The Bad Kids were the ones your mother warned you about. The kids with messy hair and ***** fingernails as well as thoughts. The ones that rode their bikes with no helmets and looked the other way when their parents called their names. But you couldn't resist, could you? You couldn't stay away from the girls who stuffed their bras and twirled cigarettes in their fingers as if they didn't have coughing fits whenever they exhaled.

They took you under their wing and promised to show you what it really meant to live. You followed, unaware of all the danger you might face. And when the girls with alcohol on their breaths took your hand and led you behind the dumpster to smother you with kisses, not once did you think about your mother's warnings. And when the boys who wore their pants low and kept switchblades in their pockets pressured you into robbing the local convenience store, you felt on top of the world, didn't you?

Everything seemed perfect then. You finally had friends that liked you for you and thought you were 'cool'. Little did you know that all they wanted from you was what you could do for them. They didn't really care about you, no matter how much you tried to convince your mother that they did. When your so-called friends finally realized that you were too good of a kid to be a part of their group, they kicked you to the curb and left you stranded. You spent day after day begging them to take you back, but they stared you down with their cigarettes hanging out of their mouths. Your mother waited for you by the door with her hands on her hips. When you walked in with your head lowered, sporting a torn bandanna and a leather jacket, she chuckled.
"I told you so."