Forest of Imagination

Forest of Shopping (AKA the Mall)

Dedicated to book_monster101 because I promised a book dedicated to her

"Mel, you need to see this!" my best friend, Paris Hall, called excitedly, pointing to a lavender see-through blouse. I hate see-through clothes, but according to Paris, as long as you wear an undershirt it's fine.

"I told you, Paris Jeanine Hall, I don't like those kinds of outfits. Now, can we please go to that fro-yo shop we saw two minutes ago?" I asked, rolling my eyes. Don't get me wrong, I love clothes as much as Paris, who is probably the most fashion-forward girl at Marina Academy for Girls (an all-girls middle school). But I'm not going to buy something inappropriate unless I was paid ten gazillion dollars, and no less, because someday I know the "P" word will get REALLY big around my body, and I'll regret that I got what I got. Paris, however, believes in living in the moment and showing off see-through clothes when you can.

"Don't call me Jeanine, I hate that name, and of course we can go to that 'fro-yo shop'--after we find a perfect outfit for you for the second-to-last day of school, aka GRAD!" Paris cried even more excitedly now, even though I didn't get why. The grad was for the eighth-graders, not for the puny sixth-graders here.

"Grad is for eighth-graders, French girl, and unlike you, I have an older sister and I've been to her grad before. It's seriously not fun," I grumbled, and just in case you're wondering, Paris isn't French but I sometimes call her that because she likes it and Paris, her name, you know, is in France. And yes, I've been to my older sister Tara's graduation because she is three years older than me, and I am currently eleven.

"Fine, fine, fine, just buy these jean shorts with the rhinestones, that turquoise NOT see-through blouse, the pink tied-up shirt over there, those leather sandals, and leopard-print sunglasses," Paris suggested, pointing at least five things out that were designer and things my parents would splurge on on sight.

Maybe I should tell you about my family and our house and everything. Tara, my older sister, is an awesome dancer and was even invited as a guest star on Dance Moms and Austin and Ally (ABC and Disney Channel). My mom Lilly Rose Bennett, her maiden name, is a famous fashion designer and was on Project Runway once, which was awesome. And my dad...well, I never knew my dad, and my mom didn't talk about him a lot around the house. Tara was my half-sister, and she never knew my dad either even though she herself had a different dad, and I know this for sure because I checked in her diary.

The only thing Lilly, which is what Tara and I call our mom, told me about my dad was that he was such a wonderful, handsome man he might have come from another world! She laughed when she said that.

I'm out-shadowed by everyone in my life, even my dad who doesn't even visit. Paris is super-pretty, with naturally-wavy blond hair that looks like it came out of a shampoo commercial and blue eyes that sparkle in the sunlight and sometimes literally light up a room in the dark too. I've seen it do that before.

I have wavy blond hair and grey eyes like Alexandra Daddario (she played Blake in San Andreas and Annabeth in Percy Jackson, and I love her movies), but my eyes aren't that striking. And even though my blond hair looks exactly like Taylor Swift's before she cut it, my eyes just don't match them. I wonder if my dad looked like this. If so, then at least I have someone to blame for my looks (my mom has brown eyes, not grey).

"Okay, I'll buy them, but I need to save some money for that sterling Eiffel Tower-charmed silver necklace I saw in the window of Juicy Couture downstairs," I warned. We were going through stores at the mall, in case you didn't guess that already.

"Melody Harper Russell, please tell me you're actually into this shopping trip and you're not just tagging along because I asked," Paris protested. She didn't know the beginning of it, did she? I didn't answer immediately, so Paris took my hand and dragged me to the frozen yogurt store. She knew that would make me feel better, because frozen yogurt was the best thing ever for me, but it didn't work this time.

"I'm really sorry Paris, but I'm only tagging along because you asked, and because Tara told me a bunch of lies about Westward Mall being awesome and new--well, the new one wasn't a lie, but I knew that already," I answered, feeling kind of mad at myself for ruining Paris's shopping-mall spirits so easily.

"Fine, fine, fine, fine, let's go to Juicy Couture to buy my signature building's necklace!" Paris smiled excitedly. In my head, the words Oh no, she has something planned out for me, repeated over and over again.

I looked inside the store once we got there and automatically smoothed down my blue sweater self-consciously. Formal men and women roamed around the store sporadically, and the sound was kept at a dull murmur. Paris breathed in the scent of freshly-baked lemon squares, Tara's and my favorite dessert.

"This place is fancy, really fancy," Paris whispered to me, obviously also self-conscious of herself.

"Well, I didn't exactly expect it to be a dump, but come on, let's find that signature building's necklace of yours, well, mine-to-be," I replied, as awed as Paris. The lemon-squared scent kept on luring me repeatedly.

I looked around at all the jewelry and clothes: expensive designer clothes that could've been made by my mom herself (not to brag, but she is a pretty good fashion designer, and even Paris buys her best outfits from my mom's brand at Chanel). Juicy Couture was almost as good as Chanel, where Mom always takes me when she has time. Chanel was a big splurge for her and Tara, and I loved the feel of their clothes.

Which reminds me, I forgot to talk about my house. Well, it's less like a house and more of a mansion, and has a sprawling green hedge maze in the backyard, which is about as big as Marina Academy, which I'm sure I told you about already. There's also a small brook in the backyard, which is fun to swim in. Speaking of swimming, on the first floor there's an indoor swimming pool and hot tub with a spa, and two real attendants that can massage you and paint your nails. My bedroom is on the second floor, which might seem obvious except for this fact: my parents sleep on the third floor. Yes, we have three whole floors, and the living room is on the first floor, but the kitchen and dining room are on the second floor where I sleep. We only have one chef though, and that one chef has a break on Tuesday, Sunday and Thursday.

My bedroom has a canopy kinda-bunk bed, but instead of another bed under there's a couch and a TV for my personal den. Unfinished manuscripts lay everywhere, because I want to be a writer someday, and my closet has a high-tech pad next to it so when I need something stylish, there are these choices on the pad:

Would you like stylish? Click Here. Would you like a classic taste? Click Here Instead.

Usually I choose stylish, of course, because I never go out of style. The only problem with the pad is, whenever I add a new outfit to my wardrobe, I have to program the information into the pad, and that takes about fifteen minutes per outfit (a long time to just wait there and program). That's why 30% of my outfits aren't programmed into my pad, and the 70% that is are clothes I picked myself. The 30% is picked by Paris, so they look good with anything and everything, which is why I don't need a pad for them.

"Here's your necklace!" Paris clapped, waving a silver sterling Eiffel Tower-charmed necklace just like the one I wanted before. "Thank you Paris, oh my gosh thank you so much!" I cried, picking it up gently.

After I paid for it and we went out of Juicy Couture, my mom and Tara picked us up from the mall after we called. On the ride, Paris wanted to talk about how awesome our shopping trip was to Tara, and I couldn't help but feel like the reason everyone talked to either my mom, Tara, or Paris, but never me, about fashion was because they were way better than me and I wasn't meant to be a fashion person.

I wondered if my dad would understand....