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
april '89
The car rumbled down the road toward the L.A. County Fair, and Dylan couldn't help but glance at the clock. They were running late, but Christian was still speeding, weaving in and out of lanes as if his luxury car could somehow make up for his lack of driving skills. Dylan gripped the armrest, trying to ignore the unsettling lurches as the car swerved. In the backseat, Katie was wedged between Christian's two tennis friends, chatting with them. Dylan, however, was trying to focus on the conversation happening beside her.
Christian glanced over, his hands tightly gripping the wheel. "I still can't believe I got waitlisted at Harvard," he muttered, his jaw clenched. "It's ridiculous. I mean, how am I supposed to show up to school and tell everyone that I'm going to Caltech? They all think I'm going to be at Harvard."
Dylan shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She had heard this exact rant from him a million times over the past week ever since the college letters started rolling in. The way Christian fixated on Harvard was starting to annoy her, but she kept her voice steady as she tried to comfort him. "It's not a rejection, Christian. You're just waitlisted. It's not the same thing."
Christian didn't respond right away, but his grip on the wheel tightened as the car jerked over a pothole. He let out a small growl of annoyance, his eyes flashing toward the road. "Yeah, but it's not like I've got any better options," he muttered. "None of the other Ivy League schools are taking me either. It's just... frustrating."
Dylan wanted to roll her eyes, but she held back. She wasn't sure how many more times she could listen to him whine about his Ivy League dreams. She had been there for every conversation, every moment of his obsession with Harvard. She got it. She really did. But at this point, she just wanted to get to the fair and enjoy the night without hearing about his college applications.
"I know it sucks," she said, trying to stay patient. "But honestly, it just means they think you could still be a good fit."
Christian looked over at her with a slight frown but then nodded slowly. "Yeah, yeah. I guess you're right. Waitlisted means there's still a chance. That means I've got to be at the top of their list, right? I'm practically in already."
Dylan fought the urge to sigh. "Yeah, but... it's still not a guarantee," she said carefully, trying to manage his expectations. "Just because you're waitlisted doesn't mean you're automatically going to get in."
Christian leaned back in his seat, a smug little grin forming on his face. "Nah, I'm going to get in. I mean, if I'm waitlisted, that's basically a green light. They'd be crazy not to pick me, my father donates to them like every fucking year."
Dylan couldn't hide her frustration anymore. "I've heard you say that a million times already, Christian," she muttered, more sharply than she meant to.
