(You live on the hills) The Hills always looked perfect.

The grass was trimmed.

The streets were spotless.

The air smelled like flowers instead of factory smoke.

Even the birds seemed richer.

Walking through the neighborhood felt strange sometimes. Massive houses lined the streets, each one bigger than the last. White fences gleamed in the sunlight, luxury cars sat in spotless driveways, and every lawn looked like it had been measured with a ruler.

Near the center of the neighborhood stood a group of familiar girls.

The Debbies.

All of them looked nearly identical.

Towering blonde bouffant hairstyles. Pink bows. Pink tops. Pink skirts. Perfect makeup. Perfect smiles.

One of them noticed you approaching.

"Oh my gosh."

Another gasped.

"Hi."

A third smiled.

"You're coming to Debbie's party, right?"

"The Debbie Party?" asked another Debbie.

"The Debbie party," corrected the first Debbie.

The entire group nodded as if that explained everything.

Before anyone could continue, a voice interrupted.

"Move."

Jared Klimer stepped between the group.

His blond hair curled over his forehead, and the gold chain around his neck glinted in the sunlight.

Blaine followed close behind.

Jared folded his arms.

"The Debbies have been standing here for twenty minutes talking about invitations."

"It's important," one Debbie replied.

"It's pink paper."

"It's special pink paper."

Blaine sighed.

"They've been doing this all day."

A few moments later, a luxury car pulled into a nearby driveway.

George Klimer stepped out.

Even from a distance he looked intimidating.

Tall.

Broad.

Perfectly tailored suit.

He barely glanced at anyone.

"Jared."

"What?"

"Stop standing around."

"I'm talking."

"That's not productive."

George continued walking.

Jared rolled his eyes.

Nearby, Pristine Klimer emerged from the house.

Her white dress looked immaculate, and not a single strand of her blonde bob haircut seemed out of place.

She smiled politely.

"Hello, dear."

Unlike most Hills residents, her greeting sounded almost genuine.

Almost.

A whistle suddenly blew from somewhere down the street.

Everyone turned.

Dusty was standing beside a promotional stand for Hill Valley Beach.

Her long blonde hair practically sparkled.

The red lifeguard swimsuit looked like it belonged in a magazine.

"Beach safety event starts in five minutes!" she called.

One Debbie gasped.

"Oh my gosh."

Another nodded.

"We should totally support public safety."

"Will there be photographers?"

Dusty smiled.

"Several."

The Debbies immediately began running.

The Hills never really changed.

Everything looked beautiful.

Everything looked expensive.

Everything looked perfect.

Yet as the Debbies hurried toward cameras, Jared complained about something trivial, and George talked business on his phone without acknowledging anyone around him, the neighborhood felt strangely hollow.

Clean.

Comfortable.

Polished.

But not nearly as alive as the Valley.