Last summer, somehow, I convinced my parents to send me on a Teen Tour to Hawaii. 

“Yes, please go. I am in desperate need of some alone time away from you,” my dad said with a grin that looked a little too relieved. 

My mom, per usual, wasn’t on the same page. “Ella, this needs more thought. I can’t just say yes right away,” she said, channeling her inner momness. 

“I went on a teen tour when I was your age. I had the best time and made some amazing memories that still haunt me today,” my dad said. 

“Let’s revisit this later. I need time to process all of this,” my mom replied. 

Me being me, I thought I would end the debate with a little diplomacy. “Mom, I think dad should make the final call—after all, he is the one paying for it.” 

To be fair to my mom, things do tend to go wrong for me, so it’s understandable why she was not thrilled with the idea of me being 5,000 miles away from home. 

I am the girl who goes out for dinner with her parents, decides to lay on a hammock while waiting for a table, and then suddenly flips over and lands with a thud on the ground and ends up with two cracked ribs. I am also the little girl who decided to put a Lego coin in her ear, had an earache for a week, and once it was discovered had to have surgery to have it removed. So justifiably, my mom wasn’t over the moon when my cousin Sammi and I came to her with the idea of us flying across the country and spending three weeks in Hawaii. I may not be the smoothest operator, but when it comes to convincing people, I’ve got the finesse of a car salesman; so, naturally, I somehow ended up on a plane to Hawaii, with Sammi. Oh, I forgot to mention—Sammi is me but in a different font. So here we were: just the two of us, without our parents, with a group of strangers and adults we had never met before. Yeah, things were definitely going to be interesting. 

By the time we were a week into the teen tour, the bus rides were starting to feel like a test of our endurance. After hours of sitting and listening to the same conversations over and over again, I was ready to arrive at our destination, so I could hop off the bus and stretch my legs. 

After what seemed like an eternity, the bus came to a screeching halt at a food plaza. I looked to the left and saw fast-food restaurants scattered everywhere. My eyes locked at the Chipotle sign and I could almost taste my go-to bowl: chicken, rice, lettuce, cheese, guacamole, sour cream, and salsa— the definition of big-back activities. But then, as soon as I turned to the right, something more sacred than food caught my eye—The Mall. I glanced at Sammi, who was seated in the chair next to me, and without saying a word, we gave each other the look—the look that meant we were going rogue. Forget the food plaza; we were going to break some rules and hit the mall. Unfortunately for my dad, I’d be described as a shopaholic—which meant that his bank account would most likely be in the red by the end of the afternoon. 

Everyone on the bus was talking about where they were going to eat, and Sammi and I pretended to care. I mean, sure, eating food is fun, but my mind was already daydreaming of the mall— like a slow-motion movie scene where everything looks cooler than it is. 

The group leader interrupted the cinematic fantasy. “Everyone off the bus, we will text in the group chat when to be back on the bus, so make sure your phone is on.” 

I knew the drill. Be back on time, or face the wrath of a seriously annoyed group leader. Trust me, you do NOT want to be late. My brother, who went on a teen tour when he was in high school, gave me one golden piece of advice, “Always be on the group leader’s good side; that way they’ll like you and be more lenient.” Ironically, he didn’t take his advice and got kicked off his teen tour. 

As soon as Sammi and I hit the pavement, we immediately launched into Mission Escape. We slinked around like secret agents, weaving between cars and trying to avoid being spotted. Honestly, if we had theme music, I’m pretty sure we’d have been the stars of Mission Impossible. Where can I sign up for Broadway? Because I’ve got some serious talent in the dramatic entrance departments, and I want to show it off. 

Sammi stopped mid-sneak to gaze at the mall doors. “Wow, look,” she said, staring at them like they were the entrances to some magical wonderland. “So beautiful.”

 Now most people would’ve just seen a mall entrance, but to us? It was a portal to heaven. We pushed the door open together, and it was like the clouds parted and heaven’s light shone down on us.

“Time to get to work,” I said to Sammi like we were about to save the world—or at least get some killer deals. 

The corner of my eye caught it–a neon sign from the second level of the mall: Pacsun. It gleamed like a beacon of hope at the end of a dark tunnel. Like any true fashion lover, I knew it was going to be our first stop. I glanced at Sammi and gestured my head, like a fashion-GPS, “Let’s go to Pacsun!” I said, my voice full of urgency.  Our flip-flops slapped dramatically against the floor as we ascended the stairs.  

Finally, breathless and sweating like we’d just run a marathon, we made it to the very top. I swear I’m athletic. I play three sports. But for some reason, when it comes to stairs, I feel like preparing my funeral. 

As we entered Pacsun, I was immediately drawn to the corner of the room, where Brandy Melville lived. Brandy is a separate store, but at the time, they were collaborating with Pacsun, where their clothes would be sold in Pacsun stores. If you are unaware of what Brandy is, imagine a store with soft, oversized tees, sweatshirts, and sweatpants of every color, and tiny tees and tanks. In simpler terms–a teenage girl’s utopia. 

The clothes didn’t just catch my eyes, but practically leaped into my arms. They were whispering, “Trust us, we’re going to look SO good on you.” And I, being the trusting soul I am, believed them. Top after top, sweatshirt after sweatshirt, shorts after shorts –I grabbed everything my finger touched. I had a serious case of “never leave anyone out” syndrome.  To whomever is reading this, don’t judge me, the clothes were begging me to buy them. After trying on every piece of clothing in sight (because, hey, you never know how it will look until you try it on), I realized I had gone a bit overboard. So I narrowed down my findings.  A cute white top with cherries on it? Yes. A vibrant electric blue top with “Brooklyn” in bold, white letters across it? Absolutely. And, of course, some gray sweats, because who doesn’t need more sweatpants in their life? I had to get a pair of blue-and-white striped shorts that pair perfectly with a white tank top, gold jewelry, and a tan post-beach shower. 

Next up: Zara. Zara is huge—like, it could be its own zip code—and I was suddenly faced with the overwhelming task of choosing which section of the store to explore first.  

“Ella, come here!” Sammi shouted, already diving into a corner of the store like it was a treasure chest full of hidden gems. “We’ll start here and do a full loop around.” 

I was in no position to argue, so I followed. Twenty minutes later, I looked around the store, clutching a pile of clothes that was as tall as the Empire State Building. Shout-out to clothing stores: you should seriously consider investing in shopping carts. The pile was way too heavy, and it was also definitely becoming unmanageable. I looked at Sammi, who was balancing a similar heap of clothes, and we both knew we were in too deep. There was no going back. 

When we finally made it to the dressing room, it was a game of “yes” and “no” with the clothes. Yes, this shirt makes me feel like a million bucks. No, these pants give me a permanent wedgie. A few yeses and noes later, we had a pile of clothes we didn’t need but were somehow convinced we couldn’t live without. After paying, we bolted out of the store like we had just committed a felony—and in our dads’ eyes, we had. 

After some shopping, our stomachs began to growl. “I am starved,” Sammi said. 

“Me, too. I’m in the mood for something cold,” I responded. 

“What about a smoothie?” 

“Yeah, that sounds good.” 

The food court had a smoothie place that, for some reason, felt like the perfect reward after our shopping marathon. We made our way to the counter, where the smoothies were being sold, and we stood there, debating over flavors like two people with infinite time. Eventually, I settled on a tropical mango blend, while Sammi went for the classic strawberry banana. 

After our smoothie stop, Sammi and I were feeling on top of the world. We were ready to conquer the next leg of our mall adventure: Aritzia. I don’t know what it is about that store, but every time I walk in, it’s like I hear angels singing in the distance. We made a beeline for the sweatshirt and sweatpants display because nothing says “I’m having a good day” like wearing a comfortable but stylish matching sweatshirt and sweatpants outfit. As my hands glided across the smooth fabrics, my phone buzzed. It was the group leader calling me. 

“Where are you guys? Everyone is on the bus.” 

Cue the instant panic. 

“We’re late,” I whispered to Sammi, already imagining the group leader’s death stare. “Like, really late.”

Sammi’s eyes widened. She glanced at the time on her phone. “Oh, no.” 

“Let’s pay and get out of here.” 

Like a couple of seasoned criminals, we stealthily shoved our chosen items–completely unnecessary clothes we didn’t need—toward the register. I tried to act casual, like I wasn’t about to do something I’d regret. As the cashier scanned the items, I could feel time slowing down, the impending doom pressing down on me. Sammi shot me a look like, were so screwed. 

The moment the transaction was done, we bolted out of there. We took off our flip flops—-because that’s what you do when you’re in an urgent, life-or-death situation- and started sprinting. 

But then my phone buzzed again, but this time I received a text, rather than a call. “Hurry up!! Everyone is waiting on the bus!!!!” 

Well, that was just fantastic. Now we were officially those kids–the ones who make everyone late. We were halfway across the parking lot with sweat trickling down our backs. I thought to myself, this is going to be my workout for the day. Finally, the bus was in sight. 

We bolted the last few yards, breathless and red-faced, and then there she was: the group leader, with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. “Ella. Sammi. Where were you?” she asked, her tone already warning us of the scolding to come. 

Sammi and I exchanged a glance, both trying not to laugh because, honestly, we had no idea how we were going to explain ourselves.  “We were just, you know, shopping…and getting smoothies,” I said, clutching my flip-flops. “I’m sorry. We lost track of time.”

The group leader just stared at us for a moment. “Don’t ever do that again,” she said, with that parental I’m-not-angry-I’m-just-disappointed tone. “Get on the bus.” 

Sammi and I sank into our seats, trying to act casually like nothing had happened. In my mind, I was a rule-following angel—this was just a minor hiccup. 

For the following week, I tried to redeem myself because I really can’t handle it when people are disappointed in me. I was the first on the bus in the morning and the last off the bus at night to make sure the bus was spotless. Sammi and I even offered to room with a girl who had no one else to room with. 

One day, the group leaders weren’t allowed to join us inside a certain venue. Why? Well, I still have no idea, but hey, rules are rules. Instead of letting us loose and hoping for the best, they picked two kids, one boy and one girl, to make sure everyone behaved. And, guess who got picked? Yours truly. 

I was told I was chosen because I am “respectful and a good kid.” The group leaders also told me, “People like you, so everyone will listen to you.”  

So, although I had been reprimanded earlier for my minor slip-up, they still trusted me to be the one to keep the peace. Who knew that a week later, I’d be trusted to uphold the very rules I had broken? Welp, sometimes in life, you break a few rules, buy a few too many clothes, and learn some life lessons all at the same time. Funny how things work out.