Hanging On

Hello!!! Welcome to my first completed book!! Enjoy, and feel free to leave critiques and comments!!!!❤

There may come a day in your life where you wake up and think, today is gonna be a great day. And maybe it will be a great day. Or maybe it will take a turn for the worse.

Like mine.

"What?!?" I demanded, staring at my mother with wide eyes. She turned her back to me and continued doing dishes as if she hadn't just dropped a bomb.

"He will be staying in the room next to yours." she said, cool as a cucumber.

I continued to stare at her, my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. I shook my head and found my voice. "Mom, do you not remember the last time we had one of those probation boys out here? He robbed me. And you and dad." I said, incredulous.

She just shrugged and scrubbed a pot vigorously. "You'll just have to deal with it, Syd."

I barely suppressed the shriek of rage that bubbled up in my throat as I fled to my bedroom, thumping noisily up the stairs and slamming my door behind me. It made the lamp on my night stand rattle against the wall as I threw myself onto my small twin bed. I glared angrily up at my cracked white ceiling.

I knew I was being childish, but I didn't really care. I never understood why my mother insisted on accepting these boys, the ones that were on probation, onto our farm. She had started out with 'because we need a man's help', but when she realized that wasn't gonna fly with me, she let it drop and told me that I lived under her roof and she could do what she wanted.

Then again, I guess I could kind of understand why she did it, rather than just hiring someone. My father had once been like those boys, as my mother told me. He never had spoken about it to me. Then he died, when I was fourteen, two years earlier. After meeting out first probie boy, I had refused to accept that my father had ever been anything like him. His name had been Ryan, and he was a douche, as far as I was concerned. He was lazy, he was rude, and he was thief. His probation officer had thankfully removed him from our farm after he stole hundreds of dollars from us, then used it to buy alcohol in the nearest town.

And yet, my mother had agreed to allow another one to stay in our house. In the room next to mine. Like, doesnt that kind of go against the ethics code of most mothers?

I didn't get up when I heard a car approaching our house on our long dirt driveway, and I didn't get up when I heard two car doors slam. I didn't get up when I heard the familiar squeak of our kitchen door as my mother greeted them and ushered them into our house.

I wondered what my father would have thought about my mother letting boys like that stay in the room next to his only child. Then I sighed, because I knew he would agree with my mother, and would even encourage the idea.

"Syd! Hey Syd, come down here!" my mother called from the bottom of the stairs. I stubbornly refused to move, and give in to the burning curiosity I felt.

"Sydney, come down here!" my mother called again, an edge to her voice. I sighed. Using my full first name meant no messing around. I growled under my breath, but got off my bed and trudged down the stairs and down the hall way that would lead me to the kitchen.

A large man with a balding head stood in our kitchen, and I guessed he was the probation officer. I tried to be polite and offer him a small smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace.

"Sydney, this is Tucker. Tucker, Sydney." my mother said, gesturing between us.

I looked at the boy. He was probably my age, maybe a little older. He was tall and muscular, but not in the bulky way. His limbs and muscles were longer, more lithe rather than bulky and brawny. He wore battered and ripped black converse, dark jeans, and a plain black t shirt. He had shaggy black hair that was so dark it shone almost blue in the light. His eyes were so dark I nearly couldn't see the pupil.