Wrong. Paris didn't focus on the question. Her mind was stuck on the fact that Stella barely even got around, and she's already criticizing the town. Paris pouted, and mumbled, "How could you already dislike this place? You just got here!"
Paris grabbed the magazine, and crossed her legs, "This conversation is getting as bad as a pair of $14 non-designer Jeans from Wal-Mart, Stella. So not icy. That's bogus than anything else." She sipped the coffee. And opened the magazine, flipping through it miserably, and restlessly, "Stella, your such a social-surge bug terminator. You ruined my mood for sure."
She sighed and shook her leg restlessly. Sipping her coffee, and flipping through the magazine, "Chocolate Chip for me, and Blueberry for you. I know how much you want to try to keep fit for your modeling contract. Models don't eat chocolate." She looked up at her, with semi-cruel, semi-playful eyes. The joke was meant to be bitter, and heartless, but light-hearted and funny at the same time.
"Anyways... I want to burn off some 'Black Butterfly' stress. Want to hit the hot springs tomorrow? I heard it's the best place to go to when you're being over worked."
She sat up, and put the magazine down. Paris put her elbow on the table, and rest her chin in the palm of her hand, waiting for Stella's either A) Completely selfish reply or B) the reply Paris was preferably looking for.