Teenage Reads

I was fully invested in the romance and Samantha's family storyline, but I cannot say the same for Xavier's. Jimenez introduces his family issues from the beginning, but they always felt more like a plot device than an actual subplot. His terrible parents are mentioned repeatedly, yet the issue never develops beyond a handful of references and one significant phone call. Yes, their relationship is a major reason Xavier remains in Minnesota, but it often felt as though Jimenez was building toward a dramatic confrontation that never truly arrived. As someone who loves a good conflict, I found that disappointing.

Meanwhile, Samantha's storyline is far more compelling. Her mother has been diagnosed with early-onset dementia, and her memory is rapidly deteriorating. As a result, Samantha finds herself back under one roof with her entire family: her grandmother, father, younger brother, older sister, and her sister's two children. This aspect of the novel felt authentic because it reflects how families often rally around a loved one during a crisis. It also makes Samantha's sacrifices understandable. Her heart may be in Minnesota, but her responsibilities keep her firmly rooted in Los Angeles.

Despite centering on a family facing dementia, Jimenez keeps the novel surprisingly light. Rather than dwelling on the harsh realities of the disease, she often approaches it through Samantha's emotional perspective, describing the world as feeling gray without lingering too long on the pain. In fact, Samantha sometimes seems more devastated about Xavier than her mother's condition, which occasionally felt odd given the circumstances.

The romance itself caught me off guard, particularly on Samantha's side. She knew exactly what she was walking into and understood what she was asking Xavier to potentially give up for her. While you never expect to meet the love of your life at an inconvenient moment, I personally would not choose to go on a first date the night before moving across the country. Their relationship felt incredibly intense with very little development shown on the page. Too often, readers are told about their connection rather than allowed to experience it themselves.

You had a four-hour phone call? Great. How about showing us part of that conversation instead of simply telling us it happened?

A single father raising three children — including a daughter he does not quite understand — sets the stage for plenty of character development. Symon creates an entertaining clash between a deeply traditional Southern dad and three children whose personalities constantly rebel against or challenge his own. While the story mainly focuses on Emma and Hudson’s third-person points of view, Emma’s brothers, Chip and Buckhead (which I sincerely hope is a nickname), also get moments in the spotlight. However, the novel lacks meaningful sibling interactions, which was disappointing because I wanted Emma to develop a stronger connection with at least one of her brothers alongside the growth in her relationship with her father. While Symon focuses heavily on the parents-versus-kids conflict, I kept hoping the family would eventually come together as a tighter unit, especially surrounding their shared secret, but that never fully happens.

This novel is pure middle-grade fun because who has not imagined turning their dog into a real-life person? When Hudson becomes sick, Emma uses her science research in an attempt to stop his illness from spreading, only to accidentally transform him into a golden-haired teenage boy named Bud Golden — which is hilarious, although I still think he should have just gone by Hudson. After accidentally becoming a football star (because, of course, the dog just wants to play ball), the story launches into a fast-paced plot filled with Emma stressing over Hudson’s performance while also trying to balance friendships, romance, and complicated family dynamics.

Unlike the first two novels, this one had the potential for a more realistic foundation: Jules is a medical school hopeful aiming to become a doctor, and Josh is preparing to pass the bar to become a lawyer. Their high-powered career paths actually made sense, and the small university-town setting helped ground their connection and social circles. However, Huang frequently revisits events from Book One — including Ava and Josh’s father’s actions — almost every other chapter, seemingly to reinforce how interconnected the plotlines are. Because of this, Josh has a “priceless painting,” and Jules has an over-the-top backstory involving crime and a sex tape filmed in Ohio, which feels inconsistent with the otherwise grounded setup.

The other issue with this novel is its lack of consistency in characterization. Josh, who is introduced as a carefree, no-strings-attached ladies’ man, suddenly becomes intensely possessive of Jules. He does not even openly call her his girlfriend, yet behaves as though he owns her, even expressing willingness to kill for her. Meanwhile, Jules is equally smitten with Josh but feels the need to hide it from her friends — though she barely interacts with them. I understand that everyone is busy, with Bridget ruling a kingdom and the others working demanding jobs, but the story desperately needed more moments of female friendship, especially from Stella, who is supposed to be Jules’ roommate yet barely appears and often feels like a background character.

Gaddy writes the book almost like a history text told through narrative. It presents facts and details while weaving in conversations and material drawn from earlier accounts, allowing the story to flow naturally. The book is divided into seven parts, each covering a different period, beginning in 1932 and ending with the Pirates being formally commemorated in 2019. Throughout, we follow several members of the Edelweiss Pirates as they grow up and continue resisting Nazi control as it steadily tightens across cities in western Germany.

While much of the book reads like a story, it still remains firmly rooted in nonfiction. Gaddy includes footnotes, explanations of historical events, time-period context, and even newspaper excerpts. At the same time, the book does not dwell heavily on the darkest parts of the history. Even when the young resisters are imprisoned, the narrative stays focused on the factual record rather than exploring the full horrors they likely endured. The tone leans more toward cautious hope than deep darkness.

On what is arguably her first real quest, Lukens immediately delivers the found-family dynamic that I am always a sucker for. Alongside Zig, we have Prince Aven (they/them and also royalty), Farrah (also royalty), and Rylan, a local bard and resident skeptic. While I always enjoy a found-family cast, there is definitely a distinction between the main characters and the supporting ones. Zig and Prince Aven receive the most development, while Farrah and Rylan take more supporting roles. I do wish Ellinore had interacted with Rylan and Farrah more often, but Lukens does a solid job of keeping them relevant to the plot and giving each character meaningful one-on-one moments with Ellinore. With a cast this large, that is something many authors struggle to accomplish.

And yes, Rylan was fun, but he was no Prince Aven. Aven serves as the novel’s love interest, and they quickly became my favorite character. Lukens addresses Aven’s identity and some of the challenges they face as a nonbinary royal, but their gender identity never becomes their sole defining trait. More importantly, Aven is an adventurer at heart, much like Ellinore, and they are constantly pushing against the expectations of royalty. More than anything, they simply want to be Aven—especially when they are with Ellinore.

The romance between Ellinore and Aven is a beautifully slow-burning relationship that focuses on trust, vulnerability, and healing. Through Aven, Ellinore gradually learns to lower her walls, accept help from others, and realize that she does not have to carry every burden alone. Their relationship is both heartbreaking and comforting at the same time. I found myself desperately wanting to race through the novel just to see how Ellinore and Aven's story would end.

The plot itself is steady, with multiple mishaps happening during the quest, and our team having to work together to solve each step and figure out where to go. With competitors breathing down their necks, this is the first time Ellinore has had help on a quest, and she is using it to her advantage, and really comes out as a leader in this.

I loved Hannan’s decision to switch between the perspectives of the three remaining characters, each trapped in their own cycle of grief. Georgia is mourning her girlfriend while desperately trying to recover her lost memories. Circe is grieving too, but her feelings are complicated by her love for Georgia and her lingering anger toward Jules. This I wished was explored deeper, as Georgia kind of just accepted Circe’s love as a replacement for Jules, and there was no fight, nor real feel of guilt that Hannan was suggesting she was feeling. Meanwhile, James wants Georgia to return to normal while also dealing with the pressure of succeeding in life, something he sees this school as his only chance to achieve. This also felt a bit 2D as it was a panic James felt, but not one that made it to my feelings. Overall, Hannan made their friendship feel authentic, and does an excellent job giving each character meaningful one-on-one interactions with the others. As a result, the trio feels fully developed, allowing readers to explore both past and present relationships while weaving together themes of romance, friendship, and grief.

The premise itself is not particularly unique. Earth is dying, so humanity sends a ship into space carrying both living passengers and cryogenically frozen specialists—scientists, military personnel, and other "important" people—to establish a colony on a distant planet. Classic science fiction. In fact, it is such a common premise that Revis could have moved through the exposition much faster. What she does add, however, is the ship's unique leadership structure, where each generation has its own designated leader. This gives us Eldest, the current ruler of the ship, and Elder, the seventeen-year-old boy being groomed to take his place.

Unfortunately, Elder is kind of dense for someone destined to become a leader. To be fair, he is seventeen, convinced the world is unfair, and desperate to rebel against Eldest, the only father figure he has ever known. His immaturity makes sense, but it also leads to some frustrating decisions. My biggest issue, however, was the way Revis wrote his attraction to Amy. Elder's thoughts about her are overwhelmingly focused on her appearance, often veering into "all the things I want to do to you" territory. It felt out of place, especially because their romance barely exists. What we get instead is pages and pages of teenage infatuation from Elder's perspective while Amy shows very little romantic interest in him. Even when they eventually kiss, it feels abrupt, unearned, and largely irrelevant to the story.

Amy, meanwhile, should realistically be having a complete mental breakdown. She wakes up fifty years too early on a spaceship, separated from the life she expected to have and trapped with strangers. Yet she often feels surprisingly calm about her circumstances. Rather than focusing on her own survival or adapting to life aboard the ship, much of her character revolves around missing her father—whom she exclusively calls "Daddy," despite Revis establishing early on that she had not called him that since she was young. Wanting her father (and occasionally her mother) becomes one of Amy's defining traits throughout the novel, alongside her tendency to challenge Elder's assumptions about life aboard Godspeed.

I was not expecting Amy to become some action-hero protagonist, but her characterization often felt flat. Rather than actively uncovering the ship's secrets herself, she frequently serves as a catalyst that pushes Elder to question the lies surrounding him. As a result, it often feels like she exists more to advance his character arc than to have one of her own.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.