In 1988 when Dylan Montgomery moves to Beverly Hills after her mother remarries, she must navigate the challenges of fitting into a glamorous but daunting upper-class life. Living across from the charmingly cocky Nicholas and his introspective broth...
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UPPER CLASS | cherriasian
october '88
October sunlight streamed through the wide, white curtains in Katie's room, casting a warm glow over the perfectly arranged space. It felt more like a page out of a magazine than a bedroom—everything from the fluffy white comforter on her bed to the collection of designer perfumes on her vanity was placed just so, like the rest of her life. I sat cross-legged on her bed, flipping lazily through a teen magazine while Katie sprawled on the floor, her legs in the air as she painted her toenails a deep shade of red.
Outside her window, you could hear the distant hum of traffic on Sunset Boulevard, but it was faint, almost like white noise against the soft rustling of trees and the occasional buzz of a gardener's leaf blower. The air outside always smelled faintly of jasmine, a scent that drifted in from the immaculately landscaped gardens below.
The scent of vanilla and sandalwood lingered in the air, a combination of expensive candles and the subtle perfume she spritzed daily. It felt calming, almost intoxicating, like you were walking into a high-end spa. Her bed, a king-sized four-poster with crisp white linens and fluffy pillows, was the centerpiece, perfectly made with no creases in sight. The wall behind the bed was painted a soft blush pink, adding a touch of warmth to the otherwise minimalist, modern space.
On one side of the room, a large vanity stood against the wall, covered with high-end beauty products and a few framed photos of Katie with her friends. The mirror was lined with soft, flattering lights—perfect for getting ready before school or, more importantly, before a night out. Across from the vanity, an oversized bay window stretched across the wall, letting in golden streams of California sunlight during the day. She had a view that overlooked the vast expanse of Beverly Hills, the hills rolling out into the distance, with the occasional sports car cruising by on the winding roads below.
The floor was covered in a plush, cream-colored carpet that felt luxurious beneath bare feet. A walk-in closet, the size of a small bedroom, was tucked into the far corner, the door slightly ajar to reveal rows of designer clothes hanging neatly in color-coordinated order. The faint smell of leather and new fabric wafted from it whenever the door swung open. Everything in Katie's room had its place, down to the artfully arranged stack of fashion magazines on her nightstand and the sleek record player that sat beside the radio, always ready to spin whatever vinyl album fit her mood.
The radio played softly in the background, cycling through the usual pop hits. Debbie Gibson's "Foolish Beat" was playing, and I couldn't help but hum along, knowing Katie would tease me for it. We both loved these cheesy songs, but there were only a few artists we were allowed to sing aloud.
"Can you believe it's October already?" Katie asked, glancing up at me as she blew lightly on her toes to dry the polish. "Senior year's going by so fast. Before we know it, we'll be at graduation, and then... poof. Everything changes."
