Sixteen

Copyright © 2013 by Emily Rachelle Russell.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations under fifty words.

Published in the United States of America

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover art by Melody Simmons

www.ebookindiecovers.com

Formatting by
Inkstain Interior Book Designing

“Where do I start? How about wow! I loved Sixteen so much. I read it all just now in one sitting and I'm so impressed...the ending left me with a happy sigh.”

—Rachelle Rea

“Wow! It's pretty awesome... I love it!”

—Abbie Mauno

“I really enjoyed it.”

—Melanie Schroeder

“Great story... I loved it. There was nothing about it that I would change.”

—Katelyn Whitley

“I really like your story. It was paced very well and I like the fact that it was a mother telling the daughter.”

—Bethany Cripe

“Very well written... I definitely enjoyed it.”

—Jaedyn Matsalla

“I liked how it had the message of how God can take any bad situation, even hopeless and desperate ones, and make it good. In the end I was satisfied.”

—Clare Kolenda

“I really liked the ending.”

—Becki Badger

To my mother

God could not be everywhere, so He created mothers.

—JEWISH PROVERB

"Bye, Mom! I'll
call when I can!" Claire Monroe made it halfway to the front door of the apartment when her mother caught up to her. Couldn't she just say goodbye and leave?

"Whoa, where are you going in such a hurry? Don't you have time to sit and say good bye the right way?" Nicole tucked a strand of chin-length, mouse brown hair behind her ear.

Claire sighed. "Mom, my friends'll be here in fifteen minutes, and I promised to be outside waiting." College couldn't be far enough away. Why did her mother have to be so annoying?

Nicole Monroe glanced at her watch. "Well, that's fifteen more minutes you can talk to me before heading off to school."

"Oh, fine." Claire trudged into her mother's beloved sewing room while Nicole headed to the kitchen. She returned carrying two mugs, the cookie jar, and a jug of milk. She poured the milk and handed one mug to Claire. Opening the old-fashioned ceramic jar, Nicole offered it to Claire, but Claire held no interest in her mother's traditional chocolate chip creations. After settling into her seat, Nicole turned back to her sewing. A full minute of silence followed before Claire huffed in impatience.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" She ruffled her short purple hair.

Her mother glanced up briefly before creaking the swivel chair away from her sewing desk. "Did you ever wonder, Claire, why I’m not much older than you?"

Claire shrugged and examined one of the many holes in her jeans.

Nicole smiled. "I have told you about when I met your father."

"Yeah, Mom, I know." She looked to the ceiling. "You met an older man, made a mistake, fixed it, happily ever after." She'd never been too keen on her parents' romance.  Her mom dropped hints of their story constantly, but Claire did her best to shrug her off. Parents always did weird stuff like that -- talking about their own childhood, their own romance. Claire found it a bit revolting. "Is this all you wanted? To talk about Dad and your mistakes, don't do this or that, be careful, love you, goodbye?"

Her mother chuckled. "You make it sound like it was all rainbows and daisies." The thirty-four-year-old paused and took a deep breath. "But it wasn't. Not by a long shot."

"I know, Mom. You were sixteen, you made some mistakes, you had hard choices to make, you don't want me to repeat your mess-ups. I get that." She crossed her arms.

Nicole stared into her daughter's green eyes with a doubtful expression. "Do you?"

Claire sighed with frustration and flopped her arms to her sides. "Yes, I do. Can I go now?"

Nicole turned back to her sewing, which Claire interpreted as a yes. Just as she stood up, however, her mother spoke. Claire resumed her seat as her mother's story began. "You're right. I was sixteen, careless as a child and just as foolish...

"Arabesque, and plie
, two, three, plie, two, three, plie. Very good, Marissa!" The song ended, and Nikki glanced at the clock. She looked to Ms. Renee, the senior ballet teacher, who nodded.

"Okay, girls, class is over! Line up at the door and no running, please." She skipped over to the cabinet at the far wall and pulled out a sheet of stickers, returning to the nine five-year-olds waiting impatiently for their prize after an hour of hard work. As she stuck a kitty or a puppy on each child's outstretched hand, they scurried out the door to their waiting parents and siblings. One of the girls, however, stayed behind. A new student, the shy blond with sparkling green eyes displayed amazing concentration in class for a five-year-old. Nikki knelt down to eye level, knowing her five-foot, ten-inch height would most likely seem imposing to a girl about three feet tall.

"Hey, sweetie. Your name's Abigail, right?"

The girl nodded.

"Well, Abigail, how about we go find your parents?" Nikki stood and held out her palm. The child’s tiny, trusting hand wrapped around Nikki’s front two fingers.

Once outside the dance room, Nikki glanced around the small community center. After a moment, she noticed a tall, broad-shouldered man with blond hair sitting at one of the tables in the corner. A
National Geographic
magazine held his attention; he wore a plain brown t-shirt and jeans. Nikki pointed at the man. “Is that your dad, Abigail?”

The girl began leading Nikki to him, so she took that for a yes and followed.

"Sir?"

The man looked up sharply and smiled, first at Nikki, then at Abigail, who climbed into his lap and picked up the magazine.

"Dance class is over, so I thought I'd bring your daughter to find you. She's very good, you know."

The man laughed. "Oh, she's not my daughter -- she's my niece. My older brother is out of town on a business trip, and his wife teaches piano from three to six. They asked me if I could take her to her classes."

Nikki smiled. "Cool. My name's Nicole, by the way -- but everyone calls me Nikki. I'm the junior dance teacher here. And like I said, your niece is really good. You should tell your brother."

"I will. My name's Matt." He offered his hand, and Nikki shook it. She felt something -- almost a jolt, as their fingers touched. She smiled into his clear, green eyes.

"Nice to meet you, Matt."