foreword

Megan McCafferty

Many readers have asked me why I wrote my debut novel about a sixteen-year-old girl rather than a character closer to my own age. There are a lot of answers to that question, from my obsession with books, movies, music, and TV targeted at audiences half my age, to the distinct possibility that I might have some (ahem!) unresolved issues about my high-school years.

Since I spend so much energy mining my teen years for material, I’ve come to realize that sixteen was the make-or-break age for me. It’s when I first started to believe that I would one day successfully escape the social stranglehold of my high school. I had big dreams about going to a great college somewhere far, far away—culturally and intellectually if not geographically—and doing something important with my life. Maybe I would write for the New York Times! Maybe I would star on Broadway! I was hopeful, knowing that there was more in this world than football games, proms, pep rallies, and other trivialities that dominate adolescent consciousness. Of course, the downside to my epiphany was that I had two more years of high school to get through before my “real life” could begin. At sixteen, I still hadn’t recognized that my “real life” could begin at any time.

While not every sixteen-year-old has shared my suburban New Jersey angst, fans’ fervent reactions to Jessica Darling’s cringe-worthy coming of age indicated that I certainly wasn’t alone. So one morning, after reading an e-mail thanking me for my unflinching depiction of the so-called sweetest birthday, it hit me: What about a book of stories about being sixteen years old? It seemed too simple, too obvious not to have been done before. Then I started to worry. Maybe the reason this anthology didn’t already exist was because turning sixteen is a big deal only for people who lack the maturity to just get over their high-school traumas already. Hmm.

To find out whether this was source material for a book, or fodder for a therapist, I sent out an e-mail to my fan list, asking the following question: What does being sixteen mean to you?

The inquiry clearly struck a nerve because the response was immediate and overwhelming. Within ten minutes, I had thirty-eight e-mails. Within twenty-four hours, I had just over 250. In all, I got more than 500 hilarious and heartfelt takes on what I’m now convinced is a universally tumultuous age. Younger respondents used dreamy language to describe what a magical, transformative year it would be for them. Older writers expressed the often disappointing reality. Twenty- and thirty-somethings described an inexplicable sense of nostalgia for a time that they know is more fondly remembered than actually lived. Together, the responses were funny, profound, and often contradictory—much like the age itself.

In their own (slightly edited) words, sixteen means you . . . are an acceptable age to go to second base . . . don’t have to lie about your age anymore when all the sketchy guys on the boardwalk come up to you and your friends . . . can go out on dates without your parents getting psycho paranoid about it . . . get into more than enough harmless trouble in back-seats . . . are tempted by sex, sex, sex, drugs . . . fit the cliché: sweet sixteen and never been kissed . . . feel strange in your own body . . . hope you’ll be transformed into this beautiful, popular person and that this new school year will be a fresh start . . . pray your face will clear and your bra size will increase . . . are the same as you were at thirteen, only an inch taller . . . have your license and are finally free! free! free! . . . are still too young to vote, buy cigarettes, or get into R-rated movies, but too old to jump into the ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese . . . can do anything, like running through an empty field screaming “I love Jelly Bellys” without anyone to stop you . . . can go into Sharper Image without adult supervision . . . still look up to Ariel the Little Mermaid . . . only get as much freedom as you earn from your parents . . . are young enough to goof off and old enough to have an opinion . . . are wondering, I’m sixteen, dammit, when does the fun start? . . . are stressed because college really matters and your grades really matter and everyone is on your freaking nerves . . . are halfway through high school and don’t know if that makes you happy or sad or both . . . learn that everything in life is not fun . . . hope people will start taking you and your views seriously . . . are legally allowed to work past seven P.M. and your employers take total advantage of it . . . are full of stupid emotions . . . have no clue what path you’re taking, but can decide what shoes to wear on the journey . . . still have to deal with your strict Italian father, who thinks he’s the law and can’t deal with the fact that you’re growing up . . . learn that people change and grow apart and aren’t always who you think they are and won’t do what you expect them to do . . . spend a lot of time expecting something great to happen, like meeting your soul mate or becoming rich . . . wonder if you’ll reflect on this part of your life and regret that you didn’t conform just to make things easier . . . don’t feel sweet at all . . . feel so girlie, in a good way . . . look back on life and realize it is time to look forward . . . know what’s out there and all the things you can do but you can’t do them or aren’t sure if you even want to . . . are getting older, and fast, and unfortunately your life still doesn’t have much direction . . . are in charge of things, or at least it seems that way . . . can finally say you’ve arrived—almost.

I wish I had room for all the responses. (Actually, that might make an interesting book of its own!) In essence, sixteen is a singular age—you have enough experience behind you to feel grown up, yet are all too often reminded of just how little you know. Sixteen captures this paradox through the distinctive voices of some of the most gifted authors writing for and about teens today.

Part of the reason I was so excited about this project was because I was eager to read others’ interpretations of the theme. Even though I asked for contributions only from authors whose work I admire, I must admit, I had no idea how this book would turn out. But I’m thrilled (and relieved!) that their stories are all smart, strange, and surprising.

The first two stories I acquired for the collection were Sarah Dessen’s take on virginity and driving and Steve Almond’s meditation on a teen love affair gone wrong. I was immediately awed not only by the gorgeous prose, but also by how different the stories were from one another. “Infinity” perfectly captures the high-pressure importance placed on hitting certain milestones—or not. “The Day I Turned Chickenhearted” is steeped in the kind of melancholy wisdom that—unfortunately—comes only after the fact.

Emma Forrest’s “The Grief Diet” is striking in its dark depiction of a friendship between two sixteen-year-old girls who are both wildly precocious yet naive. At its end, I was deeply worried about them both. Likewise, I finished Jacqueline Woodson’s “Nebraska 99” wanting to know why? why? why? this bright young narrator would take such risks with her life, knowing only too well that so many real-life girls make similar errors in judgment. On the flip side, I was thrilled for the title character in Julianna Baggott’s “The Future Lives of Emily Milty,” a seemingly shy girl who emerges out of the shadow of her dynamic older sister. I was confident that she would find her way in the world.

“Cowgirls & Indie Boys” by Tanuja Desai Hidier is part of a much larger novel-in-progress about sexuality, language, and communication between cultures. I felt guilty as I cut it down to short-story length, and relaxed only when I realized that it would one day be available to read in its hypnotic entirety. With the story-in-verse “Cat Got Your Tongue?” I was amazed by Sonya Sones’s ability to capture so much—sibling love/hate, lust at first sight, the thrill and fear of that first time behind the wheel—in so few words.

Joseph Weisberg’s clever stories-within-a-story format in “Kissing Lessons” brilliantly reflects how there isn’t one monumental coming-of-age event in our lives, but a culmination of smaller moments that makes us who we grow up to be. Cat Bauer’s “Venetian Fan” portrays that common first-kiss-in-a-foreign-land fantasy more vividly and beautifully than any bad straight-to-video flick starring the Olsen twins.

Several stories hit me on a very personal level—I don’t doubt that they will do the same for you, only in different ways. “Relent/Persist” by Zoe Trope is the first story I’ve ever read that brought me back to the letters my husband and I wrote to each other as we hesitantly fell in love, when we wanted to tell each other everything but were afraid as to how the other would react to the revelations. In “Mona Lisa, Jesus, Chad, and Me,” Carolyn Mackler tackles sex, religion, and fading friendships in a totally honest, nonjudgmental way that made me sad about the friends I’ve lost along the way to adulthood. And though it deals with the budding love between two boys, “The Alumni Interview” reminded me of just how common it is at sixteen—or any age, really—to try to be someone you’re not. Fortunately, David Levithan’s story also drives home how liberating it can be to put an end to all the lies.

All the stories are unique, but two in particular defy convention. When Ned Vizzini first told me that his story, “Rutford Becomes a Man,” was going to be about sweet sixteen in the Wild, Wild West, I was like, “The hell?!” But Ned, through Rutford, proves just how timeless teen angst truly is. Rutford—like many tortured teens—is hilarious precisely because he’s trying so hard to be serious. And “The Mud and Fever Dialogues” by M. T. Anderson is a brilliant story inspired by the teachings of ancient philosophers. It deals with questions that contemporary teenagers still find themselves pondering late at night with friends: Who am I? What’s the point of anything? Furthermore, its antihero’s suicidal pursuit of truth is certainly relatable to anyone who has tried to stop a friend or a loved one from self-destruction. Anderson’s story pulverizes the boundary between “teen” and “adult” fiction in the spirit that defines this collection as a whole.

Finally, there is my story. “Fifteen Going On . . .” is a miniprequel to Sloppy Firsts about how Jessica and Hope spend— or rather, don’t spend—their final moments together before Hope moves away. I find it very difficult to comment on my own writing, so just flip to the last story in the book and read it for yourself.

I like to think that the range and depth of these stories make Sixteen an ideal present for anyone on that landmark birthday. (Hey, that certainly wouldn’t be bad for sales. . . . ) But with its mix of insight and nostalgia, this book, I hope, will also be discovered by parents who are trying to understand their kids, and by those readers in between who, like me, watch Sixteen Candles every time it’s on TNT and still wish that Jake Ryan would show up in his Porsche to sweep us off our awkward feet. Enjoy!