Teenage Reads

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.