“Mom, we have to go in there.” I moaned.

She gave me a look of surprise. “Do you know how expensive this place is?! And since when do you shop there?” She spit out the word “there” like bubble gum that had lost its flavor.

“But mom,” I grabbed her by the arm, “this is where everybody shops! I want at least a few things people will think is half decent.”

“This is coming out of your allowance for the next month, I’m not paying for everything.”

“That’s fine.” I was desperate.

I stepped in, and I’m not saying that I was in love with the place, but Hollister was a lot less horrific now that I actually went in. This was like, the Town Square of New York city, of the mall. And to be honest, this Hollister stuff didn’t really differ that drastically much from Aeropostale or Abercrombie. I liked a lot of the stuff in this one girly store, Deb. The thing is there weren’t labels, and if any girl knew anything about surviving in school from Middle School and up, it’s that labels are everything.

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