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
february '89
Dylan felt a lump form in her throat as they pulled up to the Bel Air Country Club, the towering gates swinging open to reveal a world that felt so foreign, that it might as well have been another planet. The stark difference between this place and the school's courts from the day before hit her immediately. Where the day before had been laid-back and casual, the Bel Air Country Club was a world of perfection, where every blade of grass seemed carefully cut and every stone in the driveway polished to gleam in the California sun.
Katie, walking beside her, looked unfazed, already adjusting her sunglasses with an easy confidence. The group was dressed for the occasion, as Dylan's mom had practically insisted. Dylan had been reminded several times about the "dress code"—a formal gathering, an important match, and not the time for casual, "relaxed" outfits. So, Dylan had carefully chosen a soft lavender dress, paired with a tailored jacket that made her feel a little out of place yet oddly confident in its proper elegance. Her heels, slightly higher than she was used to, clicked against the pavement as they walked, echoing in the quiet grandeur of the country club's grounds.
Katie wore a sleek white dress with a fitted waist and a hem that grazed just above her knee, paired with a crisp jacket that had a chic, tailored look. The look was completed with gold jewelry that caught the light as she moved. Marissa and Tiffany were dressed similarly—polished and perfectly put together.
As they approached the entrance, Dylan caught sight of her parents near the spectator stands, standing off to the side, deep in conversation with the Chavez family. Antonio's presence loomed larger than life as always, sharply dressed in a designer jacket, arms crossed over his chest in his usual pose of authority. Sofia, by contrast, looked elegant in a simple but chic dress, glancing at Dylan briefly, her expression unreadable.
But it wasn't just the Chavez family that caught her attention.
Dylan's eyes shifted slightly, catching her mom's voice as she greeted another couple standing just a few feet away from them. The woman was dressed in a lavish, floor-length gown that sparkled under the California sun, her accessories bright and unmistakably expensive. Her husband stood beside her, perfectly coiffed, a little older than Tom but dressed in an impeccable button up with a distinctive air of superiority.
As Dylan watched, Tom introduced them in his usual booming voice: "David, Anne, this is my wife, Barbara, and our daughter, Dylan. It's a pleasure to meet you both."
The woman, Mrs. Lawson, extended a hand to shake with a practiced, almost theatrical smile. "A pleasure, Barbara, Dylan," she said, her tone dripping with a smooth, cultivated elegance. Her perfume was so strong Dylan could smell it from where she stood.
Mr. Lawson, towering and imposing, barely acknowledged Dylan's presence, nodding curtly. "Tom," he said briefly, shaking Tom's hand in a firm grip. His gaze flicked over to the courts, as if already dismissing the pleasantries and moving on to the more important matters at hand.
