I haven't been reading as many books for "funsies" as I'd like to lately, "lately" meaning the past six years. I love the idea of reading books, but the action of sitting down and starting a book has become increasingly more unappealing, and for no reason other than sheer laziness.
Sitting alone in the library after volunteering, I decided to change that. For the first time in years, I walked down the YA shelves and looked for the perfect book -- or at least, an adequate book.
So I found Sweethearts by Sara Zarr. Not too thick, just an inch-worth of pages, quick enough so that I wouldn't get discouraged ten pages in. The cover brought me back to middle school, an era of cheesy novels about teenagers in love. And as I turned the book in my hands, I knew there was no way this book could be anything but a cheesy teen romance.
I guess in certain ways, I was right. But in other ways, I was horribly, horribly wrong. This wasn't just any teenage romance.
This was my teenage romance.