She was five-foot-three and therefore hated malls.

Clothing was not designed for short people. Short people with normal builds, that is. She was not a size zero, thank you, and the sizes that fit her (it's none of your business as to what her size is, thank you kindly—tender subject, this is) meant that she would be forced to step on the bottoms of her pants perpetually.

It drove her up the wall.

In any case, she hated malls. There were too many people here.

Today it was a pink poodle skirt that went down to her shins, and white ballet shoes. Today it was a white halter top and a pink polka dot scarf. Today her hair was blonde and her lipstick was pink.

She heard the whispers and ignored it. Instead, she tried to fish the coins out of the wishing fountain. Her nails were chipped and pink.

Dacia loved malls. Not for the clothes, not for the stuff. For the people. Malls attracted people. People attracted Dacia.

She, also, had blonde hair. Blonde hair in a bajillion little braids, the braids pulled back into a thick ponytail with a red hairband.

She, also, was wearing a skirt. Long and bright yellow, with an orange and a green stripe across it. To compliment the skirt was a white, long, loose shirt. She wore no socks today (oddly), but she did wear orange sandals.

And there she was, dancing (yes, dancing) through the crowds. Occasionally spinning so that her skirt lifted and looked like a floating sun about her waist. Smiling to everyone, sharing the occasional "Hello" in responds to the stares she was gathering.

She was approching the wishing fountain, where a pink girl was scrounging for coins.

She liked to think that with each coins she held a wish. She had the coins she managed to snag strung up across her room—coins from different countries, from different hands, from different hopes. She liked the way they sounded on windy days, liked to pretend that they were telling her their secrets, the wishes they were keeping.

The sun was dancing towards her.

She offered it a penny.

The sun grinned... er, I mean Dacia grinned brightly and accepted the penny.

And in return offered a greeting.

"Hello." Gringrin,smilesmile.

"Hi!" she offered back, smiling brightly. Completely charmed. "I like your skirt." Dumped the coins in her purse with wet clinks.

She offered a hand. It was covered in dust, surprisingly. "My name's Natalie, but everyone calls me Natty."

It would be best if the girl didn't touch her face if and after she shook Natty's hand.

She shakes enthusiasticly, and is about to utter her name when...

Why is her hand covered in dust?

The girl stands, studying her hand carefully, and wondering why on earth this girl had dust on her hand.

She forgot the answer.

Oh no. Not again.

"Er..." She hopes, valiently, that the girl doesn't fall asleep. Wiped her hands on her skirt, fuck, her mom was going to kill her. She knew she needed to keep the sand at home, but she ddin't like to. She didn't want Stan to get into it and become comatose, or something.

Stan being her black cat.

Without any qualms about invading personal bubbles, she reached over and dusted off the dust from the girl's hand.

She lets the older girl do so, still staring curiously.

"What is that?" She asks, once all the dust has settled to the white tile floor.

Finally, she remembers that she never told this person her name. "Oh, I'm Meredith." Not so much a lie as a stretch of the truth. Today, she was Meredith.

"Sawdust." Automatic answer. She lied with grace. "My dad works in the garage a lot, making things like desks and whatnot. We own a small little shop with dad's furniture." Really going now, this could be a beautiful story. "We also like to get old stuff from garage sales and make them look nice again." That wasn't so much a lie—Natty really did do that. Only it wasn't furniture she usually got.

"It's nice to meet you, Meredith." Wide, charming smile. She looked like a 50s photo.

"Oh." Hmm... that's funny. It didn't look like sawdust. She shrugged the matter off.

The girl returned the smile, also widely.

"How old are you?" Blunt was her forte.

"Twenty." Two years off, but that wasn't too bad. At least she wasn't trying to convince the other girl that she was thirty-four. Did that once, to a kid who was trying to get into her panties. Managed to get him to believe that she was his teacher and had three children.

It was a gift, really.

"You?" She wasn't used to blunt, but it was a nice change. Beating around the bush and trying to guess cryptic answers was always fun, due to the stories you could make up about people, but nine out of ten times her assumptions were so far off base that a home run was impossible.

It seemed logical at the time that he ran around Africa on safaris. That she starred in cheesy soap operas as the wicked mother. That they had been married for fifteen years despite the fact they were sixteen.

She was terrible at guessing ages, so she just went with it.

"I'm seventeen. Do you go to Keaton?" She herself was going to go to Keaton after she graduated. If she got in. Her grades weren't exactly perfect.

She nodded.

"I'm going into film. One day I want to write a screenplay that changes the life of everyone. I want it to be on the big screen all over the entire universe!"

She spread her arms and twirled, taking in the entire mall. People glanced at her.

"Do you think I should shave my head? I might."

The younger girl was about to make some comment or another about Natty's ambition, when the question caught her by surprise.

Imagine, Dacia got caught by surprise.

She actually considered her question before answering, staring attentively at the college student's hair.

"Well, it would definately be easier to deal with... but I like your hair, it's pretty. And you wouldn't be able to dye it if it was short." Dacia had the burning desire then the switch her hair from blonde to some other color (prefrably something obnoxiously bright) but she didn't want to shock this person or the people passing by. Well, she did, just not that much.