Ella

          We pull into an outdoor mall thirty minutes later. The ride was quiet, not a word spoken. I guess Michael had a lot on his mind.

          "You really should stop calling me Michael" he says suddenly. I send a look of confusion to my right side. He's giving me a knowing smirk.

          "Did I say that out loud?" I ask meekly, my cheeks reddening. He nods, looking like he might laugh. I scowl, looking out the right window.

          "But, you were right, I was thinking" he says thoughtfully, now facing the same window.

          "About?"

          "About the difference between a llama and an alpaca" he says simply. I try my best to keep a straight face when I ask, "What's the difference then?"

          He sends me another smirk, a challenging one. "I couldn't come up with an answer."

          "Well," I start, bring my curls forward, "Llamas are evil and out to kill you. Alpacas aren't." I hear him giggle in high pitches as the limo slows. The chauffeur gets out to open our doors. I climb out to see a sunny outdoor shopping center. The stores are all lined up together in one large building. It really was an exquisite outdoor mall.

          "Come on" Michael says, taking my hand in his, dragging me to the walking area. I give him a bewildered look. "No disguise?" I ask.

          He shakes his head, smiling. "This is a membership only shopping mall. Most celebrities shop here. Either that, or you work here." I nod in understanding.

          "Where to first?"

          "Um, the Disney store" he says slowly, as if my question is ridiculous.  I laugh.

          "Why the Disney store?" I ask. He turns around giving me a small smile. "The better question is, why not the Disney store." I laugh harder.

          "It's all the way on the other side, so we will have plenty of time to talk" he says slyly. I give him a mock scowl. "You little son of a biscotti" I say, throwing an accusive finger. He laughs and we continue to walk.

          "So, you're her in Cali to record an album?"

          "Yeah, I start Monday. It's supposed to be an alternative album." He nods in understanding.

          "What are your songs about?" he asks.

          "Don't know yet."

          "What do you mean?" I turn to him, making him stop walking.

          "I mean I haven't written any songs yet" I say earnestly. His eyes flash with alarm.

          "What do you mean, you haven't written anything yet?" he asks carefully. I roll my eyes and slant my balance. "Who are you, Socrates?"

          "Ella." I lift my hands in surrender.

          "Okay, okay. I mean, I've written songs, it's just not what I want for the album. I don't want to write a bunch of love songs either. I'm not Lana Del Rey." Michael snorts.

          "What?" I snap at him. His eyes widen in surprise.

          "Oh, it's just that that Lana Del Rey's songs are usually about heartbreak so--."

          "Whatever." I hear him snicker before he finally speaks.

          "Just write what you know and you'll figure it out. Songs are just long poems that you sing to music. If anything, you should worry about the music that goes with it. To make sure it's a match. You got to balance the work or else you end up with a song like Selfie." I visibly cringe when he mentions the song, making us both giggle.

          "Well, here we are" he says suddenly, extending his left, cloth covered arm towards a shop. I look in to see Disney toys.

          "How'd that happen?" Michael smirks at me.

          "Well , my dear Ella, all you have to do is put one foot in front of another and--."

          "Yeah, yeah no need for sarcasm" I say in annoyance, walking in. I stare around in awe at the massive three-story Disney Store, full of toys. I probably might've fainted if Michael hadn't wakened me back into reality.

          "So, what do you think?" he asks expectantly. I sigh blissfully. "I think its childhood heaven!" I respond with enthusiasm, running to look at toys.

          We stay there for half an hour, looking through toys. We come back down from the third floor, holding three full baskets of toys for Michael's nieces, nephews, and himself. We walk to the cash in area to find one guy at the register.

          He has dirty blond hair smoothed back in a swoop with gel. His eyebrows are dark and rugged, complimenting his dulled blue eyes. His nose is slimmed, matching his long face. He has small pink lips, curled into an irritating smirking. He has on a smug expression, his full attention on me. I feel Michael behind analyzing the employee as well.

          "Well hello beautiful. I don't believe I've seen you around here before" he says suggestively. I internally roll my eyes.

          "I've been hiding."

          "I highly doubt it. Mr. Jackson would have brought you here within your first week in Cali. So I think that you've come here recently, or am I wrong?" I stiffen at his smugness.

          "You know, for someone who stands around all day wearing a mustard yellow polo and blue Disney sweater, checking kids toys, you sure are cocky" I respond with more venom then I intended. I can feel Michael send me a concerned look.

          "In more ways than one, sweetheart" he says in a teasing tone. I scoff and thrust the toy-filled basket on the counter. The cashier chuckles and starts scanning the toys.

          "So tell me, what brings you to Cali? You don't seem like the ditzy tanning type." I turn to Michael, who seems amused with the conversation.

          "I'm recording an album" I respond flatly, handing the cashier another basket.

          "Cool. What's your genre? You don't seem like the mainstream type" he says in a matter-of-factly.

          "I don't seem like a lot of types, do I?"

          "You also don't sound American. New Zealand is my wild guess?" I gasp in shock.

          "How did you--."

          "You don't seem like the Australian type either." I giggle at his response.

          "I do Alternative music. Now, why is a nice gent like you here slaving for the stars?" he has a slight blush on his cheeks and I hear Michael giggle.

          "Waiting for girls like you to come around" he says simply, accepting the basket I hand him. Now it's my turn to blush. Michael seems to be having a giggling fit behind me.

          "I don't know, I wouldn't think I'm your type" I say with mock scrutiny. He returns my look. "And why is that?" he asks.

          "I don't know. You see, you're a mainstream pretty boy and I'm an alternative feminist" I say. He seems to be taking offense to my statement but leaves it alone. He hands me the bags of toys and takes the money from Michael. He prints out our receipt and scribbles something on it before handing it to me.

          "It's my number. We should hangout sometime. I know a good fro-yo joint around here" he says handing me the receipt with a grin. I return the smile.

          "Okay, cool" I answer shyly before leaving the store, Michael in tow. "To Forever 21!" I announce as we start walking again. Michael's giving me a knowing look. "What?" I ask, confused.

          "Well, my fortune telling skills tell me that someone's going to have romance in their future. And I don't even believe in fortune telling" he says, wiggling his eyebrows. I scoff, and lightly punch him in the arm. "That kid isn't even my type!" I say indignantly. Michael laughs at my suggestion.

          "Who are your type then, sweetheart?"

          I roll my eyes before answering. "Well um, dudes like me."

          "Dudes like you?" Michael repeats mockingly. I nod furiously. "Do Goths work?" he asks.

          "Oh no, too dark and creepy."

          "How about emo kids?" he asks innocently. I snap my head at him and narrow my eyes.

          "You think I'm emo?"

          "I never said that."

          "I said, quote, ‘guys like me'. You think I'm emo? I mean seriously, do I look like the emotional type?" I say harshly, getting an amused smirk from Michael. "You see these arms, they're scar free!"

          "Cutting is just one of the many archetypes for emo kids, Ella."

          "You know what," I say pointing an accusive finger at his chest, "If anyone's emo, you're the emo one. I mean, you look like a fucking vampire from Twilight." Michael shoves my finger away before giving me a pointed look of disgust. I would've thought he was mad if I didn't see an amused glint in his eyes along with a disgusted and reprimanding one.

          He stalks of ahead of me, leaving my short legs to catch up. "The first step to recovery is denial Michael" I cry out as I catch up to him. I hear him giggle in amusement.

          "How about scene kids?" he asks, continuing our earlier conversation. I shake my head in disgust.

          "No Mic-I mean Dad, juts no. they're like wanna-be emo that are just too happy and peppy. It's like if a cheerleader and emo had babies, their child would be scene." He gives me a bewildered expression. "Okay."

          "How about-you know what, I'd rather not ask" he says, blushing. I smile sympathetically.

          "You were going to ask if I was lesbian. Yes, my dear, still secretly over-religious father, I am in fact a lesbian" I tease. He blushes redder at my sarcasm, clearly disturbed.

          "Weird, not the reaction I was expecting" I say thoughtfully. He turns to me in confusion. "What were you expecting?"

          "Oh my god, that plaid skirt is just adorable!" I cry out, walking inside XXI, towards a plaid skirt. Red, white and blue is such an awesome color combo.

          "Uh-uh bitch, that skirt is mine!" some random chick I've never seen before says, pushing me away from the rack I've just reached. I fall hip first on my side. I wince in pain.

          "What the hell was that for?" I hear Michael yell, running into the store. I grab his hand so he can pull me up. The girl is still filing through the rack of multi-colored plaid skirts.

          "I can't stand mainstream bitches snatching up clothes so they can start another mainstream fashion trend. They all ready did that with my combat boots here, and my platform heels in Britain. But no longer will this happen, I will protect my wardrobe--."

          "You crazy bitch! I'm not even mainstream! If you had fully looked at my outfit, you would know that" I yell in aggravation. The girl looks me up and down before shaping her mouth into an O-shape.

          "I'm sorry miss. I just wanted to come by here to pick up some clothes before I went to see my friend Julius at the Disney Store and--."

          "Wait, did you just say Julius, like Julius Caesar" I ask in disbelief. She nods, "Yeah, why?"

          I burst out laughing flailing my arms. Michael pins them to my sides to calm me down. The girl gives us a bewildered look. I take time to analyze her.

          She's a ginger with long, curled hair. Her eyes are brown, her nose resembles Michael's in a sense, and her lips are tainted with blood red lipstick, like my own. She has on a thin black hoodie, black skinny jean and all black Converse.

          "So, are you like Michael Jackson's daughter or something, or just some new charity case?" she asks bluntly, her eyes challenging. I writhe out of Michael's grip and slap her. The girl's hand flies to her face. She swivels towards the one cashier.

          "Aren't you gonna do somethin'" she screeches, flabbergasted. The cashier shakes his head. She growls at me.

          "You could've answered my damn question" she sneers, her coal eyes burning. I smirk at her, arms crossed. "Yeah, I could've but I already had to deal with bitchiness this morning. Wasn't in the mood for more" I answer simply. She scowls but gives me a small smile.

          "Daughter?" she asks knowingly looking at Michael. He shrugs, before whacking me upside the head.

          "Ow, what the fuck--." He sends me another whack. "You don't hit strangers. You shouldn't curse so much. Besides, I barely hit you" he says simply. I scowl.

          "You have a large hand" I protest. He rolls his eyes. "Come on you two, get your clothes and go" he says with smirk.

          "You two?" the girl asks. Michael shrugs. "This is the kind of thing friendships come out of. So go make peace with each and shop for clothes that aren't mainstream. I'll even pay if I have to." I widen my eyes.

          "Really?" He nods.

          "First you want me to make love with Julius, and now you want me to make peace with Ginger over here?" I ask teasingly, making him blush.

          "My names not Ginger its Rouge, thank you very much" Rouge says, making Michael and I laugh.

          "Is that legit?" I ask between giggles.

          "Yes it is." We immediately stop laughing. "We should go shop now" I say meekly. She smirks at me and starts throwing a plaid skirt in a basket she's holding.

          "See I told you, I knew you two would become friends! You even have her number now!" Michael announces as we walk out of XXI. I've looped my arm around his and look up at the sky.

          "You know, its bad luck to open an umbrella inside" I say knowingly. He scoffs.

          "It was already open." I laugh and say, "Rules are rules."

          "Good thing I didn't break them." We keep walking in a comfortable silence until a voice cuts the air.

          "Michael? Is that you?" I hear a feminine voice call. I look up at Mi-I mean Dad. He stiffens and I knit my eyebrows in confusion before trying to turn around, but he yanks me forward and picks up his pace.

          "Wha--?"

          "It's Debbie, keep walking. We do not need to deal with this right now" he says hurriedly. I come to a halt. Michael sends me a glare.

          "Ella! What are you--?"

          "Michael? Michael! How good to see you! Who is this beautiful young lady?" Debbie asks, now in front of us. I made Michael turn around.

          "I'm Ella, ma'am" I respond sticking a hand out for greeting. She shakes it, turning to Michael.

          "Are you mentoring her?" she asks curiously. I turn to Michael. Seriously, this whole Dad thing will take some getting used to.

          "Um..." Michael starts, contemplating his options.

          What's he going to do? Is he going to tell her? If so, what will happen?