Amelia
A babysitter. Are you kidding me? I’m eighteen years−old. I didn’t need a babysitter.
“Mom, tell dad! I do not need someone watching me. I’m eighteen. That is old enough to be able to stay at the house alone for a weekend. I thought you said you could trust me?” I cross my arms under my breasts, infuriated at this turn of events. I thought we had a deal.
They were going to trust me, go out of town for their weekend getaway to have time to themselves, and I was going to prove to them that I was responsible.
My mom fiddles with her earring as she tries to get it clasped. “I know, sweetie. And we do trust you, but your dad’s friend Camden Hart is coming into town this weekend for his sister’s wedding Sunday and needed a place to stay. We told him he could stay here. You remember
