The fluorescent lights of the mall always felt a little too bright, but today, they were just a backdrop. Leo had been saving his shift money for three weeks with one goal: the classic navy-and-cream Hollister bomber jacket.
"Looking for a specific fit?" a guy in a flannel asked, leaning against a display of ripped jeans. "This is it," Leo said, already reaching for his wallet.
Walking into the store was like stepping into a different climate. The air smelled like sea salt and expensive cologne, and the music was just loud enough to make you feel like you were at a beach party instead of a suburban shopping center in late October.
He found the rack tucked in the back, near the dim glow of a surf-shack-style fitting room. He reached for a Medium. The fabric was heavy and smooth—the kind of quality that promised to survive more than one winter. He threw it on over his hoodie and caught his reflection in the mirror.