Jessica Lewis gives us a novel of a summer camp romance, where one side — maybe both — is against the romance part. For Hallie, she sees her ease of falling in love as a fault, and thus is working on Hallie version 2.0. No longer is she going to fall head over heels in relationships, trying to be the perfect girlfriend to whatever boy or girl she is with. Hallie is going to be smart, academic, and make her parents proud. This leads her to a scholarship summer camp, which puts Hallie in contact with Julia, an ice queen who has the ability to steal Hallie’s breath away.
Even though I knew this was a romance, I truly thought Lewis might not actually go there with Hallie and Julia, as this is the slowest of slow burns. Hallie is afraid to admit her feelings, and Julia is afraid to admit any emotions at all. Together, they form not only an unlikely friendship, but something even crazier to believe in — a romance.
I love Hallie with my whole heart. She is such a try-hard character, both with her friendships and romantic relationships, even when those people did not deserve her. Lewis spends a large portion of this novel having Hallie reflect on what she thinks is wrong with her, and why Hallie 2.0 would be better. This is such a relatable feeling, and now being older, something I can recognize as untrue. I love how Lewis pushes Hallie to realize that as well.
Julia, our ice queen, did take some thawing out for me to fully enjoy. I think Lewis wrote her as a perfectly complex character, and although I did not initially understand why Hallie was so enamored with her, Julia quickly grew on me. Her past trauma and home life reveal made her feel more human, rather than just cold and distant.
Their friendship, and how it grew from that initial icy stage, was great to watch, although I did feel it was drawn out. At times, it felt like Lewis was intentionally stretching the romance to give Hallie the illusion that she was not falling back into her old habits of falling too fast. From noticing how “hot” everyone was at the start of camp to actively holding herself back, Hallie was clearly trying to change. While this was realistic for her character growth, it also made the overall plot feel very slow. Some drama is woven throughout the novel, both with Hallie’s friendships back home and Julia’s difficult home life, but the extremely slow progression of their relationship made parts of the story feel like they lingered longer than necessary.
Jo Piazza gives us a mystery thriller starring the lives of influencers, old friends, and no-good husbands. Told from the point of view of Lizzie, a magazine journalist, the novel begins when she receives an Instagram message from her college roommate and former best friend, Bex, now a homestead influencer under the username BareFootMama. Bex invites Lizzie to a conference for boss moms, and Lizzie quickly realizes that the Bex she knew is the same—but different. This Bex is hiding a secret, one she wants Lizzie to report on. Yet when Bex doesn’t show up to breakfast the next morning and the local news reports that her husband has been brutally murdered, Lizzie knows there is more to this story.
Honestly, the novel is fun and works as a popcorn thriller that has you reading way too late into the night because it’s so addictive. Every time Piazza gave us a Bex chapter, I had to keep reading, desperate to know how the wild story ended. And trust me, Piazza does deliver a shocking ending—but given the full plot, it still feels believable. Piazza dives deep into influencer culture, especially trad wives and “good Christian women,” showing the darker side behind the scenes where life isn’t always so glamorous. Whether it’s realistic or not, it was fun to read about extravagant lifestyles, multi-million-dollar deals, and the power of social media.
The downside of this novel is its forgettability. It reads like many other stories with a missing person, a dead husband, and a detective figure (in this case, a journalist) trying to solve the case. In the moment, it’s entertaining, but in the end, it’s fairly forgettable. Still, Piazza’s writing is easy to follow, and the hook is strong—you’re genuinely invested in who killed Grayson and whether Bex could be responsible.
Another thing to be aware of is that this novel is quite graphic in its depiction of domestic violence, alcoholism, and misogyny from all sides. Despite these women being #GirlBoss, many of them are truly under the thumbs of their husbands, and Piazza does not shy away from that reality.
Ana Huang writes unrealistic stories about alpha males falling head over heels in love with girls they’ve just met, and with the second installment in the series, Huang delivers almost the exact same plot as the first novel — just with a more emotionally guarded European man and a girl who has a bit more backbone (no offence, Ava).
Starting during the events of the first installment, Huang focuses this novel on Bridget and her bodyguard, Rhys (who truly feels like Rhysand for those who know). The story overlaps briefly with the first book’s plot as Bridget and Ava are kidnapped, Ava and Alex break up, and the group graduates before Ava flies off to London.
After that, however, the book becomes completely separate. Bridget lives her best NYC life while acting as a representative of the crown, before eventually returning home to Eldorra, where the remainder of the novel takes place. This completely separates her from her college friends until the epilogue, where Huang writes almost like a train wreck trying to force the obvious setup for the third — and maybe fourth — novels in the series.
As a character, Bridget has a bit more spunk than Ava and a more realistic emotional background — if you count being a princess as realistic. With both parents dead and a crown waiting for her, Bridget allows readers into her life and shows the struggle of balancing responsibility with personal growth. Having never truly been in love and finding all her previous dates boring, she slowly turns her bodyguard, Rhys, from an enemy into a trusted friend and eventual lover. Huang works hard to establish that they absolutely do not get along at the beginning before gradually building trust and, of course, turning up the spice.
Rhys fits the bad-boy antihero vibe similarly to Alex. Honestly, they are basically the same person with only slight differences in backstory and occupation. The way Huang describes Rhys makes him feel like a deeper-tanned version of Alex, and I truly could not get Rhysand out of my head whenever we got Rhys’s POV.
However, I found him borderline just plain mean throughout parts of this novel. I know what BDSM is, and I understand brat/dom dynamics, but some of the things Rhys says to Bridget — the threats about other men looking at her, the “punishments,” the possessiveness — felt excessive. Instead of coming across as hot and sexy the way it did with Alex and Ava, it often felt borderline abusive.
Maybe it’s because there was little verbal consent shown, or because their relationship often felt built entirely on sex rather than emotional intimacy, but this novel didn’t fully portray the sweeping love story Huang clearly intended to write. Still, it was entertaining enough to revisit characters from Ava’s story and see where their lives continued, even if most of that “growth” revolved around sex more than actual personal development.
Well, that’s a little harsh — Bridget did experience some growth. Early on, she comes to accept her royal role, although she never truly fights against it throughout the novel. Even with the marriage law, her rebellion at the end felt minimal, since she was ultimately willing to let Rhys go if her plan failed.
Why leave your entire estate to your children when you can turn it into a competition? That’s the premise Aleema Omotoni runs with in this very Knives Out-style mystery, where Derin and a group of her school peers are invited to compete for their late professor’s fortune after he unexpectedly cuts his own children out of the will. The students are put through a series of challenges—testing their physical abilities, intelligence, and how well they retained what they learned from him. But while everyone else is focused on winning, Derin quickly realizes something deeper is going on, especially after receiving a note that suggests foul play. So alongside the competition, she’s also trying to solve the mystery of the professor’s death—and uncover how her own past might be connected to it all.
As a mystery, some elements are fairly easy to figure out, even with the twists Omotoni throws in. That said, the balance between the competition and the investigation is well done. It keeps the pacing steady and prevents the ending from feeling rushed. I liked that the reveals—both about the killer and Derin’s personal connections—were separated, allowing each to have its own moment rather than cramming everything into one big twist.
One aspect that felt unnecessary, though, was the 18th-century aesthetic layer. The costumes, corsets, and overall “period” vibe didn’t really add anything meaningful to the plot. It seemed like it was there purely for visual flair or to limit technology use, but even that wasn’t consistent since they did have access to their phones in private. It ended up feeling more like a gimmick than a meaningful world-building choice, and honestly got repetitive the few times it was emphasized.
Derin herself is an enjoyable protagonist—she’s witty, determined, and easy to root for in both the competition and the mystery. However, I do think her character lacked some emotional depth. There were opportunities for stronger connections—whether through friendships, romance, or even her relationship with her grandparents—but they never fully developed. As a bi character, Derin had multiple potential romantic dynamics hinted at, but the story kept everything at surface-level flirting instead of exploring any of them further. Because of that, it felt harder to fully connect with her on a personal level.
Overall, this is a fun, fast-paced mystery with a strong concept and engaging structure. While some elements feel underdeveloped—especially character relationships and certain stylistic choices—the core idea of a competitive inheritance mixed with a murder mystery makes for an entertaining read.
Trick for reading this novel: read it in the Irish accent it’s meant to be in, and the dialogue becomes about 1000% funnier. This book picks up right where the previous one left off, but instead of Johnny and Shannon doing the classic “will they… won’t they” dating dance, it becomes “will they… won’t they… have sex.” I’m pretty sure half of this 300+ page novel is the two of them almost getting together, only to stop because someone walks in or something interrupts them. At best it’s mildly amusing; at worst it’s frustrating that Walsh spends so much time on this repetitive teenage tension when the actual plot could have moved forward.
Much like the first book, Walsh tends to wander in circles, creating another long novel that’s heavy on dialogue but light on real plot progression. Things do happen — Shannon’s difficult home life continues to play a role, and Johnny’s rugby career develops — and since this is the final book centered on their relationship, Walsh does wrap up their love story in a way that makes it feel lasting and meaningful. Still, there’s a lot of filler: day trips that don’t add much to the story, doctor’s appointments that stretch across entire chapters just to confirm Johnny can play again, and countless make-out scenes that rarely lead anywhere. One particularly uncomfortable moment even includes an unnecessary description of Johnny’s parents’ intimacy, clearly thrown in more for shock value than storytelling.
The pacing feels uneven, with hundreds of pages where very little changes, followed by a rush of dramatic developments in the final stretch. I didn’t necessarily want those events to happen faster, but I did wish Walsh had spent more time on the aftermath and recovery rather than brushing past it so quickly.
Because the rest of the series focuses on other characters, Walsh also spends significant time developing the broader cast. Shannon’s brothers — Tadhg and Joey — get plenty of page time, as do their friends Lizzie, Claire, and my personal favorite, Gibsie. These side characters are genuinely enjoyable to read about, although the ongoing drama between Lizzie and Gibsie starts to feel repetitive. At times, Gibsie’s behavior around Johnny also comes across as a little too close for comfort — though maybe that’s just teenage-boy friendship dynamics that I don’t fully relate to.
My biggest issue with this novel is that its massive popularity on TikTok has helped make Walsh a bestselling author. The Irish dialogue is entertaining, but the story itself feels fairly average. Many characters fall heavily into familiar stereotypes without much real growth. Even Shannon’s main development is framed around her briefly being separated from Johnny — which doesn’t exactly make her feel like an independent character. In the end, the book mostly relies on the classic trope of the rich, attractive boy falling for the poor, troubled girl… plus the charm of Irish slang and accents.
If you were faced with discrimination, what would you do? If it was met with an apology and a smile afterward, would you still hold onto your anger? Jasper Sanchez writes about the daily life of Eli Goldstein, a transgender man who simply wants his community to accept him for who he is. While earning money for the top surgery he desperately needs, one of the first questions Eli asks is whether his workplace is inclusive. When he is assured that it is, Eli feels confident working at the museum for his favorite show alongside his sister and several classmates. However, when his boss refers to him and his sister as “the sisters,” or when an older coworker repeatedly calls him “she” or “girl,” Eli struggles to stand up against the bigotry and advocate for his rights.
What I liked most about Sanchez’s writing is how relatable it feels. Eli is a flawed character going through a great deal, and like most teenagers, he often chooses the selfish or less resilient path. As both a transgender and autistic person, Eli has many challenges to navigate, making it easier for him to endure insults rather than confront them. This is why Efrain, who is willing to stand up and fight for what he believes in, frustrates Eli so deeply while also becoming someone he admires. Yes, this is an enemies-to-lovers story, where Efrain slowly annoys Eli into falling for him, but through their relationship, Efrain also teaches Eli the importance of standing up for what is right and why it matters.
Sanchez tackles a wide range of issues throughout the novel, including transphobia, homophobia, classism, autism, and immigration laws. Alongside these heavier topics, the novel also weaves in friendship and romance, fitting its identity as a teen romance story.
That being said, the novel can feel overcrowded with social issues at times. Even though Sanchez keeps the plot moving quickly, the sheer number of themes occasionally makes the story feel dense and somewhat dragged out. I think the novel would have been stronger if its primary focus had remained on the transphobia Eli experiences. A smaller cast may also have allowed more room for the supporting characters to shine. Eli’s coworkers were a fantastic group, but because there were so many characters and storylines competing for attention, we rarely got to know them deeply. This was especially true for Eli’s sister, who I felt could have played a much larger role in the story.
This novel is overtly dramatic and filled with the love-at-first-sight teenage cheesiness that made it feel perfectly suited for its 2018 era. Although the novel sent me down a rabbit hole of learning about cystic fibrosis (CF)—so a win for Rachael Lippincott for bringing more awareness to the disease—it is also a big old boo for making CF seem like a world-ending illness when many people live full and fulfilling lives with it. The novel definitely dramatizes the condition for the sake of the story, though it does sprinkle in some factual information throughout. This is probably because Lippincott gives us three CF characters who are all at severe stages of the disease, where a lung transplant is their only option. Stella has 35% lung capacity, Will has B. cepacia, and Poe is dealing with his own flare-ups. The fact that the novel takes place over only two weeks, entirely within a hospital where the teens act like regulars, also adds to the heightened drama.
This novel is told through the alternating perspectives of Stella and Will, even though there are really only three major characters. Justice for Poe through and through—let my boy have his own POV! I need to know what is going on in his head.
Stella is a long-time hospital patient who has been going to the same hospital since her CF diagnosis and is willing to do anything possible to stay healthy. She is the golden girl, the rule follower, and ultimately a fairly surface-level character. Sure, she has some family drama and a hidden past, but Will blurts it out one day in the most anticlimactic reveal ever, which genuinely made me go back to check if I had missed a few pages. Stella lives her life by rules, which is why Lippincott tries to create conflict by having her instantly fall for Will and become willing to break both hospital rules and CF safety guidelines for him.
Will, on the other hand, has been a rebel his entire life. Despite mentioning the many hospitals he has stayed in around the world, the novel only focuses on his current hospital stay. Because of this, Will—much like Stella—feels somewhat hollow as a character. I never felt much depth to him, which made it confusing when his entire personality seemed to shift simply because he fell in love with Stella, despite their lack of chemistry and meaningful connection.
The whole dying-girl-and-boy romance trope has felt flat to me ever since The Fault in Our Stars, so good on Lippincott for trying something within that genre. Despite the novel’s popularity and movie adaptation, however, I do not think it will stand the test of time. The story itself moves quickly and is emotionally charged, but the characters feel shallow, and the romance ultimately comes across as unrealistic and short-lived.
I feel like I was just getting into this novel when Valldeperas ended it—despite it feeling extremely long (I couldn’t actually judge since it was an e-book, but it felt like I’d been reading it forever). I think that sense of length comes from how much of the story is just waiting for things to happen. Nina and Kasik’s romance didn’t feel realistic, coming across more as lust than genuine love or trust. And while the author tried to build the world, I found it confusing at times, and the magic system felt underwhelming. Still, the characters themselves were strong individually, even if their time together felt too short to fully develop.
Nina, however, was fantastic. She’s an excellent character to follow, and the third-person perspective worked well for her. Valldeperas built this novel around female rage, which added depth and made Nina’s motivations easy to understand and respect. I loved her distrustful nature paired with her deep loyalty to her family, though I do wish we had more flashbacks to really strengthen that connection. The explanations of her magic and the world were decent, but at times it felt like the author expected readers to fill in gaps that should have been more clearly explained.
Kasik is… fine. No, really, I did like him—his “loyalty above all else” trait had potential, especially with the classic trope of being tied to the king through his past. This setup pushed him to grow as he started to see Nina as more important than his loyalty to the crown. But despite that, he doesn’t really do much. Outside of his attraction to Nina, he often feels like a placeholder character. Even with attempts to give him depth through his backstory, he never fully stood out, which is disappointing considering he’s one of the central characters.
Overall, I think this story has potential. Like I said, I was just getting into it when it suddenly ended. I’m hoping that in the next book, the characters are given more room to let their emotions drive their actions, that Nina and Kasik develop real chemistry (and maybe some trust), and that the world-building becomes clearer and more engaging.
As the daughter of immigrants, Ezzie Ramos was taught that success looked like universities, doctorates, and lab jobs—forever. So when she finds the paperwork showing that her deceased father planned to leave his university job to start an urban garden called Sprout, Ezzie feels compelled to learn more. Unfortunately, this means a lot of lying: lying to her mother about her summer internship, lying to her abuelita about the dirt under her nails or why she’s at the farmers market, and lying to her best friend that Gabe is just a co-worker—not the person she’s been developing feelings for.
Velez keeps us captivated as Ezzie spins these lies through her life while learning more about her papi, who died eight years ago in a drunk-driving accident. Ezzie’s story is relatable and engaging, as she keeps up this false narrative only because she doesn’t want to hear the negative opinions her family and friends might have. She needs to know who her father was, and Sprout is the way to do that. Gabe just happens to be a happy accident. The jock heartbreaker who once hurt Dora turns out to be a decent guy trying to get his life back on track as his own home life falls apart.
I truly loved the many interactions Velez gives us between Ezzie and Gabe, allowing their relationship to develop naturally as they move from friends to something more. It doesn’t feel rushed, and although Velez includes the classic second-act breakup when Ezzie’s lies come out, the way it’s handled shows the maturity of both Ezzie and Dora. Unlike her mom—who is more childish in her reaction—Dora actually has a valid reason to be hurt. I know grief affects everyone differently, and Velez does a great job portraying that, but I still wish Ezzie’s mother had embraced her with open arms.
Velez’s writing makes this novel feel truly real, capturing the complexity of everyone’s lives, especially Dora’s and Gabe’s, while keeping Ezzie’s voice and worries authentic for someone her age. The pressure of having immigrant parents and needing to achieve highly is intense, and we see both the negative and positive effects this has on Ezzie and how it shapes who she becomes. Velez shows this through Ezzie’s actions and through deep conversations with her abuelita, her mother, and even Dora. Overall, it gives Ezzie an edge and a perspective I loved learning about, setting this novel apart from other coming-of-age stories.
As a Holly Jackson stan, I’m always excited to see what kind of mystery she comes up with—and as usual, she delivers a wild, layered plot that somehow manages to tie itself together by the end. This time, though, she steps slightly out of her usual YA lane with Jet, who feels more like a young adult than a teen. She’s the daughter of a wealthy contractor, stuck in that “what am I doing with my life?” phase—sleeping in, bouncing between ideas, and not really committing to anything. That added maturity does give the story a different feel, letting Jet move more freely (bars, independence, no parental oversight), which works well for the premise.
And what a premise it is. The story kicks off on Halloween, when Jet is brutally attacked and left with impending brain aneurysm that gives her about a week to live. So naturally—classic Jackson style—she decides to solve her own attempted murder before time runs out. It’s a great hook, but it does mess a bit with the pacing. Everything happens within a week, and while Jet wastes no time, it does stretch believability that she could untangle everything that quickly.
Even though the ending is technically “spoiled” from the start (we know she’s dying), the emotional pull still works. You spend the whole novel hoping for some kind of miracle because Jet really grows on you. She’s sharp, witty, and honestly kind of ruthless in how she speaks to people—but in a way that feels earned given her situation. With a literal countdown on her life, she doesn’t have time for politeness, and that urgency pushes the story forward at a fast pace.
She’s not alone, though. Billy—our resident soft, music-loving boy—is right there with her, clearly in love but stuck in this weird in-between space. Their relationship felt a bit awkward throughout. It’s not quite romantic, not quite platonic, and while I understand why Jackson didn’t fully commit (given, you know… the whole dying thing), it left their dynamic feeling unresolved.
That said, this isn’t Jackson’s strongest work. There’s quite a bit of repetition—Jet constantly reminding us (and everyone else) that she’s dying and solving her own murder gets a little heavy-handed. Some of the plot also circles back on itself more than necessary. But even with those flaws, Jackson’s signature style is still there: multiple threads, layered suspects, and a mystery that ultimately clicks into place.
Overall, it’s not her best, but it’s still a solid thriller with a unique premise and that addictive, fast-paced energy she’s known for.
This is what rom-coms are all about. Seriously, I would not be surprised if this novel becomes a movie in the next few years—Red, White & Royal Blue–level of popularity. This one just happens to be a little less spicy, a heterosexual relationship, but with the same amount of campy, feel-good vibes. With easy, approachable writing, Morgan moves the novel along quickly, delivering a fast-paced plot and strong banter that makes you root for Hannah and Finn from the very beginning.
Traveling from Milwaukee to Edinburgh, aspiring writer Hannah Grant lands a dream opportunity working for her favorite author, Margaret MacIntyre, hoping this summer will finally kickstart her writing career. Morgan sets this up perfectly, pairing the exciting new setting with just enough back-home drama—Hannah’s best friend hooking up with her boyfriend—to justify Hannah fully unplugging and escaping for the summer. When her plans fall apart almost immediately, Hannah is rescued by “good citizen” Finn, who helps her land a job at the castle gift shop. Of course, Finn is not just a charming flirt—he also happens to be the Prince of England, fresh off a breakup after his long-term girlfriend dumps him out of the blue. Something about Hannah—especially the fact that she doesn’t recognize him—makes Finn stop and truly notice her. It’s a plot that’s easy to love and perfect for a fun summer read.
Hannah herself is incredibly likable, with her go-with-the-flow attitude and quick comebacks. It’s genuinely enjoyable to watch her confront her past, largely with Finn’s encouragement, and slowly come into her own. Her character growth is subtle—not rooted in dramatic breakthroughs as a writer, but in learning to believe in herself and claim her place in the world. Finn mirrors this quieter arc; while he doesn’t change drastically, he does grow by allowing himself to be vulnerable and honest about his feelings instead of hiding behind his title.
This novel is pure fun—a quick, cozy read at under three hundred pages. I especially liked how Morgan handled the commoner-and-prince dynamic, the playful dates Finn takes Hannah on, and the way their relationship builds through seemingly meaningless conversations that end up meaning everything.
This novel follows the dual narratives of two teenage girls who have both lost their father in a tragic plane crash, leaving them feeling lost, abandoned, and unsure of their futures. The twist Elizabeth Acevedo adds is that the girls share the same father. Living a double life between the Dominican Republic and New York City, he split his time—spending summers with Camino and the school year with Yahaira—a secret he likely intended to keep forever.
One of the most unique aspects of Acevedo’s writing is that the novel is written in verse. It’s not quite poetry, but not quite prose either, and this style allows her to express deep emotion with very few words. By alternating between Camino and Yahaira’s perspectives each chapter, we get a strong sense of their individual voices and how differently they grieve the same man. Camino faces danger in her neighborhood and feels completely alone, while Yahaira struggles with distance from her mother and an inability to repair their relationship.
Both girls are richly developed, with strong cultural identities and meaningful relationships that shape their stories. I was especially struck by the love between Yahaira and Dre, whose support for each other felt genuine and grounding throughout the novel. At the same time, Camino’s fear for her safety and future was incredibly powerful, making you root for her every step of the way.
This is a beautifully told, tragic story, and the verse format truly elevates it. While part of me wished the characters expressed their thoughts more directly at times, I also think that would have taken away from the emotional depth Acevedo achieves through symbolism and subtlety.
As I worked my way through my Kindle free books, this was one I was most worried about reading—and I had every right to be worried, because holy… Mays does not hold back.
The plot is filled with sexual abuse, sex slavery, torture, and just about every foul thing you can think of. Mays goes dark and heavy with this novel, torturing both Emillie and Ladon in violent ways, while also trying to give them a small love story as they share truths deep under the mountain that serves as their prison. I can enjoy a dark romance where not everything is consensual, but Mays was testing even my dark limits here.
The part that bothered me most was that it felt dark for darkness’ sake, without a real reason behind it. The plot felt like it was stalling simply so Mays could include more dark scenes, delaying Emillie and Ladon’s escape just to do so. I was constantly in a “do not finish” mindset (except I am no quitter), because it felt like they would never get out of the mountain. Mays eventually gets them out, only to rush the final battle and leave us on a cliffhanger meant to push us into book two—which I have no plans to read.
Beyond the slow plot, Emillie and Ladon are fine characters. The sunshine x grumpy dynamic works, and the storyline set up before their capture and imprisonment as sex slaves was solid and had potential. While I do think Emillie and Ladon have some spark, it felt more rooted in trauma than in a genuine romantic connection. Their banter was fun, but it was drowned out by the darkness.
This novel is extremely graphic and absolutely not meant for anyone young. I honestly do not recommend it, and I truly wish I had deleted it from my Kindle instead of putting myself through it. This book is dark for no reason and graphic just to make you squirm, all for a mediocre plot and romance you can easily find elsewhere.
This novel is pure middle school drama, and Greenwald does a fantastic job of keeping it accurate, fast-paced, and full of twists. Sadie and Olive have been friends forever — thanks to their mothers being friends, they were basically born with a built-in best friend. Throughout elementary school, they were a duo, but Sadie always longed to be part of a bigger friend group. So when they move on to a middle school with grades 7 and 8, Sadie sees it as her chance to finally branch out — especially with the popular crowd she desperately wants to join. Because of this, the novel follows two main plot lines at once: Sadie’s attempt to break into the friend group, and the shifting dynamic of her friendship with Olive.
The novel explores underlying themes of belonging and growing up, particularly as Sadie and Olive begin to drift apart — something that feels very true to real-life childhood friendships. Sadie wants to wear makeup, date, and be active on social media like the “cool” kids, while Olive is content staying closer to who she was in fifth grade. It doesn’t feel like Olive refuses to grow up, but rather that she wants to take that growth more slowly than Sadie, whose changes feel much more sudden. I do wish Greenwald had pushed this conflict a bit further and allowed for more emotional tension. Given that this is clearly aimed at a younger audience, it feels like Greenwald avoids going too deep or “dark” with the friendship conflict, instead choosing to show that you can grow, make new friends, and still hold onto old ones.
The second major plotline revolves around Sadie and the popular group — and ties directly to the title. Someone in the group accidentally adds Sadie to their group chat, mistaking her for a different Sadie. Suddenly, she becomes a fly on the wall, holding onto a huge secret while trying to get closer to the very people she’s secretly observing. It’s not surprising that this situation eventually blows up, but Greenwald handles it well, building tension and pacing it in a way that makes the fallout feel impactful.
Overall, this novel is fun and fast-paced. While it may lack deeper emotional complexity and leans into an “everything works out” kind of ending, it’s still an enjoyable and engaging read
This novel is a lot — both in terms of content and emotional weight. Eden Robinson writes about sixteen-year-old Jarad, who has a truly difficult home life. His parents are divorced, his mother is caught up in drugs and violence, and his house is essentially a crack den. He secretly visits his dad to help pay bills, and is frequently beaten due to his sarcastic nature and refusal to do things like bake weed cookies. The novel weaves together themes of generational trauma, residential schools, and the systemic issues facing Indigenous peoples in Canada today. Robinson also incorporates a spiritual element, showing the “demons” Jarad and his family face both metaphorically and, at times, more literally, alongside the harsh realities of poverty, instability, and survival.
This is a difficult read, not only because of the heavy subject matter, but also because of the writing style. There isn’t a strong, clear plot driving the story forward — instead, it feels like page after page of Jarad enduring hardship, with little sense of progression. The closest thing to a climax comes when Robinson brings the Indigenous spiritual elements more fully into the story, which is both interesting and unsettling given the context. However, it also feels somewhat abrupt. While there are earlier hints — like Jarad communicating with crows while high — the full reveal doesn’t feel as developed as it could have been, and I wish that thread had been woven more consistently throughout.
Jarad himself is a sympathetic character, though not fully fleshed out. You can’t help but feel for him as he moves through these difficult circumstances. Robinson portrays him as inherently good — despite everything happening around him, he doesn’t engage in truly harmful behavior beyond the occasional harsh words. Still, it can be frustrating that Jarad rarely takes steps to change his situation. Whether it’s continuing to be sarcastic in dangerous moments, refusing help in ways that escalate conflict, or not opening up emotionally, he often remains passive. For example, when his mother disappears for weeks and then returns, there’s little confrontation or emotional processing, which makes those moments feel somewhat unresolved.
Unfortunately, I think this YA novel is one I’m simply too old for. It wasn’t the fact that the big moment in the story was prom, or that the characters constantly repeated “this is our last time” for every small senior-year milestone. It was Leah herself. Instead of coming across as the quirky girl Albertalli likely intended, she felt immature and increasingly frustrating.
Even though these characters were introduced in earlier books and Albertalli reminds us about their “solid friend group,” this novel felt more like a “straight-to-VCR, skip-the-movies” sequel, where everyone is a slightly watered-down version of themselves. Also, forgive me Albertalli, but why name characters Abby and Anna? Do you want me to get confused? With such a large friendship group and limited depth for most of them, I honestly didn’t end up caring much about anyone.
Since this is Leah’s story, told in her first-person perspective (and sadly with far too little Simon), we follow her through senior year after the play as prom approaches and college looms ahead. Leah is headstrong, insecure, and keeps her emotional walls extremely high — so high that she hasn’t even told Simon she’s bi, despite everything he went through coming out as gay and finding happiness with Bram. Instead, Leah bottles everything up and lashes out whenever things don’t go her way. Albertalli truly wrote Leah’s mother as a saint, because despite the way Leah treats her at times, this single mom never snaps back. Even though Albertalli frames Leah as coming from a lower-income household and a broken home, Leah often behaves as if she’s morally above everyone else. I’m still annoyed that the conflict with Morgan never really gets resolved. Morgan made a mistake while grieving, apologized sincerely, and yet Leah refuses to forgive her because of “principles.” If you’re going to cut off a friend, at least give a stronger reason.
Of course, this is still an Albertalli novel, so romance plays a major role. Thankfully, Simon and Bram are left alone to remain adorable, while this book focuses on the slow-burn relationship between Abby and Leah. For most of the story, you don’t think it will actually happen — after all, Abby is supposedly straight… right? Like Leah, Abby is also struggling with her identity, but Leah spends a lot of time doubting whether Abby is “bi enough,” assuming Abby must just be playing with her feelings. Meanwhile, Leah herself is somewhat stringing Garrett along, yet the book never really clarifies what was actually going on between them.
Despite the length of the novel, it still felt like a lot was missing. I wanted deeper conversations between the original trio, more emotional moments as friendships changed and people prepared to move away. Albertalli keeps telling us this is the end of an era, but the characters rarely seem to process that emotionally. Leah, especially, is quick to burn bridges rather than reflect on what these friendships mean.
And one last thing: Leah is supposed to be an incredibly talented drummer… So why did that barely matter to the plot at all?
Ali Hazelwood writing YA was not something I expected—but wow, it works. This rival-to-lovers story (though let’s be honest, you cannot convince me Nolan ever actually hated Mallory) is full of the light-hearted romance Hazelwood is known for, just without the explicit spice. There’s still talk of sex—Mallory’s Tinder phase, the tension between her and Nolan—but it all stays at a “fade to black” level, keeping things firmly in the YA category and making it an easy, fun read.
Set in the world of competitive chess, the novel leans into a STEM-adjacent space, which Hazelwood does best. The idea of grandmasters (GMs) being ranked globally adds a cool layer of intensity, especially with Nolan Sawyer as the current world #1—and somehow also a tabloid “sex symbol.” Classic Hazelwood male lead: tall, broody, secretly obsessed. Nolan is head-over-heels for Mallory from the start, even if the book tries to sell it as enemies-to-lovers. Their chemistry and banter are great, but his instant devotion does feel a bit out of nowhere at times. Like sir, you barely interacted with her at tournaments and now you’re in love? Still, once Hazelwood fleshes him out—with a backstory, friend group, and some actual personality—he becomes much more engaging and (unsurprisingly) very lovable.
Mallory, on the other hand, is strong right from the beginning. While her friends are heading off to college, she’s stuck working at a garage to support her sick mother and younger sisters. At nineteen, she’s basically taken on a parental role, constantly stressed about money and responsibility. Her return to chess—something she once loved—is driven more by necessity than passion, which adds a nice emotional layer. Hazelwood tries to slowly reveal Mallory’s past, particularly her relationship with her father, but it’s honestly pretty easy to piece together early on, so the drawn-out reveal doesn’t hit as hard as intended.
The YA tone is very clear throughout, especially with all the pop culture references—Timothée Chalamet, Taylor Swift, Archive of Our Own, Tumblr, even mentions of Riverdale. It works for the vibe, but it definitely dates the book a bit. Still, it adds to the charm in a way that fits the target audience.
