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
december '88
Nicholas lay sprawled on his bed, phone pressed against the side of his face as he listened to the hum of noise from Jamie's end of the line. He could hear the clatter of dishes, the low murmur of voices — she was at the diner again. He let out a frustrated breath, pressing his thumb into his temple.
"...It's just like every little thing I do, it's never good enough for him," he was saying, his voice low but heated. "He expects me to be some kind of genius who just... gets everything. As if I'm not drowning with Princeton stuff and the fact that I'm fucking failing Spanish."
There was a beat of silence, and then Jamie's voice came back, a bit rushed. "Nick, I know it's a lot. But he's only pushing you because he wants you to be successful, like he is."
"That's easy for him to say," Nicholas muttered, barely holding back his irritation. "He's not the one stuck memorizing a million different fuck ass words just to keep his head above water."
"I get it, I do. But, hey, um, I have to get back," Jamie cut in. "The diner's insane tonight, and if I don't clear these tables, I'm dead."
Nicholas felt his stomach sink a little, his grip tightening on the phone. "Right. Sure," he said, forcing his voice to stay even. "Talk later, then?"
"Of course. Hang in there, okay? You'll figure it out," she said lightly.
"Yeah, yeah, okay, love you Ja—" but the line had already clicked before he could respond.
He let the phone drop onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Just once, he wished he didn't have to handle everything on his own. His parents' pressure, school, Jamie always busy — it was a lonely weight pressing down on him. He rubbed a hand over his face, frustrated, before he finally pushed himself off the bed and went down the hall to Eric's room.
"Ready to go?" Eric asked, looking up with an easy patience that only irritated Nicholas further.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever let's just get this over with," Nicholas muttered, dropping into the chair across from him. "I don't have all night."
Eric took a breath, sliding Nicholas's Spanish notes over. "Let's focus on conjugations first. You keep mixing them up—"
"I know," Nicholas interrupted, barely glancing at the page. "Let's just skip to whatever's on the test."
"Nicholas, you can't just skip everything and expect it to work out on the test. We have to go over the basics," Eric said, voice calm but firm.
Nicholas let out an exasperated sigh. "Your 'basics' aren't helping me pass. I'm just sitting here listening to you ramble on Eric, it's not fucking clicking."
Eric straightened, keeping his expression composed. "I'm not fucking 'rambling,' Nick. If you actually paid attention—"
"I am paying attention, Eric! It's just not working," Nicholas snapped, his frustration boiling over. "Maybe if you weren't treating me like I'm some fucking idiot—"
