Zelda lives in the kind of quaint, upbeat town worthy of a montage. People greet her by name, wish her good luck on her geography test and loan her a bike when she’s running late. But after a close call on that bike with a car and a disappearing boy, Zelda starts to question her perfect town. Why does that geography test—which she’s pretty sure she also took yesterday—make no sense? Why does the town laundromat sport its own creepy clown? And why has her dead cat, Patches, shown up . . . talking?

Zelda starts to suspect that she’s actually inhabiting a dream, even more so once she reencounters that mysterious boy, Langston. But whose dream is she in? And what if the dreamer wakes up? Will they all just cease to exist?

To find out, Zelda, Langston and Patches head toward the limits of the known dream world. What they discover includes a robot house, an ice cream vendor who speaks in rhymes and the four gym teachers of the apocalypse, all of which are depicted in black-and-white illustrations by author Adam Rex. If this sounds kind of silly, it is. Those familiar with Rex’s books for younger readers will recognize his zany humor here as well, but even as the absurdity is pushed to extremes, A Little Like Waking maintains a level of seriousness as well.

The dreamscape is influenced by personal history and often tinged with tragedy. At every turn, the characters consider big questions: “Do you want to grow up? Do you want a life that’s easy or a life that’s real?” Zelda must confront the fact that if she’s not the dreamer, she’s not the star she once assumed. As she puts it, “Growing up is realizing you’re not the main character. Or everyone else is, too.”

A Little Like Waking is sneaky like that, planting nuggets of philosophical and moral truths alongside carnival rides that sprout from the earth like giant vegetation. It’s also romantic and a little sad, with moments of quiet, bittersweet loveliness that stand out in high relief from the near-constant backdrop of hilarity. Rex’s quest narrative is like none other, sure to leave readers marveling at the wonder of dreams and the power of imagination.

Hilde, a part-swan, part-human daughter of Odin, ferries souls along the silver road in the sky to the Other Wood. She envies her five sisters’ brighter gifts, but Odin chose her for this duty because of her strength, so she continues this melancholy work—until she meets the equally lonely Baron Maximilian von Richter on the shore of a lake.

From within his crumbling and solitary Bavarian castle, Richter dreams of a bigger life for himself, one filled with jewels and notoriety. When he invites Hilde into the glittering world of his imaginings, she trades her wings to become more human, eagerly learning the complicated waltz steps of 19th-century Europe. But when Richter proves to be more captor than liberator, Hilde begins to seek an escape. Allied with Franz Mendelsohn, a kind and talented artist who seems to see the truth of her magic, Hilde searches to reclaim the wings she once sought to give up forever.

With feather-light precision, R.M. Romero’s YA novel-in-verse A Warning About Swans (Peachtree, $18.99, 9781682634837) walks the thin line between fairy tale and allegory, selfhood and love, dreams and reality. This winding fable about living myths, set in postindustrial Europe, softens the tale of Odin’s daughters—known in many versions of mythology as the Valkyries—while respecting its origins.

As in her previous novel, The Ghosts of Rose Hill, Romero writes in clear, lovely verse. Unlike novels-in-verse that fail to demonstrate a strong understanding of poetry, A Warning About Swans lends itself perfectly to the form, maintaining a spare beauty and creating fully formed characters within the limited confines of a shorter text. Richter is believable as a terrifying representation of what men with unchecked power often do, while Hilde and Franz’s burgeoning love story feels multidimensional and authentic.

A Warning About Swans soars in its exploration of myths: their power, their failings and how they change alongside humanity yet stay with us throughout millennia. Romero provides a lovely example of how across all of time, some lessons stay true.

Between the busy tech week leading up to the school musical’s opening night and her overwhelming crush on her best friend, Cordelia Scott thinks she’s at her limit—until a demon named Fred appears and tells her she’s accidentally sold him part of her soul. To escape the fires of hell, she must help Fred defeat an even more powerful demonic entity that’s been plaguing their community for nearly 100 years and the supernatural creatures under its command. But how hard could it be to put on a great show, hide her feelings from Veronica and destroy a demon?

Alex Brown’s Damned if You Do feels both modern and mythical. Brown’s characters are regular teenagers who do things like suffer through pop quizzes, gather in a cozy coffee shop, visit churches that may be hiding dark secrets and fight monsters such as the aswang, a creature from Filipino folklore. They also deal with horrifying, somber realities, such as the physical and emotional abuse Cordelia received from her father, which she recounts in as much vivid detail as she does her visions of hell.

But Damned if You Do doesn’t leave readers solely in darkness, and its weightier problems are balanced out with plenty of dry and witty humor. Readers will enjoy scenes of Cordelia bantering with Fred, sharing tender moments with Veronica and thriving in her role as stage manager.

Ultimately, this book is about healing and the immense work it takes. Cordelia and her friends must decide: Do we allow others to define who we are, or can we take control of who we’re becoming? Whether it’s dealing with abandonment, abuse or exploitation, Damned if You Do asks us to take a hard look at how our experiences shape how we see ourselves—and how we can take back our own power and agency.

Brown strikes a delicate balance between light and dark, showing readers that the grimmest parts of ourselves are worth accepting. Damned if You Do is mature and complex while making plenty of space for humor, friendship and love, affirming the power of relationships to help us grow in ways that feel impossible on our own.

Finding the right words can be a challenge for anyone. Lilah, the deaf protagonist in Give Me a Sign (Putnam, $18.99, 9780593533796), is struggling not only with what to say but also how to say it. A sweet and thoughtful romp, Anna Sortino’s debut novel navigates the intricacies of Deaf culture and how one girl finds her place in it.

Consumed by doubts that she’s not “deaf enough” and irked by her hearing parents who are preoccupied with making sure she can pass as hearing, Lilah minimizes herself and what accommodations she needs. Her friends “forget” she can’t hear as well as them, inadvertently leaving her out of conversations or taking her to inaccessible activities.

At the end of her junior year, all Lilah wants is to feel understood like she did when she was at Camp Gray Wolf, a summer camp for blind, deaf and hard-of-hearing kids. Nervous about her rusty American Sign Language but excited to connect more with her Deaf identity, Lilah applies to become a counselor.

What ensues is a summer in the woods with cute boys, late-night shenanigans and more lessons about herself than she ever could have imagined. With lots of summer-ready fun, Give Me a Sign thoughtfully tackles a myriad of coming-of-age tropes through the lens of deaf characters. Sortino’s writing shines the brightest when the story takes a turn toward the harsh realities and traumas that deaf and hard-of-hearing individuals often endure through misunderstandings with the hearing world. Sortino doesn’t shy away from examining cruelty, but her narrative also remains informative, kind and steady. Give Me a Sign is not only a point of representation for folks looking for themselves in a fun read but also a reminder that just because someone can’t hear or speak doesn’t mean they don’t have a voice.

In The Narrow, author Kate Alice Marshall (Our Last Echoes) tells a chilling tale of a ghost who can’t relinquish the past, a boarding school with fatal traditions and a rising senior who will sacrifice anything to stay on campus.

As her final year at Atwood School begins, 17-year-old Eden White discovers her feckless parents haven’t paid her tuition. The school’s dean makes a proposal: Eden can stay, but she must become a live-in companion to fellow student Delphine Fournier. Six years ago, Delphine attempted the students’ traditional yearly jump across the Narrow, the treacherous river that runs beneath the school, but did not succeed. Afterward, Delphine developed a deadly allergy to unpurified water and now lives in isolation at Abigail House.

Odd things happen once Eden arrives at Abigail House: She experiences torrential rainfall when skies are clear, sees wet footsteps approaching her bed and awakens from horrid dreams with fresh bruises. Eden must lean on her best friends and Delphine to solve the mysteries around the Abigail House and Atwood School.

Marshall deliberately positions clues to construct a swiftly darkening narrative that touches on addiction, abuse, privilege and parental neglect. As the pace quickens, readers will become immersed in Delphine’s and Eden’s nightmarish experiences and their deepening relationship. Those who enjoy puzzling mysteries and supernatural suspense will devour this haunting tale.

Iyanu wants nothing more than to fly under the radar at Wodebury Hall, a prestigious English boarding school where fitting in is everything. But then someone steals the photographs she took at a matchmaking event and spreads them throughout the school. The photos are all caption­ed with shocking secrets—including one about her estranged cousin, Kitan. Lies, betrayals, scandals: No one’s sure what’s true and what’s not, and everyone thinks Iyanu started it all. Kitan and Iyanu begin investigating—one seeking the truth behind the secret she received and the other determined to clear her name—but along the way, they discover the school may have even darker secrets. 

Everyone’s Thinking It (Balzer + Bray, $19.99, 9780063225671) is an intense mystery about privilege and community. The story unfolds through two perspectives: Iyanu, a self-proclaimed outcast and photographer, and Kitan, desperate to keep her place in the school’s most popular trio.

Though they’re both Nigerian students in a majority white and upper-class environment, Iyanu and Kitan have developed completely different approaches to the Wodebury experience. Iyanu cuts herself off from anyone who could hurt her, while Kitan is willing to compartmentalize her pain in order to fit in. The stolen photos challenge Iyanu and Kitan to ask themselves hard questions: What would  it mean to let yourself be seen? What do we lose when we give up our personal beliefs in order to please others?

As Iyanu and Kitan explore different ways to build community, they learn how to cut off ties that do more harm than good. Ultimately, they discover the value of being truthful—both to others and to themselves.

Sharp social commentary, compelling plot twists and tender moments of love make Everyone’s Thinking It a fun, insightful mystery and a great read for anyone seeking a mature YA novel that’s true to the experience of growing up.

It’s the 26th century, and humans have colonized Mars with the help of artificial intelligence. Aspiring teenage inventor Clementine Chang needs a fresh start, so she books a one-way ticket to the Red Planet, where she has scored her dream job working in a robotics repair shop for an AI pioneer. There, she meets the infamous Dr. Marcella Lin, and her assistant, Kye, a humanoid custom-built AI with whom Clem is immediately fascinated.

When Kye begins glitching and seeing a strange child within his hard drive, he seeks out Clem’s help. As their relationship grows, the line between AI and human begins to blur for Clem, who resolves to help Kye break free, even if it means risking everything she came to Mars for.

The Infinity Particle (Quill Tree, $18.99, 9780062955760) is a stunning standalone graphic novel that offers a tender and timely look at AI. Questions of autonomy and generational trauma ground readers in the humanity of this sci-fi tale, while small details such as chapter headings written in binary code build a sense of immersion in this futuristic world. The one complaint readers may have is wanting more—more background about the AI system, more time with Clem and Kye.

Wendy Xu (Tidesong) uses a two-color palette to great effect. Panels are largely shaded with blue, while sparingly used reds can instantly make scenes romantic or dramatic. Dynamic gutter backgrounds add to the visual appeal and mood. Xu plays with unique panel shapes; for example, scenes of Kye glitching are given a dreamlike quality with wavy outlines. Occasional chibi figures and exaggerations like giant sweat drops add lightheartedness and are sure to appeal to manga readers.

A hopeful vision of life alongside technology is a welcome deviation from the trope of antagonistic AI. The Infinity Particle is perfect for fans of speculative works with well-developed characters such as Molly Knox Ostertag’s The Girl from the Sea and Danie Stirling’s Crumbs.