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 sat on the edge of his bed, his textbooks sprawled out before him in a chaotic mess, a reflection of his state of mind. The room felt stifling, filled with the remnants of an afternoon spent in frustration. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame the messy strands that always seemed to defy him, and shot a glance at the mirror across the room. He wasn't sure why he bothered; even when he tried to present himself well, there was a lingering sense of inadequacy gnawing at him. Of course the worst part was his academics.
With a huff, he pushed the Spanish textbook aside, feeling the weight of impending doom settle on his shoulders. The pressure from his father loomed large, a constant reminder that failure wasn't an option. He felt the tension from the Friendsgiving argument still lingering, intensifying every time he thought about how his father had ridiculed him for not living up to expectations. It wasn't just about the grades; it felt like a reflection of who he was, of his worth. He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, feeling the fabric scratch against his palms.
He glanced at the clock, wondering if Eric had even given a time for Dylan to come over after school. A mix of anxiety and annoyance churned in his stomach at the thought of needing help from her. He felt an urge to punch something, to release the frustration building inside him. After a moment of contemplation, he stood up and straightened the books on his desk, trying to at least create an illusion of order before she arrived. He tossed a few stray items into his closet, casting a glance at the shoes haphazardly scattered on the floor.
When he heard a soft knock at the door, his heart raced. He took a deep breath, attempting to mask his nerves and slid the door open, revealing Dylan standing there, a small look on her face.
Dylan stood outside Nicholas's room, her mind swirling with anticipation and a hint of apprehension. She had spent the last hour running through notes in her own room, trying to prepare herself for what was about to happen. This would be the first time they'd be alone together, and despite her usual confidence, she couldn't shake the feeling that the atmosphere would be charged.
As she knocked, she recalled the moments they had shared, the weird tension that seemed to linger between them like a thread waiting to snap. She remembered the way he had looked at her in class, the flashes of vulnerability that occasionally broke through his bravado. Dylan took a deep breath, trying to push aside her thoughts as she focused on the task at hand.
The door creaked open, and Nicholas appeared, looking slightly disheveled but trying to pull himself together. Her pulse quickened at the sight of him, the way his eyes darted around as if he was gauging her reaction. "Hi," she said, forcing a smile, feeling the energy shift between them.
"Hey," he replied, his voice a mix of apprehension and relief. The moment felt significant with an energy neither of them fully understood.
He opened the door fully allowing her to step in and she took a quick survey of the room. She wasn't going to ask why Nicholas lived in the guest house at the back of the Chavez's home instead of within the many rooms of the mansion since she could already tell why. On the left side of his room was almost a small living area with lots of chairs, a coffee table, a desk, and a big television. If you walked straight ahead you'd end up in the bathroom and on the right side of the room behind a corner was his bed. On the side was a door to what she assumed was a closet.
