…not our kind of people. Let’s just stick to our own family, okay? And maybe invest in some noise-canceling headphones."