was more bitter than sweet. Persuaded by the hot pink cover and bubble-gummy sounding description into thinking this was chick-lit, I was looking forward to two hundred fifty-some-odd pages of irreverant bliss. BUT NO. That is NOT what I got. I just wanted the book to end, because my heart kept breaking OVER and OVER again.
I kept thinking of this guy-friend of mine from elementary school, whose name was Greg. He was my BFF for FOUR WHOLE YEARS (this was record-breaking at the time for me, because I had lived in about eleven houses in eight years). We both fantasized about medieval times and narwhals and neopets and pentominoes and we played jump rope and hopscotch at recess all by our lonesome selves, because we were pretty much outcasts. We were gonna to go to the Renaissance fair together the last day before the summer (in which I was moving for yet another house). But I was STUPID. And I REALLY wanted to be popular. And two days before the fair, I still hadn't told my mom about the renaissance fair. At lunch, a popular girl invited me to a sleepover....
... When I got home, I told my mom about the sleepover instead of the renaissance fair. And Greg never spoke to me again.
THAT is what this book made me think of. It made me cry out of grief and guilt and regret and heartbreak and it WASN'T CHICK LIT!!!!
(edt: BTW, this isn't the official review)