After stealing a sandwich from an attendant and also beating her face in the process, 17-year-old Shavonne has earned herself more time in the juvenile correction center. And after spending the last three birthdays in different lock-ups and giving birth to a daughter who doesn’t even know her now, she wonders if it’s even possible to wish for a better life.

With gritty details, Shavonne observes the covert injustice and violence toward her and her fellow inmates, many of whom are pregnant or mentally challenged—or both—and all of whom come from broken homes and long for a mother or simply a kind word or touch. She copes with the day-to-day oppression by scheming outlandish plans and lashing out whenever her temper starts to rise. As she nears her 18th birthday, Shavonne is running out of options and faces transfer to an adult facility with no end date in sight.

When Mr. Delpopolo, a man with a troubled past of his own, takes over as her new counselor, Shavonne just may have found the path to the hope she’s been searching for. With a blend of compassion and a no-nonsense attitude, Mr. D. gives her writing exercises that force her to confront her guilt, destructive behaviors and a secret so haunting that she fears she’ll never deserve forgiveness. If Shavonne can prove her worthiness within the Center—and to herself—she may have a shot at making her hope a reality. Shawn Goodman’s intense young adult debut, Something Like Hope, is a painful reminder of America’s teens in trouble and the difference one individual can make.

Over the course of her high school career—and three previous novels—Ruby Oliver has developed quite a reputation, at least in her own mind. She’s the unstable girl, the one who has to see a shrink, the constant worrier who’s prone to panic attacks. As readers have also discovered, however, Ruby’s also very, very funny, a hyper-verbal observer of high school and family life, and a vulnerable, endearing heroine who’s both realistically flawed and thoroughly likable.

Not surprisingly, as Ruby starts her senior year in Real Live Boyfriends, her life is in crisis yet again. Senior year’s scary for everyone; Ruby compares it to being on the edge “of this precipice . . . of the end of high school, of college, of love, of scary, complicated, adult-type relationships.” As if that weren’t frightening enough, her parents are both acting less mature than Ruby herself, her friends can’t be trusted, and her very own “real live boyfriend” has come back from New York all cagey and weird. When Ruby’s the most level-headed person in her life, something must be very wrong. Or maybe Ruby’s just discovering that she might have to rewrite her own opinion of herself after all.

E. Lockhart’s novels featuring Ruby Oliver have all been startlingly perceptive, genuinely poignant and extremely funny. Ruby’s genuine empathy and whip-smart narration belie her many self-doubts. Readers long ago figured out that, in spite of everything, Ruby Oliver was going to be just fine; now, in the fourth and final volume in her story, Ruby’s finally figuring that out, too.

If teenage June seems a bit sophisticated for her age, it’s because she’s had to be. Her father, who bails out sinking companies for a living, has relocated his wife and daughter to cities all over the country, most recently Chicago and now Minneapolis—or, more truthfully, the same-everywhere suburbs of these cities. Within days of starting at her new school, June figures out whom to befriend and whom to avoid. She’s not conniving about it, just self-protective, if a little jaded.

But this isn’t only her story. From the first page we get to know both June and Wes, a floppy-haired boy who’s lived in this particular suburb his whole life. National Book Award-winning author Pete Hautman has made them the co-stars of this powerful first-love story by switching between their perspectives every few paragraphs. The transitions are smooth, in part because the two are simpatico.

As a character, June is a gift, a funny-sad girl who is so realistically drawn it almost feels a shame to think of her as a character. Wes is different from the “dark and moody Chuck Palahniuk/Kurt Vonnegut/Life-Sucks-and-Then-You-Die brooders” she’s met before, but he’s private and quiet too, and his feelings for June soon become intense.
With its lovely but underplayed creation-of-the-universe metaphor, The Big Crunch is evocative of their attraction to each other, viscerally so—it’s stomach-flipping at times. June’s father’s job threatens to separate them, which complicates things and gives the novel a plot to hang on. But the salient detail here isn’t story but feelings, that magnet-pull of first love.

Amy was supposed to spend 300 years as a cryogenically frozen passenger on the spaceship Godspeed. She was supposed to sail through space, unaware of her arrested state, until finally being awoken on a new planet. She was supposed to see her parents again. But everything goes wrong when someone wakes her up 50 years before the scheduled landing—and nearly kills her in the process.

Amy finds herself trapped on Godspeed, desperate to see the sky and smell real air again. But it’s not long before she discovers that these are the least of her worries, as most of the passengers on Godspeed follow their leader, Eldest, without a single thought in their own heads. Fortunately, Amy is not alone in this Brave New World scenario. Eldest’s rebellious protégé, Elder, is supposed to be spending all his time learning to be the next leader of the ship, but his interest in Amy seems to highlight more and more of Eldest’s secrets. Now Amy and Elder must race an unknown murderer to save the rest of the cryo-passengers, while Eldest’s thick sheen of lies grows thinner and thinner.

Beth Revis’ debut novel, Across the Universe, pushes the boundaries for teens who feel trapped, whether literally or figuratively. The world Amy encounters lacks the civil values that every teenager should learn as they grow up in modern society, such as free thought, respect for all races and the power of every person’s voice. On Godspeed, Revis’ characters and young readers alike must think for themselves or risk the silent, and deadly, consequences.

Eddie Reeves’ father took his own life, and she found his body. Her mother is catatonic with grief, and family friend Beth has moved into the house to restore order, largely by yelling at Eddie, who only wants some answers. In the quest to understand her dad’s death, Eddie is taking bigger and more dangerous chances with her safety. When she finds out her dad had a photography student, Culler Evans, who also wants to understand what happened, it seems like perfect timing. Maybe too perfect.

Fall For Anything flirts with being a mystery—when Eddie and Culler find messages that Eddie’s dad may have left behind as clues about his suicide, coded in a series of photos he took, they feel compelled to follow the trail. The darkness in the pictures is amplified when Eddie and Culler visit their locations; looking at these abandoned buildings and collapsed churches with a photographer’s eye for the quality of the light gives everything an extra coating of film noir grime. (A fleabag motel they crash in is not just grungy—there’s even a used condom behind the bed.) There’s also a bit of a love triangle, or love trapezoid: Though Eddie’s best friend Milo might be going out with another girl for the summer, he still feels threatened by Culler’s presence in Eddie’s life. Jealousy skews in all directions, which complicates relationships and leaves Eddie more isolated when she’s most in need of a friend.

Author Courtney Summers is not afraid to tackle dark subject matter, and balance it with equally dark humor. Things get much harder for Eddie before there’s any hope on the horizon, and even then there are no pat solutions to the problems she’s facing. Fall For Anything is full of hard truths and short on happy endings, but it is a relentless and captivating novel for older teens.

High school senior Piper wasn’t born deaf, but by the age of six she’d all but lost her hearing, which has left her reliant on hearing aids and lip reading—and made some aspects of teenage life difficult. It’s especially challenging, then, when the lead singer of Dumb, the hottest (and only) band at school, asks her to be its manager.

Author Antony John opens the book powerfully by describing Dumb’s first concert at school, all from Piper’s point of view. It isn’t until the end of the chapter, when she tells us she’s deaf, that we realize everything she’s described has been visual: the crowd’s reaction, the bassist’s spiky hair, the lead singer’s gyrations.

No doubt about it, it’s an interesting scenario. John has endowed his likable main character with a good, snarky sense of humor, and he set her story in a great town for music: Seattle. But he also handles her pain with grace and sensitivity, understanding that some aspects of her situation might be really problematic rather than simply an interesting challenge. Her father, for instance, has never fully accepted her deafness, and he refuses to learn sign language, her preferred method of communication.

Since she can’t really hear what Dumb sounds like (other than “loud”), Piper has to get creative in order to whip them into shape. She lays down a beat for them by watching a metronome and banging out its rhythm on the floor with a broom—just like the 17th-century composer Lully, who conducted his orchestra by beating a baton on the ground, as we learn from Piper’s nerdy friend Ed. (Fun details about the history of rock, punk and grunge come courtesy of guitarist Kallie.)

At nearly 350 pages, the novel is a bit longer than the story calls for, and debut novelist John asks us to suspend our disbelief that a high school cover band could get interviews on radio and TV shows, not to mention recording time in a professional studio. But with Five Flavors of Dumb, John has given us an entertaining, sensitive story that makes his own allegiance to music touchingly clear. From the moment Piper and the rest of Dumb visit the music mecca that is Kurt Cobain’s house, the power of rock makes Piper just a little more daring, a little more rebellious—a little more herself.

In The Curse of the Wendigo, orphan Will Henry continues his work as the indispensable assistant to the “monstrumologist” of Rick Yancey’s series. When Dr. Pellinore Warthrop’s old mentor tries to prove the existence of the mythical Wendigo, Warthrop is determined to stop him, fearing his life’s work will be devalued. Then a woman from Warthrop’s past appears at his door with the news that her husband is lost in the woods, a trip he made in search of both the Wendigo and the doctor’s respect. Now young Will and Warthrop must journey deep into the Canadian forest, the tenements of New York City and a posh hotel or two to look for answers. What they find is anything but pretty.

Yancey’s latest follows the playbook established in The Monstrumologist (gothic atmosphere, plenty of gore, real history mixed with mythology, a highly unstable parental figure to an orphaned boy, and let me emphasize again: it’s gory!), but adds some twists, including a degree of depth for Dr. Warthrop. Introducing the other two thirds of a love triangle from his past show a whole man with a broken heart, which make his quick temper and contrarianism feel more realistic. He even manages a few moments of observable tenderness toward Will . . . but don’t worry, they don’t last long. There’s plenty of time for eviscerations, face-peeling (not the cosmetic kind), a mind-bendingly scatological crime scene, beating hearts snacked on like apples—and really, what book would be complete without a pocket full of eyeballs?

That Yancey can work real science and history into this mix shows his deft hand as an author; that he worked a plausible love story into a book so filled with nightmarish imagery may indicate the need for professional help. Whatever the case, The Curse of the Wendigo will thrill existing fans and draw newcomers to a truly terrifying series.

Read our interview with Rick Yancey for The Curse of the Wendigo.

Arriving at the doors of a new high school one day is Shayne Blank, perched on a battered BMW motorcycle and dressed all in black. No one knows much about his past, including Mikey Martin, who is the shortest guy in the 11th grade and likes to slink from class to class and hide behind thrift-store suits. Is Shayne’s dad on a secret mission to Afghanistan and his mother in the Witness Protection Program, or are his parents in Uganda working with Doctors Without Borders? That’s just part of the mystery as Shayne sits in the police station, waiting to confess to murder, in National Book Award winner Pete Hautman’s latest thriller, Blank Confession.

Shayne befriends Mikey on the same day that Mikey’s sister’s drug-dealing boyfriend, Jon, asks him to hold his stash—and on the same day the local law enforcement decides to take a sweep through the school. After Jon threatens Mikey for tossing his supply during the raid, Shayne intervenes, giving Mikey pointers on how to deal with the thug and trying to protect his sister from Jon’s escalating drug use and control. Short, riveting chapters alternate between Mikey’s version of the story and Shayne’s confession to a detective in the police station’s interview room. Each perspective fills in some gaps but leads to more questions: Who died? How? And why?

As readers try to solve these questions along with the detective, they’ll be just as curious to find out more about enigmatic Shayne and his background and motives. The suspenseful story is as much Mikey’s as it is Shayne’s, as Mikey comes to terms, often through a game of checkers with his Haitian grandfather, with his self-esteem, bullying and the cycle of violence. Readers will continue to wonder about the fate of both boys long after the confession has been revealed.

An outcast teenage boy, an imprisoned father and a loyal best friend who happens to be a pretty blonde all seem like relatively normal components for a teen novel—unless, of course, the boy lives on Mars and is hired by the unscrupulous to rescue kidnapped children.

Meet Durango, a teen mercenary eking out a meager existence on the dry, red planet. Often attempting dangerous stunts, he risks his life and that of his pretty partner, Vienne, in order to earn enough money to eat. His only guide is Mimi, an Artificial Intelligence imprinted in his brain, but even she can’t keep him out of trouble. While he’s battle-school-trained and quick with a weapon, he and Vienne are outcasts, easily exploited and discarded by those who hire him. With his father in prison and desperate for bribe money, he agrees to help a group of impoverished miners whose children are being stolen by a villainess and her cannibalistic minions. Against lousy odds, Durango leads a crew of inexperienced soldiers into the biggest fight of their lives.

Readers will anxiously follow Durango’s escapades, which alternate between his first-person narration and third-person point of view. From his escape into a cosmic elevator to his battles against the cannibals, Durango is a sympathetic hired gun with something to prove to both his father and himself. Even on Mars, an adolescent boy still strives for his father’s approval and his peers’ acceptance. And as Durango suppresses his romantic feelings for Vienne, he also matures into a man with a lot to lose.

Despite the fact that alien cannibals are stealing children and eating them, this book is far from morose. Its humorous dialogue and motley crew of characters give this science fiction a theatrical quality that one could easily imagine on the big screen. Named after a popular song by the rock band Soundgarden, Black Hole Sun is a gritty blend of suspense, action, humor and romance that’s sure to engage even the most reluctant reader.

Robeson Battlefield lives in a nice neighborhood with his parents and his little brother Carmichael. Pacino Clapton lives in the projects with his mother (when she’s actually home instead of out working at one of her two jobs) and his little sisters—twins named Lavender and Indigo. Robeson is always neatly dressed and tries to avoid getting in trouble. Pacino puts on a tough-guy attitude and a “street” appearance. What could the two 13-year-olds possibly have in common?

Both boys attend Alain Locke Middle School, and both boys have landed in “PSS”—Post-School Suspension—for incidents with the same kid, Tariq Molten. Tariq is the biggest bully at Alain Locke, and he already has a criminal record. Robeson (whom Pacino nicknames “Crease” for his always-neat appearance) and Pacino soon bond as they get to know one another during their three days in PSS. The boys discuss self-respect, women, hip-hop music, the “N-word” and what it means to grow up black in today’s society. They go to one another’s homes and share meals together. They agree to “have each other’s backs” and stick together as they face whatever Tariq brings their way.

Author Derrick Barnes, himself the product of a single-parent home, manages to bring the characters of Pacino and Crease to life within the pages of We Could Be Brothers. Barnes is an accomplished writer, husband and father with a list of literary successes. Although his focus here is on the African-American teen experience, the story is a perfect coming-of-age tale that could apply to any American teen. Pacino and Crease learn to overcome their fears and stand up for themselves, while still maintaining their integrity. They also learn the value of friendship—and that sometimes the best of friends can seem, in the beginning, the most unlikely.

The hilarious friends from Swim the Fly are back in Don Calame’s sequel, Beat the Band. However, Swim the Fly‘s narrator Matt takes a back seat as the wisecracking, often irritating Cooper narrates.

Best friends Matt, Cooper and Sean are just beginning their sophomore year in high school as the story begins. On the first day of school, Cooper is paired up with “Hot Dog” Helen for a semester-long health class project on, of all topics, safe sex. Helen is nicknamed “Hot Dog” for exactly the reason that might pop immediately into the mind of a sex-crazed teen boy. In fact, the entire book appears to spring from the mind of that same sex-crazed teen boy, but the result is an absolutely hilarious story with a nice twist of a moral thrown in.

When the friends decide to join in a “Battle of the Bands,” they hope they’ll be able to off-set the negative social effects of Cooper’s being paired up with Helen. They assume being “rock stars” will earn them instant social status, but they seem less concerned about the fact that none of them actually plays an instrument than they are about trying to appear cool.

As the story develops, the laugh-out-loud moments are punctuated with a truly touching story. The constant sexual references are a bit shocking at first, but once the reader gets into the groove of Cooper’s narration, it all falls into place. Surprisingly, Cooper turns out to have a conscience, and Calame’s well-developed characters lead the reader through a side-splitting but realistic story of teens trying to fit in—and learning a lot about themselves in the process. Don Calame’s ability to emulate the voice of a pubescent teenage boy is uncanny; in Beat the Band, he does so with wit and, more importantly, compassion.

Jonathan stands at the edge of a bridge, wobbling, mere seconds from toppling to his death. The only things keeping him rooted to reality are his guitar, named Ruby, and his crew of “thicks”—his best friends, high school boys with the loyalty of Odysseus. Jonathan, self-medicated and frustrated, suffers the aftermath of his twin brother’s death with little grace. He clings instead to Red Bull, Ruby and his poetry, though he distances himself from his local fame as a talented young writer. He buries himself in Bukowski and his own “spontaneous writing” to avoid the rest of his life.

But Jonathan is forced to face reality when he discovers that he will have to redo his junior year if he does not comply with his principal’s requests—first, to write the memoir of a dying, blind old man; and second, to play a terrible song in front of a huge graduation crowd. Jonathan must face his demons, at the Delphi hospice and on stage, and all on very little to no sleep. With the help of his “thicks” and the wisdom of the blind man, Jonathan searches for the “shimmer”—a reason to step away from the bridge’s edge.

Conrad Wesselhoeft’s bildungsroman Adios, Nirvana is heavy with death, sexually frustrated high school dudehood and the hanging rainclouds of west Seattle grunge (Eddie Vedder makes a cameo appearance). The heart of the story, however, is the connection between Jonathan and music. It attaches him permanently to his late brother Telemachus, and it transforms his damaged guitar Ruby into a breathing, warm body. Ruby is his girlfriend, his family and his heart. It is through music that Jonathan is able to “connect to eternal things” and keep himself from toppling over the edge.

Adios, Nirvana is raw and angry, but forgiving in its love affair with guitars and the universality of lifelong grief.

The 10 P.M. Question is a wonderful study in opposites. At just 12 years old, Frankie Parsons has an idyllic kid’s life: great best friend, amazing pet cat and more cake than one boy can reasonably eat alone. He’s also saddled with responsibilities to his eccentric family that most grownups would juggle with difficulty, and a whopping anxiety disorder weighting his shoulders. Has the cat given the whole family worms? Did everyone get their flu shot? Every bug bite holds the potential to blossom into full-blown cancer in his overactive imagination. At 10 p.m. each night he visits with his mother in bed, and she helps to dispel his anxieties . . . but she may be at the root of them, too.

When a new girl comes to Frankie’s school, she immediately adds to his list of things to worry about. Sydney asks questions that blow the lid off Frankie’s highly ordered universe and force him to begin taking care of himself, but she’s not without her own issues and complications.

Kate De Goldi has created a lush, loving world in The 10 P.M. Question. From the fat aunties to the even fatter cat, a father called “Uncle” and best friend Gigs, it’s just a pleasure to spend time in the family home with its attendant, and obviously affectionate, chaos. For a kid with too much on his mind, Frankie is at least in good and supportive hands when things come to a head.

An additional treat for this reader was the book’s New Zealand setting. The unfamiliar landmarks and subtle cultural differences just add another layer of lushness to the backdrop, a fourth auntie in the family, as it were. After Frankie has what his sister calls a “nut-out,” we see that a happy ending isn’t possible for everyone in the story, and that to settle for contentment sometimes must suffice. But the family pulls together in the wake of the crisis, and there’s great hope in this story of one boy slowly conquering his fears.