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
august '89
The soft golden light of the morning sun streamed through the curtains of Dylan's room, illuminating the last few half-packed suitcases spread across her bed. She ran a hand through her freshly styled hair, her casual but polished outfit—high-waisted shorts, a fitted cream blouse, and white sneaker flats. She grabbed her favorite necklace from her bag, its delicate pendant catching the light, and fastened it around her neck.
But no amount of styling or preparation could quiet the thoughts clawing at her since Nicholas had left her room the night before.
They'd gone further than ever before, exploring boundaries she hadn't been sure she was ready to cross. And just when she thought they were about to take that final step, he'd pulled back.
At first, she'd been grateful. Relieved, even. But now, in the stark light of day, relief had turned to paranoia.
What if it wasn't about timing? What if she wasn't as attractive as the other girls he'd been with? What if her inexperience showed? Was he just being nice when he said they could wait?
The rumors she'd heard about him in Beverly Hills over the year loomed over her. The whispers from debs — from her own friends about how many girls Nicholas had been with. Especially prom night with Savannah, where he'd supposedly hooked up with her on Mulholland Drive. Dylan wasn't the type to believe the gossip, but now it crept into her thoughts like poison.
Savannah. Dylan left out a huff as she crossed her room. She hadn't thought about her in months, but now Dylan couldn't stop. What if Nicholas had been thinking about her last night? What if he was comparing them in his mind—Dylan's inexperience to Savannah's confidence? Her body to Savannah's?
Dylan hugged her knees to her chest as she sat on the edge of her bed, her eyes fixed on the soft carpet. The paranoia swirled, vivid and cruel. Maybe Nicholas had pulled back because he didn't want her like that. Maybe he'd realized she wasn't as attractive or exciting as the girls he'd been with before. What if she was just... a disappointment?
Her throat tightened, and she felt the heat of embarrassment flush her cheeks. She couldn't bear the thought of him regretting last night nor the idea that he thought she was doing too much.
Max padded over to her, his wagging tail breaking through her spiraling thoughts. She scooped him into her arms, holding him tightly as if he could somehow ground her.
"Do you think he still likes me, Max?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "Or was he just... being nice?"
Max licked her face in response, his big, trusting eyes staring back at her. Dylan sighed, stroking his ears.
Outside, the sound of Tom loading her suitcases into the car and Barbara's frazzled voice echoed through the house. She set Max down and forced herself to stand, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. Her hands trembled as she smoothed her blouse. She wanted to believe she looked pretty, but all she could see were the flaws: the slight curve of her stomach, the way her arms weren't as toned as Katie's, the faint scar on her knee from a childhood fall.
