This is one of those YA books that makes me wish I was not a parent when I read it. I know, even as I react to events, that I am thinking like a completely annoying parent — ooh, that’s too dangerous, should she be doing that? — and not a young adult. So yes, I understand, I am reading books I probably shouldn’t read anymore, but sometimes I need to, in order to see what’s out there for my own writing, and to pretend I am previewing it for my daughters. That last part is a story I tell myself, as my daughters no longer value my opinion about their reading, and have in fact taken to believe that they have superior taste in books to me.
In any case, I am trying to be less wordy in these reviews, because really, who has the time to hit that “Show entire post” when you’re scrolling through the feed late at night? This book has everything a YA should — thrill-seeking teens, edgy romance, complex problems at home, and long-buried secrets — but I did feel that the myriad of serious problems presented here were explored in only a cursory manner. Alexander serves up a lot of angst, and, despite my mixed feelings about the book, she gave me some cringe-worthy moments realizing that I have teenage daughters who may someday want to date a bad-ass surfer boy.