Adults can be selfish, corrupt and disappointing. In Kelly Yang’s first YA novel, Parachutes, two teens accustomed to fending for themselves gradually discover that even when adults fail them, they can depend on each other.

Claire Wang of Shanghai and Dani De La Cruz of California both go to a private high school near Los Angeles. Claire’s parents’ decision to send her to American Prep reflects the cultural phenomenon for which the book is titled, in which wealthy Chinese students immigrate to attend American high schools in the hopes of better educational and professional prospects. Claire leaves behind her shopaholic mother and arrives in the United States with a platinum American Express card courtesy of her absentee father.

Dani is a gifted debater who dreams of attending Yale. She’s also a scholarship student who spends her afternoons cleaning houses, some of which belong to her rich classmates. Like Claire’s parents, Dani’s single mom is mostly absent from her daughter’s life, because she works so hard to support them; her decision to welcome Claire into a spare bedroom at their house is motivated by the extra cash her boarding fees will yield.

Yang relates the girls’ initial wariness of one another, which stems primarily from how radically different their lives have been, in chapters that alternate between their points of view. But Parachutes goes much deeper than a predictable story of rich girl versus poor girl. Although the book’s title refers to a slang term for international students like Claire, the idea of the parachute also functions as a metaphor for the economic, gender and racial privileges that create differences and inequalities in the lives of some of Yang’s characters. Many readers will likely find this seamlessly integrated introduction to the concept of intersectionality eye-opening.

Yang, who shares in a revealing and powerful author’s note that Parachutes is based partly on some of her own personal experiences in college, incorporates issues of sexual assault and abuse, discrimination, parental infidelity and emotional neglect into an elaborate and twisting narrative. The book has an impressive buoyancy despite these weighty subjects, and Yang never slides into preachiness or lecturing. For many readers, finishing Parachutes will feel like saying goodbye to two beloved friends who’ve helped them survive the emotional battlefield that is high school.

Yang is best known for her debut novel, the middle grade book Front Desk, which won multiple awards and became a bestseller in 2018. Parachutes is sure to establish Yang as one of YA’s most thoughtful and vital new voices.

Adelaide’s life has been turned upside down by her brother’s addiction, her family’s separation and her devastating breakup with Mikey Double L. With an aching heart and an unfinished school project hanging over her head, threatening her final grades, Adelaide chooses to stay at her boarding school for the summer, walking professors’ dogs and falling in and out of love—over and over again. Through it all, she just might learn that what she really needs is herself.

E. Lockhart is no stranger to the complexities of the teenage heart, and Again Again explores them in a poignant and lyrical way. As in her previous novels, such as We Were Liars and Genuine Fraud, Lockhart again plays with perception and time, treating readers to multiple versions of Adelaide’s experiences, from romantic encounters to feedback from teachers. The line between reality and fantasy becomes intentionally and wonderfully ambiguous. Call it an exploration of the multiverse or a glimpse inside a teenage girl’s mind. Either way, the creative format highlights Adelaide’s uncertainty and elevates her summer into a coming-of-age experience that readers will find relatable.

While every scenario Adelaide imagines (or lives) is honest and heartfelt, the most powerful storyline in every version is her relationship with her brother, Toby. Lockhart depicts his recovery from addiction gently and respectfully, and the siblings’ attempts to find their new normal are beautifully rendered and often eclipse Adelaide’s romance as the most moving relationship in the book.

On the surface, Again Again is relatively simple: Girl meets boy, girl falls for boy, emotional turmoil ensues. But Lockhart’s unique narrative structure and poetic prose stylings transform it into a thought-provoking look at what we expect and what we need from each other—and from ourselves.

Those who remember all too well the tragedy of September 11, 2001, may not recall another tragedy that occurred in its immediate aftermath. On November 12, American Airlines Flight 587, en route from New York City to the Dominican Republic, crashed in Queens, killing all 260 people on board, the vast majority of whom were of Dominican descent.

The tragic stories of the lives lost on board Flight 587 and those of the families left behind, as well as author Elizabeth Acevedo’s own memories of trips to visit relatives in the Dominican Republic, inspired Clap When You Land. The book sees Acevedo return triumphantly to the novel-in-verse format of her multiple award-winning debut, The Poet X.

Sixteen-year-old Camino Rios is meeting her father at the Santo Domingo airport. He lives in the United States much of the year but spends summers in the Dominican Republic. Camino, whose mother died a decade earlier, dreams of moving to New York City for college and then medical school. She can’t wait to finally be closer to her beloved father.

Thousands of miles away in New York City, Yahaira Rios has just said goodbye to her father, who supports her love of competitive chess and always encourages her to follow her dreams. Yahaira misses him when he returns to the Dominican Republic each summer, but this year, her feelings are more complicated. She’s recently learned a secret about her father that she hasn’t admitted to anyone.

Both Yahaira and Camino are on the cusp of a terrible loss—and of a profound discovery about their families and the surprising, sometimes uneasy connection between them.

Clap When You Land explores themes of heredity, class and privilege, as well as the complex, conflicted emotions the girls feel toward their birthplaces and homes. Acevedo handles all of these themes with a lyricism and sensitivity to language that make Camino’s and Yahaira’s struggles and joys, both individual and shared, all the more powerful.

Readers unaccustomed to verse narratives will quickly settle into the book’s generally short stanzas and conversational tone. Passages that are more deliberately poetic in style, such as the description of a burial that uses short lines to make the text resemble a deep hole, or a scene of violence in which the verses—like the narrator’s thoughts—grow increasingly fragmented, encourage readers to read slowly and even pause in order to fully experience both the characters’ powerful emotions and Acevedo’s tremendous skill at conveying them and transforming them into art.

Clap When You Land gets its title from the Dominican tradition of applauding when a plane touches down safely at its destination. By the story’s end, readers will be ready to give Yahaira, Camino and Acevedo herself a standing ovation.

Jenny Torres Sanchez’s fifth young adult novel, We Are Not From Here, is an unforgettable story of three teens forced to leave their homeland in search of safety and the possibility of a better life.

In the town of Puerto Barrios, Guatemala, Pequeña is laboring to give birth to an unplanned baby. Her friends, Pulga and Chico, who consider themselves brothers and have lived together at Pulga’s house ever since Chico’s mother’s violent death, go for a walk as they anxiously await the delivery. While stopping in their favorite convenience store for a snack to tide them over, they become unwilling witnesses to a devastating crime that will change the course of their lives.

Torres Sanchez immerses readers in the teens’ lives in Puerto Barrios, where they are surrounded by loving extended families and a warm sense of community, but a sense of hopelessness subdues any expectations they have for the future. When pressure from the local gang leader to join his enterprise becomes unbearable, Pulga, Chico and Pequeña realize they have no choice but to run for their lives, leaving Pequeña’s baby behind. Together, they make their way toward La Bestia, the crowded network of trains full of desperate people migrating north in search of opportunity.

We Are Not From Here astonishes even as it conveys harsh realities. Torres Sanchez’s prose alternately chills and sings as it brings primal human experiences—life and death, despair and hunger, fear and hope—to the page in brilliant relief. The choice to employ first-person narration, commonplace in young adult literature, is particularly effective here and adds immediacy to the threats that seem to lie in wait around every corner. Elements of magical realism elevate the teens’ journey to epic, mythic heights. It all makes for a stunning, visceral and deeply moving read.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Author Jenny Torres Sanchez explains the personal stakes of We Are Not From Here.

Renata is a valuable member of the Whispers, a group of rebels fighting against the brutal king who conquered the kingdom of Puerto Leones and its people, the Moria. When Dez, the leader of Renata’s unit and the boy she loves, is captured on a mission gone awry and taken to the palace as a prisoner, Ren must try to rescue him and complete their mission.

The Moria are a magically gifted people, and Ren is what they call a Robári. Her gift is the ability to steal memories; it’s a dangerous power that, in the extreme, can turn people into hollow shells, void of personality and identity. As a child, Ren was kidnapped and held captive by King Ferdinand, who forced her to use her powers to support his Inquisitors, wreaking havoc on the lives of her people. Though she was rescued by the Whispers, her sense of belonging among them is tenuous, and her guilt and inability to face her memories of that time consume her. Returning to the palace to rescue Dez means confronting her past head-on—and uncovering secrets that could change everything.

Zoraida Córdova’s Incendiary is a satisfying fantasy novel set in a world that draws much from the history of medieval Spain. From the novel’s explosive beginning, Córdova’s pacing is efficient and propulsive, every move advancing both the story and the emotional development of her characters. This world works on both macro and micro levels; we understand its alliances and rivalries, but we also feel its heat and dust.

Anchored in Ren’s deeply personal journey, Incendiary tells a tale of love and war with a thrilling, epic scope.

Chamomile Myles wants the perfect prom dress, an adorable “promposal” and an opportunity to (finally) use the condom she hides in a box under her bed. She doesn’t think that’s too much to ask from the universe, but in Florence Gonsalves’ second YA novel, Dear Universe, nothing is going the way Cham wants.

When she’s around her friends, Cham puts all her effort toward making the last three months of their senior year of high school memorable, spending her time drinking, dancing and daydreaming about her boyfriend. But there’s another side to Cham’s life—practically a whole other universe, in fact—that she won’t let her friends or boyfriend see. Cham’s father has Parkinson’s disease, and she and her mother struggle to care for him at home. In heartfelt pleas to the universe, Cham asks for guidance on how to reconcile the disparate parts of her life while staying afloat in the fishbowl that is high school.

Despite frequent moments of buoyancy and levity, Dear Universe confronts how hard a parent’s illness can be on a family and the pressure it can put on children and teens. Neither of Chem’s parents want to address her dad’s Parkinson’s diagnosis with her. As a result, the unspoken subject weighs on her, and she tries her best to avoid her own worries and uncomfortable feelings, hiding them from everyone who cares for her.

As Cham learns to open up and feel comfortable letting people in, Gonsalves also explores the effects of the intense expectations placed on Cham to have her entire life figured out at age 17. Cham feels out of place in her suburban town, as she’s smart but not academically motivated or driven to succeed in the college acceptance rat race. Fortunately, a supportive teacher and a surprising friendship help her begin to accept that having more questions than answers can be a strength, not a problem to fix.

Readers whose families have also faced a loved one’s illness will find Dear Universe particularly powerful, as Cham and her parents find new ways to be honest with each other. But all families have subjects they find difficult to talk about, and all teens struggle to reconcile social life with home life. What teen hasn’t wished for the universe to reveal an easy path forward into adulthood? The universe may never respond, but Cham’s voice will come through loud and clear.

Soraya grew up with her mother’s stories about a cursed princess whose poisoned skin killed any living creature she touched, and of a cruel prince who consorted with the demonic entities called divs until he became one himself. But these weren’t just stories. They were tales to help Soraya cope with the truth: She is the princess in the story, living in fear that her div-green veins mean she, too, will give in to darkness and transform from girl to monster.

Just before Soraya’s brother, the shah, is to be wed, a captured div named Parvaneh makes Soraya an offer. If Soraya can bring Parvaneh a magical feather from the simorgh bird, her curse will be lifted. At first Soraya is suspicious, as divs are notorious liars. Despite her mis-givings, Soraya sets out to find the feather. As the plot begins to twist like the secret passageways beneath the shah’s palace, Soraya’s conflicted loyalties lead her to a fork in her path. Which parts of herself will she embrace?

Girl, Serpent, Thorn is YA literature at its best. Characters suspended between two forms—here, human and demon—are ideal metaphors for the half-child, half-adult nature of adolescence. The book’s queer romance conveys the headiness and sensuality of falling in love for the first time. Author Melissa Bashardoust draws heavily on the ancient mythology of Persia and includes a fascinating author’s note detailing her sources. Careful readers will also find motifs from fairy tales such as “Sleeping Beauty,” “Jack and the Beanstalk” and “Rapunzel.” 

Girl, Serpent, Thorn is a richly metaphorical story of a teen claiming her identity and her place in the world.

In the kingdom of Etrusia where dragons fly, the emperor has died, and five teens must compete to become his successor. But instead of calling the eldest child of each house, as tradition dictates, a ragtag bunch of misfits have been selected: Emilia, a scholar with deadly powers; Lucian, a repentant soldier who wants to be a monk; Vespir, a servant and dragon trainer; Ajax, a thief; and Hyperia, a cunning and savage member of the nobility. 

The teens compete with their dragons in challenges that test their physical strength and political prowess. Although they know only one will be crowned and the other four will be killed, the competitors bond when a mysterious puppeteer begins toying with them, turning the atmosphere from cutthroat to cautious. As certain death looms, they must unite to expose a sinister plot before the kingdom—and everyone they love—is destroyed.

Despite clocking in at over 500 pages, House of Dragons moves at a fast clip. Dragon races and basilisk-hunting—aided by romantic drama and villainous face-offs—fuel the action, while the short chapters, narrated by perspectives that rotate among the five protagonists, drive momentum and tighten pacing. 

Jessica Cluess effortlessly juggles individual arcs for all five protagonists and explores thought-provoking questions about the relationship between nature and nurture. Ajax, for example, a thief raised by the man who raped his mother, shares the circumstances of low birth with Vespir, the dragon trainer, but finds common ground with Hyperia, whose ruthless actions are shockingly violent. Yet Ajax also uses humor as a defense mechanism, which brings much-needed levity to tense scenes, and the nuance in Hyperia’s character hints that redemption may await her in later books.

Readers will be lured in by the dragons and “Game of Thrones”-style subterfuge, but Cluess’ world building and high-stakes conflict will ensure they stick around for the sequel.

Kit Sweetly loves working at a medieval-themed dinner theater restaurant called the Castle. Although her role is “serving wench,” she longs to ride out as a knight like her older brother, Chris, crushing the patriarchy and earning a desperately needed higher wage. Corporate policy says only men can play the knight roles, but when Kit secretly takes Chris’ place one night, triumphantly revealing herself at the end of the tournament, she sparks a movement that could earn her and her fellow wenches the opportunity they’ve been dreaming of.

The Life and Medieval Times of Kit Sweetly, Jamie Pacton’s pitch-perfect debut novel, has nerves of steel beneath its mischievous exterior. Kit’s feminism is rooted in her utter confidence that women can do anything men can do, but Pacton gives her would-be knight higher stakes than mere glory. Without the additional income from the knight’s role, Kit won’t be able to pay for college, and her family may lose their home. Kit’s determination to help her single mom provide for her family and carve out a future for herself keeps the plot moving without weighing it down. The world of the Palace is vibrant and expertly realized, with a cast of finely honed characters who support Kit, throw obstacles in her path and even infuse the novel with a sweet touch of romance. 

A fantastic blend of frankness, feminism and pure fun, The Life and Medieval Times of Kit Sweetly will appeal to anyone who has ever felt called to do more than is expected of them.

In Maggie Tokuda-Hall’s self-assured debut, The Mermaid, The Witch, and the Sea, an imperialist system clashes with the ancient power of the sea while two teens from different backgrounds find unexpected love. 

Lady Evelyn Hasegawa, the black sheep of an aristocratic family, faces a journey aboard a ship called the Dove that she’s been dreading: She’s being married off to a stranger. A member of the Dove’s crew, Florian—born Flora—has been assigned to attend to Lady Evelyn. Tough and capable of handling the violence common to the harsh world of the Dove, Florian is working to earn enough to return with her troubled brother, Alfie, to their homeland. 

Lady Evelyn surprises Florian at every turn with kindness, humor and openness. But their growing relationship is a problem, because the Dove isn’t a passenger vessel. It’s a pirate ship whose passengers have no idea that the captain and crew plan to sell them into slavery.

This intriguing premise blooms into an enchanting, complex tale that explores politics, piracy and the magic of storytelling itself. In Tokuda-Hall’s world, witches can use words to coax magic out of any object, a pirate’s honor is signaled by their relationship with the sea and mermaids can both preserve and destroy memories. Tokuda-Hall’s imperialist political system, clearly inspired by the Japanese and British Empires, is brilliantly detailed. While the romance between Evelyn and Florian moves quickly, both characters have well-defined perspectives and appealing motivations. 

Queer and gender nonconforming characters are everywhere, and their normalization within the world of the book is remarkable and praiseworthy. A strikingly original and accomplished debut, The Mermaid, the Witch, and the Sea reads like an undiscovered classic with impressively modern flair. 

When Mae and Hannah’s parents are killed by a tsunami in Malaysia, the two sisters’ lives are turned upside down. Hannah, emotion-driven and artistic, struggles under the weight of opioid addiction as she grieves for her family and the life she’s lost. Meanwhile, Mae, who dreams of working at NASA, grapples with having been orphaned by the loving parents who adopted her and wonders how much more she’ll have to give up to save what’s left of her family. As the aftermath of the wave washes up family secrets and questions about the future, both girls must learn to move forward, holding onto each other and the love their parents left behind.

In Little Universes, Heather Demetrios (I’ll Meet You There) delivers a story that will break readers’ hearts and put them back together again several times over. As the novel alternates perspectives between poetic Hannah and logical Mae, Demetrios creates two equally powerful voices that evolve brilliantly, growing more distinct and yet drawing together as the two sisters navigate their changing relationship through their unique responses to unimaginable trauma.

Demetrios addresses potent material, including death, addiction, abortion, sexual assault and adultery, with incredible nuance and respect, enabling readers who don’t share Hannah’s and Mae’s experiences to connect deeply with what they’ve been through. Little Universes is a challenging, emotional read, but it will leave readers reassured by the power of love and of their place in this universe.