(no subject)
I am 12-years-old, and my mom is dropping me off at Cameron's house - my sixth grade "boyfriend", something that never amounts to much more than 12 hour Sims marathons and the one time we kiss while our hands are perched together on the plastic indicator of my Ouija Board.
We pull up outside his house, and my mother stops me before I reach for the door handle. She leans in, giving me that look, and says "Be. Careful."
I roll my eyes. "Mom, I don't think you really have to worry. Cameron isn't like that."
She curls her hands back around the steering wheel and pauses for a moment before she says
"I know. I'm not worried about him."
We pull up outside his house, and my mother stops me before I reach for the door handle. She leans in, giving me that look, and says "Be. Careful."
I roll my eyes. "Mom, I don't think you really have to worry. Cameron isn't like that."
She curls her hands back around the steering wheel and pauses for a moment before she says
"I know. I'm not worried about him."