Enter here for a chance to win a deluxe boxed set of The Complete Summer I Turned Pretty Trilogy!

Giveaway alert!!! Check out all of the May and June Simon Teen giveaways running on Goodreads and Storygraph for a chance to win free books!

We can’t wait to be hanging out in Santa Monica for YALLWEST 2025 this weekend! SO GET READY because here’s a comprehensive schedule of all our Simon Teen activities this year. Don’t forget to follow along on Instagram Stories for up-to-the-minute news and stay tuned for lots of fun video content from our authors at YALLWEST!

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Saturday, may 3rd

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All day long at the Simon Teen Booth!

• Stop by for giveaways all day, and enter our raffle for a chance to win a grand prize of signed books from the Simon Teen authors who will be attending the festival!
• Get exclusive bookish swag and snag ticket for each ARC drop one hour before the giveaway time! (With the exception of the 11:00 am ARC Drop)

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9:00am

• Coldwire ARC Drop (Simon Teen Booth) (Unticketed)
• Snag a ticket for the 11:00 am Crystal Ball Mystery ARC Drop

10:00am

11:00 am

• Crystal Ball Mystery ARC Drop (Simon Teen Booth) (Grab a ticket at 9:00 am)
• Maneuvering the Map Panel with Tracy Deonn (Barnum Hall)
• Thank You, Next Panel with F.T. Lukens (Cafeteria)
• The Annual YALLWEST Storyball with Stuart Gibbs (Disco Quad)

12:00 pm

• All the Tomorrows After ARC Drop (Simon Teen Booth) (Grab a ticket at 11:00 am)
• Fiction Feud with Stuart Gibbs, Kiyash Monsef, and Scott Reintgen (Cafeteria)

1:00pm

• Crystal Ball Mystery ARC Drop (Simon Teen Booth) (Grab a ticket at 12:00 pm)
• The Future of SFF Panel with Tracy Deonn (Barnum Hall)

2:00pm

• Middle Grade ARC Drop (Simon Teen Booth) (Tickets available at 1:00)
• MGnopoly with Kiyash Monsef and Scott Reintgen (Cafeteria)
• It Builds Character! Panel with Elba Luz (Greek Theater)

3:00pm

• Crystal Ball Mystery ARC Drop (Simon Teen Booth) (Grab a ticket at 2:00 pm)
• Searching for Signs Panel with F.T. Lukens (Barnum Hall)
• Putting a Spin on the Recipe Panel with Morgan Matson (Greek Hall)
• I Feel I Should Bring Up Past Events… Panel with Chloe Gong (Disco Quad)

4:00pm

• The Beautiful Maddening ARC Drop (Simon Teen Booth) (Tickets available at 3:00pm)
• I Love This So Much, But Also I Need Money Panel with Scott Reintgen (Greek Theater)
• I Went Through a Third Act Breakup and All I Got Was This T-Shirt Panel with Morgan Matson (Disco Quad)
• Holding Space for Defying Gravity Panel with Chloe Gong (Barnum Hall)
• Sad Songs, Power Ballads, and Pump Up Playlists Panel with Elba Luz (Cafeteria)

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Did someone say new Free Reads? Yes, that’s right, we did! And we are so excited for May’s Free Reads. This month’s Free Reads have been chosen in celebration of Asian American, Native Hawaiian, and Pacific Islander Heritage Month!  Plus, check out all of this month’s new releases with extended excerpts!

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Free Reads are only available to Simon Teen members! Not a Simon Teen member yet? It’s free and easy to sign up! Click here to set up your account now. 

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Full Reads

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1. A Pho Love Story by Loan Le

When Dimple Met Rishi meets Ugly Delicious in this funny, smart romantic comedy, in which two Vietnamese-American teens fall in love and must navigate their newfound relationship amid their families’ age-old feud about their competing, neighboring restaurants.

Start reading now!

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2. Of Princes and Promises by Sandhya Menon

From the New York Times bestselling author of When Dimple Met Rishi comes the second installment in a brand-new series set an elite boarding school that’s a contemporary spin on fairy tales, this one a delightful, romantic twist on The Frog Prince.

Start reading now!

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3. Emergency Contact by Mary H. K. Choi

“Smart and funny, with characters so real and vulnerable, you want to send them care packages. I loved this book.” —Rainbow Rowell

Start reading now!

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Extended Excerpts

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1. P. S. I Still Love You by Jenny Han

Now a Netflix original movie starring Lana Condor and Noah Centineo and the inspiration behind the Netflix spin-off series XO, Kitty!

In this charming and heartfelt New York Times bestselling second book in the To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before series, the unforgettable Lara Jean experiences first love. This special keepsake edition features a deluxe faux notebook cover and includes Jenny’s top-secret chocolate chip cookie recipe!

Start reading now! 

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2. The art of Exile by Andrea Max

Legendborn meets The Da Vinci Code in this captivating light academia contemporary fantasy following a teen who infiltrates a secret school for the descendants of exiled Renaissance masters to steal their long-lost arts and sciences.

Start reading now! 

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3. Ruthless by Carolyn Lee Adams

A spine-tingling debut thriller about the ultimate game of cat and mouse as a teen struggles to hold onto hope, and her sanity, while attempting to escape a cunning and determined killer—now with a brand-new look!

Start reading now! 

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4. This Could Be Forever by Ebony LaDelle

This compelling and complex romance about love across cultures follows a Black girl and Brown boy who find themselves—and each other—while pursuing their passions the summer before college.

Start reading now! 

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5. Solving for the Unknown by Loan Le

In this sweet, incredibly heartfelt companion to A Pho Love Story, Vietnamese Americans Viet and Evie juggle family expectations with their desire to forge their own path in between college classes and falling in love.

Start reading now! 

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6. The Love Match by Priyanka Taslim

To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before meets Pride and Prejudice in this delightful and heartfelt rom-com about a Bangladeshi American teen whose meddling mother arranges a match to secure their family’s financial security—just as she’s falling in love with someone else.

Start reading now! 

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7. These Violent Delights by Chloe Gong

Perfect for fans of The Last Magician and Serpent & Dove, this heart-stopping debut is an imaginative Romeo and Juliet retelling set in 1920s Shanghai, with rival gangs and a monster in the depths of the Huangpu River.

Start reading now!

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8. Legendborn by Tracy Deonn

Filled with mystery and an intriguingly rich magic system, Tracy Deonn’s YA contemporary fantasy reinvents the King Arthur legend and “braids together Southern folk traditions and Black Girl Magic into a searing modern tale of grief, power, and self-discovery” (Dhonielle Clayton, New York Times bestselling author of The Belles).

Start reading now! 

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9. Powerless by Lauren Roberts

Perfect for fans of Sarah J. Maas, this young adult fantasy follows the forbidden romance between a powerful prince and an ordinary girl as they try to survive their kingdom’s grueling laws pitting them against each other.

Start reading now! 

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Extras

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1. The Eid Gift by S.K. Ali

The Eid Gift is a companion short story to Love from A to Z. Adam and Zayneb —engaged but continents apart for so long— are finally in the same city!

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Start reading now!

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2. Love at First Fight by Sandhya Menon

Join Dimple and Rishi as they do an escape room in this exclusive short story from Sandhya Menon! You’ll also see how Pinky and Samir met for the first time before you can read about them in 10 Things I Hate About Pinky.

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Start reading now!

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3. As Kismet Would Have It by Sandhya Menon

Will Dimple and Rishi find their happily ever after? Find out in this funny, romantic, endlessly charming e-novella sequel to When Dimple Met Rishi!

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Start reading now!

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4. The Thief by Jessica Brody and Joanne Rendell

A short story prequel to Sky Without Stars about the origins of fan-favorite character, Chatine!

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Start reading now!

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5. These Precious Scars by Emily Suvada

A haunting short story prequel to the Mortal Coil series.

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Start reading now!

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6. Better Than the Prom by Lynn Painter

A swoonworthy short story from Wes’s perspective from Better Than the Movies.

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Start reading now!

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7. Uncharted Dreams by Pascale Lacelle

Romie Brysden is a Dreamer, the best at the prestigious Aldryn College for Lunar Magics. She knows the realm of dreams like a sea captain knows the tides. And she’s gone deeper into this vast sleepscape than any Dreamer ever has. This is a prequest short story to A Curious Tides.

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Start reading now!

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8. The Priest and the Shepherd by Chloe Gong

Set six years before the events of Foul Lady Fortune, The Priest and the Shepherd follows Orion’s sister, Phoebe, and his best friend, Silas!

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Start reading now!

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9. Our First Chance by Robbie Couch

Long before they were best friends, River wasn’t a fan of Dylan—Mavis’ suspiciously perfect new boyfriend who was slowly stealing her away. But in this short story prequel to Another First Chance, Mavis cleverly plans for them both to attend an Astronomy Club meeting, hoping the after-school activity brings the pair closer together. Meanwhile, many states away, the mastermind behind a secretive research group scores a big win that will upend the high schoolers’ lives forever…

Start reading now!

10. Better Than Before by Lynn Painter

Lynn Painter’s Better Than the Movies collides with Betting on You when, after meeting the annoyingly cute Bailey on his flight, Charlie gets picked at the airport up by his cousin, Wes, who introduces him to his annoyingly cute neighbor, Liz.

Start Reading Now!

11. Second First dATE BY RACHEL LYNN SOLOMON

Graduation has come and gone, and there’s one major milestone Rowan and Neil haven’t yet hit in their relationship: going on a real date. Neil’s planned every detail, determined to give his girlfriend the ultimate romantic evening, although he’s secretly worried their connection may not spark the way it did on the last day of school—which, given how much he adores her, would be absolutely devastating. When the night turns out to be one disaster after another, they realize the date itself hardly matters. They’re still completely starry-eyed over each other, and with a little of Seattle’s natural magic, they have a whole summer to get it right.

Start Reading Now!

12. Werewolves, witches & Wyverns by F.T. Lukens

Claire and Grant are best friends who love to play a fictional and fantastical table-top card game which features a bevy of supernatural beings including werewolves, witches, and wyverns. During a playing session, Claire accidentally opens a portal and she and Grant are promptly sucked into a parallel world that is startlingly familiar to their game and where the card dynamics allow them to cast magic spells. Thus, their adventure begins in the pilot episode of Werewolves, Witches, & Wyverns, the television show beloved and raved about by the characters of Otherworldly.

Start reading now!

13. Nothing Better Than You by Lynn Painter

Experience Wes and Liz’s first kiss from Better Than the Movies from Wes’s point of view!

Start Reading Now!

14. the way we met by amber smith

Eden and Josh are in a good place – finally. But now Eden is facing down a new major milestone: spending the weekend with Josh’s parents. The last time she met them, it didn’t exactly go so well. She needs it to be perfect, for them to like her, and like her with Josh. As the weekend unfolds and she gets to know Josh’s family, the return home also brings back memories of the first time Eden met Josh. The real story, the one Josh doesn’t even know…

Start Reading Now!

The weather is getting warmer, the flowers are blooming and we had an amazing group of must-read books that are coming out this May. If you haven’t added these reads to your TBR, stop what you’re doing and add them now!

Read on for an exclusive excerpt of If Looks Could Kill by Julie Berry!

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1888

Whitechapel, East London

Jack Has Thoughts Upon Reading the Morning Papers (Autumn 1888)

I was kinder than I could have been. Kinder to each hellcat than she deserved.

            It isn’t pain that pleasures me. Nor am I mad, unless we all are.

            Their suffering was brief. Instantaneous. They were asleep. They only felt a moment’s fear, if any, then slept for good. I freed them from their wretched lives while their minds reposed in peace. How much better do you treat the beasts you consume? Eat your breakfast bacon, you shopkeepers and clerks, you mistresses and mothers, and gossip about the Whitechapel horrors. Enjoy the entertainment with my compliments.

            Disease and drink and poverty were killing them before your eyes, and did you lift a hand to help? How easily you looked away as they died by the score. Now, thanks to me, you cannot look away. Not anymore.

            You who gasp at morning headlines, I laugh at your hypocrisy. You men who avail yourself of these wretched women’s disgusting delights, and pay less than the price of a loaf of bread, I know who you are. Far more are you scavengers of flesh than I.

            Since they are cattle to you, I’ll be your butcher. You churchgoers, who want the streets cleansed of these wicked whores – you propose no better solution than to raise the rent.

            But come. Be reasonable. Their bitter lives were fated to expire soon, existing as they do on gin. Mine is a life of grander stature. Nature fashioned me rare, unique. Mine is a deeper cunning, an intellect more refined. If offering fallen women upon an altar can preserve me, humanity is better served.

            They were poor. I am rich. They were loathsome. I am pure. They were ignorant. I am a man of learning. They were hideous. I am beautiful. They were female. I am not.

            Where is my sin? I am an angel of mercy, gently hastening a few across the valley of death, to leave their mortal woes behind. What happens to their corpses after they die – what of it? All decompose eventually.

            I mold their clay into truer sculptures than those you jostle and queue to pay to see at your waxworks and dime museums. Behold the true Anatomical Venus. A once-living woman, opened for scientific study and aesthetic pleasure. My fleshy handiwork. Their carcasses are my canvas to show the filth, the taint, the reeking excrement behind whoring, seducing womanhood.

            But even so, I am not cruel. Only when they were quietly gone did I set about my work.

            So write your screeds, you moralizers, but do not pretend you care for those women. You wanted these demons off the street as much as anyone of sense.

            Do not think you can know me. I walk among you daily with a seraph’s face. I sleep in peace when dawn approaches and I lay me down at last. 

The Bowery, Lower East Side, Manhattan

Tabitha – The Fire of the Spirit (Autumn 1888)

Funny thing about the fire of the Spirit. It burns hot in Army meetings, when the captain’s preaching, the singers are singing, the guitar playing, the tambourines jingling, and the people on either side of you are receiving Jesus, dancing for joy, and saying praise be, hallelujah, I’m a new woman, I’m alive in Christ, and they’re begging to enlist in the Lord’s army. It burns bright and hot enough that when they say to you, Sister Tabitha, are you ready to give your life to the Lord and take up his cross and march all the way to Babylon? (Even though it’s actually a train to New York City. I, for one, am not walking.) Are you ready to enlist in God’s Army and carry his banner into war? Are you ready to leave the home to go save souls? Are you ready to rescue sinners and snatch them back from the jaws of a dreadful fate? Are you? Are you?

            All that hot Spirit fire. It’s the kind of thing that makes you say yes.

            (And, possibly also the image of the absolute conniption Aunt Lorraine will have if you say yes gives the idea a bit more sparkle.)

            And you do feel something, just maybe not like what everyone else means by feeling the Spirit. Right in the middle of all that noise, there comes a quiet. You feel a warmth, a glow that fills you up from the inside, and all of a sudden your eyes are pricking and you fell as though beams of light are shooting out your fingers and toes. And it speaks to you. Tabitha, beloved daughter, here I am. I am with you, and I always have been. Come with me, dear one. I have a work for you to do. I need you to go find my other daughters who are lost and lead them home.

            You can’t really argue with that, can you? Not when all that love is pulsing through you till your bones tingle.

            In the meeting, with all the tambourines, you’re pretty sure “home” means the Heavenly Kingdom. The Pearly Gates. The Celestial City.

            But when you get to Babylon, or in this case, the Salvation Army headquarters in the basement underneath Steve Brodie’s Saloon on the Bowery, and you see some of those lost daughters through smudgy saloon windows, you realize maybe home is a mother and a father, back in Poughkeepsie, or Scranton, or West Springfield, weeping over their girl who followed a liar to Gotham and disappeared, never to be heard from again.

            Because she isn’t typing anybody’s letters, or bringing up the Missus’s breakfast tray, and she isn’t weaving cloth in a woolen mill. If only she were.

            She is a prisoner on the Devil’s Mile, one of the forgotten girls of the Bowery. Behind the bright lights and tinkling ivories, the laughter and the liquor, there she is. Behind a beaded curtain. Behind a painted face. Neither her body nor her broken heart belongs to her anymore.

Tabitha – The War Cry (Friday, September 7, 1888)

Commander Maud Booth had warned me – well, all of us – that Satan would strew trials and adversities in our path to glory. I just never expected one of them to be Pearl Davenport, my roommate and companion soldier in the Salvation Army. Wherever I go, there is Pearl, and wherever Pearl goes, there am I.   

            I arrived in New York on Saturday. I spent Sunday attending rally meetings, then several days training at headquarters. By Wednesday night, I’d been assigned my base camp – the one on the Bowery – and my comrade-in-arms. Pearl.

            I had brought a little present for my soon-to-be sister and absolute forever best friend, as yet unmet, likely to be the maid of honor at my wedding if I ever did marry: a bracelet of small coral beads. Modest and pretty. Not very expensive, but nice.

            I handed her the tissue-wrapped package.

            Some people look pleased when given a gift. Or, at least, they know how to fake it.

            She couldn’t, Pearl explained gravely, indulge in such vanity, however, to please me, she would accept the gift and sell it to feed the poor.

            And that was us, just getting started.

            Maid of dishonor at my wedding. Silly, silly me to think joining the Salvation Army would ensure I’d make new friends.

            I may have been somewhat snippish toward Pearl after the fourth or so little display of her precious piety. So much for new-roommate-sisterly-warmth. Grim politeness didn’t last a day before open hostilities broke out. Not for nothing are we called an army.

            It was Friday evening. We’d been companions for 46 hours. We marched up and down the Bowery and surrounding streets, entering concert saloons and grimy dives before they’d gotten going for the evening, though the saloons were certainly never empty. Dressed in our military uniforms – long blue serge skirts, long matching jackets trimmed in yellow, and poke-bonnet hats – we called people to hear the brass band performing that night at our base camp.

            This time, our fortunate host was O’Flynn’s Tavern, which meant that the proprietor and patrons would be Irish Catholic, and wouldn’t have any interest in a Salvation Army message.

            Men slowly craned their necks around to look at us. At Pearl.

            I might as well get this out of the way. She’d said little, but I felt I could construct her life story: Pearl was a bonnie farm lass from a poor but humble family who read their Bible nightly and held each other’s hands at prayer, when they weren’t ladling soup down the gullets of the sick and elderly. She was pure and holy, but with a feisty streak that fit her Army calling, and as pretty as Little Bo Peep. Strawberry blond curls and rosy cheeks. Her soul was clad in a blue gingham frock. Little lambs gamboled at her feet. (The feet of her soul. Never mind.) I didn’t know what “gamboling” looked like – not many sheep in my city home – but that’s what sheep would do around Pearl. Angels probably did, too. These men at the bar would gambol if it meant they could keep company with Pearl, except that Pearl was cemented, head to toe, to Jesus, who is almost as effective as a squinty-eyed maiden aunt at keeping male suitors at bay. My aunt Lorraine thwarted my chances of winning the only boy I thought I could love in high school, not that those chances were great, mind you; in my case, I didn’t blame Jesus. 

            Where was I?

            As always: Pearl. Right now: O’Flynn’s Tavern. Staring men. I’ll proceed.

            O’Flynn’s was your basic Lower East Side tavern, the bottom floor of a tenement on a side street, below pavement level. The men looked like they’d put in a long day’s grimy work.

            The barkeep was young, with a wiry frame and a thick shock of dark hair. He was handsome, in spite of the toothpick jawing away at the corner of his mouth, which thing I never could abide. He took in Pearl and me as though he thought, well, now we’re in for some fun.

            “You’re all invited, gentlemen,” declared Pearl, “to tonight’s Hallelujah Spree. 8 o’clock at the Salvation Army outpost beneath Steve Brodie’s saloon on the Bowery.”

            Silence greeted this announcement.

            The undaunted Pearl went on. “Tonight’s meeting will be better than any show on earth.”

            “What’ve you got,” said a grizzled older man, “a circus?”

            “Bigger than a circus,” cried my companion. “We’ll have music and singing, and a marching band, and preaching that’ll curl your hair!” This drew some laughs.

            “That’d be quite a job, Ronnie,” said the barkeep, “seeing as you’ve got none.”

            His voice lilted like a true Irishman’s. Musical.

            We sang them a hymn. “I’m a soldier, bound for glory.”

                                                I love Jesus, hallelujah!
                                                I love Jesus, yes, I do;
                                                I love Jesus, he’s my Saviour,
                                                Jesus smiles and loves me too.

            Pearl is, of course, the soprano. But: our voices blend nicely, and the music always is, in its way, its own reward. A few of the patrons of O’Flynn’s closed their eyes to listen.

            The chorus ended. The sullen stares wore on, and I wanted to die, but Pearl’s cheeks flushed red with triumph. She was doing heroic work. A true soldier in God’s army.

            She held a handful of copies of “The War Cry,” the Salvation Army’s gospel newsletter, high like Lady Liberty with her torch. “Who will buy a copy of ‘The War Cry?’” she asked the room. “It’ll be the best penny you’ll ever spend. The one that changes your life forever.”

            No one wanted a copy of “The War Cry.”

            She looked about the room expectantly.

            No one wanted a copy of “The War Cry.”

            She gave her papers a flourish like a baton. Splendid wrist action.

            Strangely, still, no one wanted a copy of “The War Cry.”

            I cleared my throat. “It has a very interesting article in it,” I said, feeling I ought to make an attempt, “of a man who got a raise in pay after he turned his life over to the Lord.”

            A few coughs ensued, some waggling eyebrows from the barkeep, some shifting and pawing through pockets. Pearl sold five copies of “The War Cry” and collected her pennies.

            Bald Ronnie rolled the paper into a tube. “See here,” he said, “what’s in this thing?”

            “The latest bulletins from the battlefield,” Pearl told him.

            He scratched his nose. “You mean, that war in Africa?”

            “The war for souls.” She was enjoying herself, and oddly, so were the men at the bar.

            “Anything in it about the election?” asked the young bartender.

            “Everything you need to know,” she said, “about blessings poured out upon God’s elect.”

            “Elect,” crowed Ronnie. “She’s got you there, Mike.” The bartender, evidently Mike, grinned good-naturedly and dried another mug with his towel. 

            “Got any fighting news in it?” asked a huge fellow, getting in on the spirit of the thing. His build and mashed nose suggested a side career in basement boxing.

            “Absolutely,” declared Pearl. “Every detail of the fight to win souls for the Lord.”

            Now is not the time, I had to remind myself, to slink out of the room.

            I sidled over to the bar and extended a hand to the barkeeper. “I’m Tabitha,” I whispered. “We might as well get acquainted.”

He grinned. “Mike.”

            “I know,” I said. “I mean, I heard.”

            “Spying on me, eh?” He dried his hand on the towel at his waist and thrust it at me. “I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of you two, now, won’t we?”

            I smiled in spite of myself. The voice. “Probably.”

            He waved a mug he was drying in Pearl’s direction. “Who’s your friend?”

            She’s not my friend. “Pearl.”

            A fellow seated nearby chimed in. “Poil, the Goil with the Coils.”

            I will never get used to these New York accents.

            “I’m guessing you two haven’t been working together long,” said Mike.

            My heart sank. “Is it obvious?”

            He leaned closer to whisper conspiratorially. “The look on your face. Like she was a rotten egg that had just bust open. Might’ve been a clue.”

            “Oh.” I felt my face flood with embarrassment. “I’ll have to work on that, won’t I? Not very good for the cause, I mean.”

            “P ’raps not,” Mike agreed, “but entertaining. Pleased to meet you, Miss Tabitha.”

            “And you,” I said, “Mr., er, Mike.”

            “Oi, Mr. Mike,” said a young tough at the bar, “pour the ale, and leave the Sallys be.”

            Mike gave me a wink, then turned back to the tap and his other customers. Pearl stood at the door, watching me curiously, then exited. I hurried out after her into the twilit street.

Tabitha – Soldiers, Sallys, and Hallelujah Lasses (Friday, September 7, 1888)

“Where to now?” I asked Pearl.

            She hesitated. “Downtown,” she said. “Let’s take Chrystie down as far as Canal, and see what we find, then make our way back to base for supper. Preaching all the way.”

            I groaned inwardly but said nothing.

            Pearl invited everyone we passed on the street. She urged them to visit our Hallelujah Spree. She offered them The War Cry. People laughed, or ducked down and pretended not to see us. Some heckled and jeered. She tried the ballyman at one of our dozens of dime museums, this one promising a preserved mermaid, but he waved her away. She even tried her luck on a teenaged girl in pigtails who stopped to ask us for directions.

            “Pardon me,” the girl said, “can you point me toward Spring Street?”

            “We’re soldiers in the Lord’s army of salvation,” Pearl told her proudly. “Would you support our cause by buying a copy of The War Cry, our news bulletin? It’s only a penny.”

            I cringed. Not now, Pearl!

            The poor girl looked stricken. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I used up my money to get here, and then the fare on the Elevated…”

            “That’s all right,” I said quickly. “There’s no need to buy a paper.”

            Pearl scowled.

            The girl thought the scowl was for her. She backed away. “I…can find my own way.”

            “No, don’t,” I told her. “We can help.” I couldn’t direct her myself, so I cast a pointed glance at Pearl, who rolled her eyes as though this was the absolute last straw.

            “Back up to Delancey,” Pearl told her tersely, gesturing up Chrystie, the way we’d come. “Take a left, then a quick right onto the Bowery, and Spring Street will be your next left.”

            “Thank you.” The girl took off up Chrystie with her little suitcase swinging at her side.

            Pearl chafed. “What a waste of time. Think of all the passersby we didn’t invite.”

            I thought of them, all right. They were the lucky ones.

            It was now the hour when the last waves of working men and women tramped home, when the odor of boiled cabbage rivaled the ever-present smell of beer. A steely sky overhung the city, and not just from coalsmoke. Saloons blazed with electric light, while from their upper rooms, red lampshades cast a lurid glow down upon the pavement. In side streets, kerosene lamps lit tenement windows. Everywhere except on Hester Street, where candles gleamed. This, Pearl had explained earlier, was a largely Jewish neighborhood. The sun had not quite yet set, so the Jewish Sabbath was about to start. The sense of expectancy was tangible.

            Some passerby made a crack about a ‘pair of Sallys.’ This gave Pearl a new vent for her anger. Other than me, I mean.

            “‘Sallys,’” she muttered. “I hate it when they call us that. We’re soldiers.”

            “It’s not so bad,” I reminded her, “as ‘Hallelujah Lasses.’”

            She directed a sideways glance my way. “You know, for someone so reluctant to enter that pub,” she said, “you certainly had a hard time tearing yourself away from the bar.”

            I marched on, avoiding her gaze.

            “Or was it the barkeeper?”

            “I was just doing my job.” I spared her none of my indignation. “Commander Booth says we should make friends with the barkeepers.”

            “Friends?”

            “I merely shook hands,” I said, “and politely introduced myself.”

            A corseted older woman laden down with parcels paused to regard us curiously.

            Once again, Pearl switched modes instantly. “Good evening, ma’am,” she told the startled woman. “We are soldiers in the Lord’s army of salvation. Would you buy a copy of our bulletin, The War Cry, for one penny, detailing our rescue labors on behalf the working poor?”

            “Ah.” The woman’s face melted like lard in a pan. “I’ve read about you dear girls,” she gushed. “You’re doing a necessary work for the poor, God love you. Yes, I’ll buy one.”

            But her hands were too full of parcels. Soon I staggered under the weight of what felt like cast-iron pans for seventeen of her relations, so she could obtain the precious penny.

            At last the woman and her penny, and Pearl and her War Cry, were properly parted, and we continued our walk. Nighttime was now full. The Bowery’s lights flaunted their brilliance in defiance of the gathering dark.

            “Isn’t it wonderful, Sister Tabitha,” Pearl said, “that we are counted worthy to suffer ridicule for the Lord’s name?”

            I’m not making this up.

            “No, it isn’t wonderful,” I said. “It’s awful, and miserable, and embarrassing. I hate it.”

            She gave me a wide-eyed look of righteous horror.

            “You just said it yourself,” I told her. “You hate it when they call us ‘Sallys.’”

            “If I didn’t hate it,” she said primly, “then it wouldn’t be persecution, and if it weren’t persecution, we wouldn’t receive the blessings promised to those who suffer for Christ.”

            “Seems it would be a lot more efficient,” I told her, “for you and for Jesus, if you just admitted that you like it.”

            That got in amongst her. More efficient for Jesus! What a sacrilege.

            “Make up your mind,” I said. “Hate it or love it. Wonderful or persecution. You can’t have both.”

            Words failed her. Her retort was pathetic. “Oh? And what do you have, Miss Wise One?”

            “A blister on my little toe,” I said, “from tramping around in wet stockings in the rain.”

            Pearl smiled sweetly. The thought of my blister must have delighted her rotten heart. “‘Count it all joy,’ the Bible says,” she told me. “From the Epistle of James.”

            “‘Stay home in bed,’” I replied. “From the Epistle of Me.”

            She shook her head. “I keep asking myself, why are you even here?”

            I choked back a bitter laugh. “You and me both.”

            Pearl was now jumping up and down, and waving on tiptoe to a figure across the street.

            “Yoo-hoo,” she shrilled. “Mr. Laurier!”

            “Mister” Percival Laurier was all of nineteen years old, a new soldier in the Army, fresh from Pittsburgh, the rising star of our rallies and nightly preaching. Laurier, unlike the farm and factory lads the Army usually attracts, came to us with a passionate conversion story, a towering charisma, an athlete’s build, a Grecian profile and, the absolute coup de grace, wavy dark curls. Young female attendance at rallies, thanks to this paragon, was soaring.

            May heaven help us all.  

Whitechapel, East London

Jack After Annie (Saturday, September 9, 1888)

He pockets a pair of rings he found on her fingers; a souvenir, then wraps his prizes in butcher’s paper and folds the parcel into his inside coat pocket along with the blade.

            Footsteps approach. Time to be gone. He is on his feet, slipping through a back gate and then a darkened court without a look back. The rising sun hasn’t found the East End yet.

            It’s so easy. Each time heightens his danger in a city now searching desperately for him. Official vigilance prowls the streets, those terrified dopes, marching about with their torches and rattles while inside, trembling in fear. He will laugh at their impotence tonight, back at his lodgings, enjoying a cigar after a decent wash.

            There. The constable on patrol has already found her. That’s the bloke now, bleating for help. He slows his steps. He is not a man escaping the grisly scene of a human butchery, no. He’s just been out drinking. He’s on his way home. That’s all. He has no reason to dread the weak light cast by one of Whitechapel’s sparse gas lamps, up ahead.

            A rag in his pocket makes quick work of the blood on his hands. He’ll have to check his trousers. He felt her pooling blood as he knelt about his quick work. Trousers can be burned.

            A figure steps out from a doorway up ahead, in the glow of that lamp. Female. He tugs the brim of his hat low over his eyes. All Whitechapel is an eyewitness suddenly, and the papers are full of their stories of how they saw the killer himself, in the flesh. He delights in their ludicrous descriptions of him.

            The woman accosts him. Thinking to make a quick conquest. No, not a woman. A girl. Too slender of waist to be older as most are, and too plump of flesh to be as hungry as most are. He can’t see much of her face. She wears a wide-brimmed hat fringed with dark lace.

            “’Scuse me, sir,” she says. “Lend a poor girl fivepence? For my lodgings?”

            It’s how they all start in. “Lend” her indeed. “No.”

            “Where are you off to, then?” Playfully, like any East End street-walker plying her trade.

            He turns away and shoulders past her, but she seizes a fistful of his coat.

            “You’re too young,” he tells her. “Be off with you.”

            “I smell her on you,” she tells him. “Blood. Entrails.”

            He freezes. That’s not possible. No one saw. No one knew. She’s bluffing.

            Under his jacket, he curls his fingers around the haft of his knife.

            She must be silenced, now, while the constables stare at his earlier handiwork. His gaze rakes the square. That forlorn little court is dark enough. Two in one night. Two within minutes.

            She takes a little promenade around him till he’s turned about with his back to the light.

            “Look me in the eye, and tell me what you see.”

            “Let’s go where we can be alone,” he whispers. “I’ll look into your eyes a long while.”

            “I hope so.”

            She raises her chin and flips upward the dark lace rimming the brim of her hat.

            Lamplight gleams in wet sheen of her eyes.

            And he’s falling, falling. His shin bones liquefy, his bowels turn to dust. A high wind shrieks around him, tugging at his clothes, eroding his face.

            But he’s just standing there, and so is she.

            A reflected flame pulses in her eyes. Inside it, a woman. His latest victim. Her, and not her. Not the pungent, pathetic drunk he’d found, but a goddess of wrath, clad in queenly silks, yet wearing his victim’s fresh-killed face. She glides toward him, propelled by rage.

            His vision swims before him. Her fingers aren’t fingers, but intestines. No, snakes. No, daggers in the hand of a hideous, loathsome monster. No, tendrils of hair waving in the night wind, around the face of a young girl with a smooth young mouth, and wet, luminous eyes.

            He staggers backward, and catches her gaze. Now she’s the one who looks unsure.

            “How—” she begins. “Look at me.”

            He’s powerless to resist. He looks at her. She is standing in a different place. But where before, she seemed commanding, she now looks agitated, confused. She shakes herself as if waking from a dream. As if making up her mind, resigning herself to something.

            The light, somehow, feels changed. Dawn is faintly visible in the sky now. A man and a woman, fresh from an all-night tavern, pass by on the opposite side of the street, singing loudly and out of tune. He didn’t remember them being there before.

He looks back at the girl, now settling the lace once more over the brim of her hat.

            “We’re coming for you,” she tells him. “Run if you like, but we’re coming.”

~

            The last thing a man should do on the streets of Whitechapel, just after the police discover another of his victims, is run.

            The only thing a man can think of to do, when he has met his doom, is run.

            The most useless thing a man can do when his own flesh itself is cursed is run.

            Run, Jack, run, fast as you can.

The Bowery, Lower East Side, Manhattan

Tabitha – Reasons (Friday, September 7, 1888)

To Pearl’s point, to her question, why was I here?

            First, it was because I thought I felt God calling me to come.

            Then it was because Aunt Lorraine loathed the idea with a quivering passion. I could stop right there.

            Then, it was because I had all the arguments with her and my dad about it, in which I vowed that I knew what I was doing, and was dead set upon going, so to give up now and go back would be to eat crow. No, thank you.

            Then, it was because I’d been feeling restless, and a bit adrift, ever since my dearest friend and beloved cousin, Jane, only one year my senior, had had the cheek to leave me bereft by getting married and moving to Boston. She was nauseatingly happy. She barely had time to write, so busy was she in feathering her nest. Her Gerald was, I suppose, acceptable, as bridegrooms go, though I certainly couldn’t see what Jane saw in him. But I needed something to fill the void her abandonment and betrayal had opened. Not that I was bitter. Ahem.

            Then, it was because I had promised I would, and then because I had taken the train to the city, and was here now, and so I might as well stay, there being no pressing engagement calling me elsewhere.

            And then it was because I met our Co-Commanders, Mr. Ballington Booth, and his young wife, Mrs. Maud Booth. I would follow Mrs. Booth to Mars if she was forming an expedition, and if she got wind of any poor, lost souls up there, that’s just what she would do. Both she and her husband are wonderful, and she, so bold! Such an outspoken leader. Beloved by audiences of both men and women. I don’t believe she and her husband ever sleep. They work and work for the good of the poorest people in New York. They embody what we’re all supposedly trying to be. Where they lead, I’d like to follow. Even if it means living ‘round the clock with Pearl.

            So the Commanders Booth were two of my reasons.

            But then it was because I arrived in town and saw the need. So much need. That’s what hooked itself into my heart.

            And God’s call? I don’t know. I just don’t know. I know it felt real then. I know I’ve felt nothing like it since. I don’t know if it was a trick of the preaching, or the music.

            But I know there are an awful lot of folks here needing help.

            I think, perhaps, that’s all I know.

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Read on for an exclusive excerpt of All the Tomorrows After by Joanne Yi!

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Prologue

            Four thousand, two hundred sixty-seven dollars and fifty-five cents.

            This is what I’m worth: stacks of crumpled bills, light in my palms. If I’m not careful, they might slip away, spiraling into the night like smoke. 

            I cram the ragged envelope back into its spot behind the dresser. At my desk, I scribble the amount in my notebook and study the column of numbers preceding it.

            Five thousand, seven hundred thirty-two dollars and forty-five cents to go.

            Then I can disappear.

Chapter 1

            When I was five, my halmoni taught me how to make origami cranes. I watched the paper squares transform into proud creatures, each intricate fold hidden from view. Peacock blue, marigold yellow, inky violet peppered with stars.

            Sometimes I think of those cranes. How existence can sprout from nothing. How I’ve mastered the art of folding into myself, pleat by tiny pleat. How I wait, yet, for the majestic to unfurl.

Sometimes I head up to the roof and peer over the crumbling wall, six stories to the ground. The thrill of falling, without the fall. My body both drained and energized, quaking with the reminder of being alive.

The view over this side of Sierra Park isn’t great. A grid of worn-out homes and strip malls, lawns yellowing from too much California sun. But it’s about the possibilities—the prospect of escape, the idea that I’ll become fully realized once I’m gone.

I subsist on it, that burrowing want. For emergence. A budding. A release.

            I wait. And I wait.

Chapter 2

            The TV is always on, flickering in the cramped bedroom. My grandma’s gaze stays on her favorite Saturday show, even as I offer up spoons of leftover vegetable jook.

            “Just a little more, Halmoni, and I’ll bring you sikhye later,” I say in Korean. She nods at the mention of her favorite rice drink. Porridge drips onto her blanket-covered lap. I wipe it away with a finger.

            Halmoni is a bird with a crest of white hair floating about her face. She swims in her faded blue shirt, which used to be mine. Soon, she might disappear completely, leaving only a mound of cotton behind.

            “Bribery. No wonder she loves you,” my mother says from the doorway. I’m Sunny, the tag on her work shirt declares—the name she prefers over Sun-young. Ironic. She is anything but sunny.

            Then she turns away, cursing the time, late for her shift as usual. There is the scramble for her things, followed by the slam of the door. Once she leaves, my body uncoils. I inhale and inhale, trying to fill up the crater inside me. The air is always stale here, almost solid in its mustiness. Like it hasn’t circulated since we first moved in a decade ago.

            Halmoni pushes the bowl away, though it’s still half full. She taps my shoulder in a silent question, and I lie, as I do every morning, “Don’t worry, I’ve eaten.”

            Breakfast has always been ours. The two of us at our tiny dining table, awaiting the day’s approach. A stack of toast, a mixing bowl of cereal, or a mound of sliced fruit between us. Our sanctum, the lull before school or work, before Sunny woke, before the neighbors started up their noise.

            Halmoni nods and squeezes my hand. She barely talks anymore. Her life plods on without mercy, trapped within the yellowing walls of this apartment. Broken appliances and stained beige carpet, hiding decades of secrets. Warped furniture and not enough windows. A narrow room shared with Sunny. Sometimes she gazes up at the ceiling for hours, her face blank and drooping. Like a part of her is already gone.

            Our morning ritual looks different now, but it still belongs to us. In these hushed moments together, Halmoni and I are okay.

            I lay my head onto the edge of the bed and close my eyes. She pats my cheek with cool fingers. They feel like feathers.

Chapter 3

            The customer is always right.

            We aim to please and never fight.

            This is our daily mantra at Café Sonata. Even with the most difficult customers, who find fault with every damn thing. Like the woman in the front now, whose clarion voice rises above the afternoon din. I watch while arranging desserts in the display case.

            “Are you trying to give me diabetes?” She shoves her cup toward Eun-ji, the newest barista. The customer’s cropped hair is a helmet, plastered to her head. A red Chanel bag swings from her arm. “Remake it or give me a refund.”

            “I’d be happy to remake it for you,” Eun-ji says. “But caramel lattes are supposed to be sweet.”

            “They must be hiring idiots these days.” She picks up the cup and slams it back down. Milk splatters onto the marbled countertop. “Say ‘nae, I’m sorry,’ and make it again.”

            Okay. Enough. I abandon the desserts and join Eun-ji at the register.

            “What’s the problem?” I offer my best smile. The customer is always right.

            “My drink is so sweet, my teeth are aching.” The woman bares said teeth.

            “You’re welcome to change your—”

            “If I get cavities, are you going to pay the bill? You can’t even afford it.” She purses her lips so hard, it looks painful.

            “I check the cup for her order. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have asked for five pumps of caramel.” I manage to keep my tone pleasant, though the irritation is ballooning, blazing in my chest.

            “Winter, it’s okay,” Eun-ji hisses, tugging my arm.

            “Didn’t your mother teach you to respect your elders?” Spit flies from the woman’s mouth and lands on my arm. “My daughter would never—”

            “Only if they deserve it,” I say. My mother hasn’t taught me much, I don’t add. My jaw aches from clenching.

            “Winter.” The manager, Joo-hyun, appears to my left and pinches my side. She apologizes to the woman. “Jwesonghabnida. Let me remake your latte. And your next two drinks are on us.”

            “Once we’re alone, she frowns at me. “What’s going on with you lately? Your only job is to make the customers happy.”

            “And somehow make caramel lattes not sweet,” I say. I watch the woman yank a clump of napkins from the dispenser, followed by a handful of sugar packets. She drops them all into her bag.

            “Consider this your last warning. You’re not indispensable.” Joo-hyun tucks a lock of chin-length hair behind her ear. Her earring looks like a silver egg, stretching out the lobe. “I know you need this job, but I’m not above asking you to leave. You’re bringing down our image.”

            She turns away and begins to grind espresso beans, her movements brisk.

            Image means Café Sonata’s spacious, slate-gray interior with marble accents and geometric light fixtures. Image means the four-star rating we have online—God forbid it drops to three point nine. Image means going along with the charade that we’re located in the affluent heart of Cheongdam, not an anonymous suburb no one cares about. Joo-hyun Image means Café Sonata’s spacious, slate-gray interior with marble accents and geometric light fixtures. Image means the four-star rating we have online—God forbid it drops to three point nine. Image means going along with the charade that we’re located in the affluent heart of Cheongdam, not an anonymous suburb no one cares about. Joo-hyun likes to believe this place is much more important than it is.

            But it’s easier than other jobs I’ve had, and minimum wage is better than nothing. Plus, getting paid under the table, all cash, is the best I can ask for. Even if it’s only so I can work more hours than strictly legal. An actual paycheck would just be taken by Sunny, never to be seen again.

            “Sorry,” I say to Joo-hyun’s back. “I’ll do better.”

            “You need anger management classes.”

            “Anger isn’t the issue. She deserved it.”

            “Oh, yes. According to you, they always deserve it.” She shakes her head as she tamps the grounds. “You’re lucky to even be working here. Don’t make me regret taking a chance on you.”

            She spouts some variation of this every week, like I should grovel at her feet with gratitude. But here’s the truth: the choice was between me and an older man who wouldn’t stop leering at the other baristas. I needed this job, and Joo-hyun needed me.

            Sorry, Eun-ji mouths from nearby, looking embarrassed. I wave her apology away. She’s a year older than me, an international student at UC Irvine. Kind and patient and soft-spoken. Likable.

            Not like me at all.

---

Pre-order your copy of All the Tomorrows After or add it to your Goodreads Shelf!

We’re looking forward to a TON of amazing books that are coming out in 2025! Check out this list of all the upcoming books we can’t for you to read this year, and be sure to add them all to your TBR.

We have an AMAZING group of must-read books coming out this April! With everything from a highly-anticipated conclusion to the Powerless Trilogy to a moving story about brotherhood, identity, and social justice, there’s something for everyone on this list. Which of these books are you most looking forward to reading?

Did someone say new Free Reads? Yes, that’s right, we did! And we are so excited for April’s Free Reads: historical fiction books that you will love! Plus, check out all of April’s new releases with extended excerpts and some extras for National Poetry Month!

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Free Reads are only available to Simon Teen members! Not a Simon Teen member yet? It’s free and easy to sign up! Click here to set up your account now. 

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Full Reads

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1. These Violent Delights by Chloe Gong

Perfect for fans of The Last Magician and Serpent & Dove, this heart-stopping debut is an imaginative Romeo and Juliet retelling set in 1920s Shanghai, with rival gangs and a monster in the depths of the Huangpu River.

Start reading now!

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2. SPIN by Rebecca Caprara

The Song of Achilles and Circe get a sapphic, young adult twist in this gorgeously lush, feminist retelling of the myth of Arachne spun in moving verse.

Start reading now!

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3. Rima’s Rebellion by Margarita ENgle

An inspiring coming-of-age story from award-winning author Margarita Engle about a girl falling in love for the first time while finding the courage to protest for women’s right to vote in 1920s Cuba.

Start reading now!

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Extended Excerpts

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1. The Hallow HUnt by Margie Fuston

Bly has nothing left to lose in her quest to save her sister in this thrilling sequel to The Revenant Games that’s perfect for fans of All of Us Villains meets Kingdom of the Wicked.

Start reading now! 

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2. Fearless by Lauren Roberts (Available 4/8)

Paedyn and Kai are reunited but face a terrible decision in this thrilling conclusion to the New York Times bestselling romantic fantasy trilogy perfect for fans of Sarah J. Maas and The Red Queen.

Start reading now! 

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3. All the Noise at Once by Deandra Davis

In this compelling, moving story about brotherhood, identity, and social justice, a Black, autistic teen tries to figure out what happened the night his older brother was unjustly arrested.

Start reading now! 

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4. Under the Fading Sky by Cynthia Kadohata

A teen boy thinks his vaping habit is harmless until it becomes a crippling addiction of nightmarish dimensions in this searing young adult novel from Newbery and National Book Award winner Cynthia Kadohata.

Start reading now! 

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5. Love at Second Sight by F. T. Lukens

When a teen has an unexpected vision about a future murder, he must juggle newfound interest from the supernatural community with trying to prevent the murder from happening in this new romantic fantasy from New York Times bestselling author F.T. Lukens.

Start reading now! 

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6. A Traitorous Heart by Erin Cotter

A noblewoman in the scandalous French court finds herself under the dangerous and watchful eye of the Parisian royalty when she falls in love with the handsome king who is betrothed to her former lover in this bisexual The Three Musketeers by way of Bridgerton and F.T. Lukens.

Start reading now! 

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7. By Any Other Name by Erin Cotter

A down-on-his-luck actor and an English lord reluctantly team up to solve the murder of Christopher Marlowe in this Shakespearean-era young adult romp perfect for fans of F.T. Lukens and Mackenzi Lee.

Start reading now! 

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8. Bridge Across the Sky by Freeman NG

A raw and honest historical novel in verse about a Chinese teen who immigrates to the United States with his family and endures mistreatment at the Angel Island Immigration Station while trying to navigate his own course in a new world.

Start Reading Now!

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9. Legendborn by Tracy Deonn

Filled with mystery and an intriguingly rich magic system, Tracy Deonn’s YA contemporary fantasy reinvents the King Arthur legend and “braids together Southern folk traditions and Black Girl Magic into a searing modern tale of grief, power, and self-discovery” (Dhonielle Clayton, New York Times bestselling author of The Belles).

Start reading now! 

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10. Powerless by Lauren Roberts

Perfect for fans of Sarah J. Maas, this young adult fantasy follows the forbidden romance between a powerful prince and an ordinary girl as they try to survive their kingdom’s grueling laws pitting them against each other.

Start reading now! 

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Extras

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1. The Eid Gift by S.K. Ali

The Eid Gift is a companion short story to Love from A to Z. Adam and Zayneb —engaged but continents apart for so long— are finally in the same city!

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Start reading now!

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2. Love at First Fight by Sandhya Menon

Join Dimple and Rishi as they do an escape room in this exclusive short story from Sandhya Menon! You’ll also see how Pinky and Samir met for the first time before you can read about them in 10 Things I Hate About Pinky.

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Start reading now!

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3. As Kismet Would Have It by Sandhya Menon

Will Dimple and Rishi find their happily ever after? Find out in this funny, romantic, endlessly charming e-novella sequel to When Dimple Met Rishi!

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Start reading now!

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4. The Thief by Jessica Brody and Joanne Rendell

A short story prequel to Sky Without Stars about the origins of fan-favorite character, Chatine!

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Start reading now!

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5. These Precious Scars by Emily Suvada

A haunting short story prequel to the Mortal Coil series.

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Start reading now!

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6. Better Than the Prom by Lynn Painter

A swoonworthy short story from Wes’s perspective from Better Than the Movies.

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Start reading now!

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7. Uncharted Dreams by Pascale Lacelle

Romie Brysden is a Dreamer, the best at the prestigious Aldryn College for Lunar Magics. She knows the realm of dreams like a sea captain knows the tides. And she’s gone deeper into this vast sleepscape than any Dreamer ever has. This is a prequest short story to A Curious Tides.

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Start reading now!

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8. The Priest and the Shepherd by Chloe Gong

Set six years before the events of Foul Lady Fortune, The Priest and the Shepherd follows Orion’s sister, Phoebe, and his best friend, Silas!

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Start reading now!

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9. Our First Chance by Robbie Couch

Long before they were best friends, River wasn’t a fan of Dylan—Mavis’ suspiciously perfect new boyfriend who was slowly stealing her away. But in this short story prequel to Another First Chance, Mavis cleverly plans for them both to attend an Astronomy Club meeting, hoping the after-school activity brings the pair closer together. Meanwhile, many states away, the mastermind behind a secretive research group scores a big win that will upend the high schoolers’ lives forever…

Start reading now!

10. Better Than Before by Lynn Painter

Lynn Painter’s Better Than the Movies collides with Betting on You when, after meeting the annoyingly cute Bailey on his flight, Charlie gets picked at the airport up by his cousin, Wes, who introduces him to his annoyingly cute neighbor, Liz.

Start Reading Now!

11. Second First dATE BY RACHEL LYNN SOLOMON

Graduation has come and gone, and there’s one major milestone Rowan and Neil haven’t yet hit in their relationship: going on a real date. Neil’s planned every detail, determined to give his girlfriend the ultimate romantic evening, although he’s secretly worried their connection may not spark the way it did on the last day of school—which, given how much he adores her, would be absolutely devastating. When the night turns out to be one disaster after another, they realize the date itself hardly matters. They’re still completely starry-eyed over each other, and with a little of Seattle’s natural magic, they have a whole summer to get it right.

Start Reading Now!

12. Werewolves, witches & Wyverns by F.T. Lukens

Claire and Grant are best friends who love to play a fictional and fantastical table-top card game which features a bevy of supernatural beings including werewolves, witches, and wyverns. During a playing session, Claire accidentally opens a portal and she and Grant are promptly sucked into a parallel world that is startlingly familiar to their game and where the card dynamics allow them to cast magic spells. Thus, their adventure begins in the pilot episode of Werewolves, Witches, & Wyverns, the television show beloved and raved about by the characters of Otherworldly.

Start reading now!

13. Nothing Better Than You by Lynn Painter

Experience Wes and Liz’s first kiss from Better Than the Movies from Wes’s point of view!

Start Reading Now!

14. the way we met by amber smith

Eden and Josh are in a good place – finally. But now Eden is facing down a new major milestone: spending the weekend with Josh’s parents. The last time she met them, it didn’t exactly go so well. She needs it to be perfect, for them to like her, and like her with Josh. As the weekend unfolds and she gets to know Josh’s family, the return home also brings back memories of the first time Eden met Josh. The real story, the one Josh doesn’t even know…

Start Reading Now!