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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
UPPER CLASS | cherriasian
august '89
The days that followed their trip were a delicate dance, a quiet game of hide and seek. Nicholas and Dylan exchanged secret glances during group outings for fast food, eyes meeting across rooms, their connection unspoken but palpable. Each knowing look was a promise that, despite the world around them, they had something that was theirs alone. It was an unspoken bond—something new, something thrilling—and neither of them could get enough.
They were careful to keep their budding relationship hidden, making sure that Eric, Katie, and Carter were none the wiser now that Marissa and Tiffany left for college. Behind the scenes after their group hangouts they were sneaking off to meet, savoring stolen moments together in the secrecy of their time together.
Their dates were simple but meaningful. They shared ice cream during the day. In the evenings, they walked along the beach, the sound of the waves a quiet backdrop to their conversations. The sand between their toes, the breeze in their hair, and the dusk wrapping them in its cover made everything feel more intimate, more special. It was in these moments, when the world was quiet and the stars just beginning to twinkle above them, that they felt the closest, as if time slowed down just for them.
Even when they weren't physically together, their bond didn't weaken. They called each other late into the night, the soft hum of their voices filling the quiet spaces between them. In the mornings they'd call too just to hear one another. They talked about the future, about college, and, of course, about all the dates Nicholas wanted to take her on once they didn't have to pretend to be just friends. Each conversation left Dylan with a flutter in her chest, and each call made her realize how much she really did like him.
It was practically undeniable now.
It was late afternoon when the sun filtered through Dylan's curtains, casting golden light over the chaos of her room. Clothes were scattered across her bed in piles—sweaters, jeans, and dresses all jumbled together in a system only she could understand. Nicholas sat on the edge of her bed, looking completely at ease, one leg crossed over the other as he leaned back on his elbows.
"This is ridiculous," he said, plucking a wool sweater from the pile closest to him. "How many sweaters do you think you'll actually need? Ten? Twenty? Are you preparing for a blizzard at Princeton?"
Dylan didn't even look up from the suitcase she was folding shirts into. "It gets cold, genius. Unlike here, where you can wear shorts in November."
Nicholas smirked, twirling the sweater lazily in his hand. "Cold, sure. But this many sweaters? You're going to need a separate dorm room just for your closet."
Dylan finally glanced at him, rolling her eyes. "I'd prefer that actually." She threw a pair of socks at him, which he dodged with a dramatic lean to the side.
