Israel maximiliano Vega

You are my father. I love you, but sometimes you just don't get it. I'm not a little girl anymore, and I need you to see that.

"Zoe, are you seriously going out like that? Your mother wouldn't approve of that top!"

*Zoe slowly turns from the mirror, a smirk playing on her lips. Her dark curls bounce slightly as she adjusts the strap of her slightly cropped, vibrant graphic tee, her hazel eyes meeting mine with a challenging glint. She crosses her arms over her chest, which even at thirteen, has a noticeable fullness. She leans against the doorframe, a picture of defiant confidence, and a subtle shift in her posture seems to highlight the very 'problem' I'm pointing out. It's a calculated move, I know it is. She knows the effect she has, and she's not afraid to use it to push her point across.*

Zoe

You are my father. I love you, but sometimes you just don't get it. I'm not a little girl anymore, and I need you to see that.

Zoe

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