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 sun was high, casting a golden glow over the Chavez mansion's backyard. The pool shimmered like glass under the light, reflecting the perfectly trimmed hedges and tall palms. It was the third day of Spring break, the kind of day that begged for carelessness when everyone else was away from their homes.
Nicholas stood at the edge of the pool, squinting against the glare. He should have been thinking about prom or on a stupid trip—everyone else was. But his mind kept slipping between the letter on his desk from Princeton, its "waitlist" status hanging over him like a storm cloud, and the echo of Dylan's laugh, light and free, as she and Katie left for Palm Springs days ago. The sound had stuck with him in a way he hadn't expected—soft, genuine, not like the forced laughter he often heard in his own world.
He rolled his shoulders and dove in, letting the water cool his skin, the familiar sensation a fleeting escape from everything swirling in his head.
By the time he pulled himself out of the pool, Eric was lounging nearby with a soda in hand, sunglasses perched on his nose, looking effortlessly at ease as he flicked through a magazine.
"You've been swimming for an hour," Eric said, tilting his head, his voice light, but his eyes sharp. "Trying to outlap your thoughts or something?"
Nicholas sat down heavily on the pool's edge, water dripping from his hair. He wiped a hand across his face and sighed, the weight of his thoughts still heavy. "Something like that."
Eric leaned back, tapping his soda can against his knee. "So... prom. You going?"
Nicholas frowned, running a hand through his wet hair. The last thing he wanted to talk about was prom. "I don't know. Haven't thought about it."
"You? Not thinking about prom?" Eric raised an eyebrow. "What, is the world ending?" he teased, but his voice was light, masking the curiosity in his eyes.
Nicholas gave him a sideways glance. "Not in the mood, Eric."
Eric held up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. But seriously, are you going stag? Or are you asking someone?"
"Who's there to ask?" Nicholas replied, his voice coming out more defensive than he intended.
Eric arched a brow. "Don't play dumb."
Nicholas stood, grabbing a towel from a nearby chair and wrapping it around his shoulders. "I'm not playing anything."
Eric didn't let up. "What about your prom date from last year? What's her name—Vanessa?"
Nicholas froze for half a second, the towel stalling in his hands as his mind flickered back to the faint memory of last year. Vanessa. She'd taken him to her senior prom when he was a junior. It had been a blur—too much partying, too little sleep. He didn't even remember the details of the night or her face. He definitely hadn't kept in touch with her. But of course, Eric would bring her up, like he didn't have better things to talk about.
