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Following the rules isn't Jo Clawson's forte. The 11-year-old knows how she's supposed to behave - prim and proper, as befitting her position as a preacher's daughter - but she just can't seem to mold herself into the demure Goody-to-Shoes everyone expects her to be. She'd rather look for adventures in the woods, dance to Elvis and sip vanilla Cokes at the diner than sit around and read her Bible. Moving to tiny Jericho, South Carolina, means a new start for restless Jo. She vows to fit in this time, promising her parents no more schoolyard brawls, no troublemaking and definitely no trouble-seeking. Easier said than done. Jo has a knack for getting herself into sticky situations, and this time, she may not be able to pry herself loose.

Jo's never seen a black person before, let alone hung out with one, so she's not quite sure what to make of Lucas Jefferson. He's a loudmouth, that's for certain. He's also gentle, fun, and her only real friend. So what if he lives in the colored quarters, a place she's definitely not supposed to be anywhere near? Who cares if she can't tell a soul about her newfound buddy? It's worth it, isn't it, to have a friend like Lucas?

In the 1950s South, Jo and Lucas' clandestine friendship is not just scandalous, it's dangerous - for both of them. Especially when Lucas makes the bold decision to stand up for his rights. Torn between supporting her friend and keeping her promise to stay out of trouble, Jo must question her loyalties, as well as her own sense of justice. She's practically pinky sworn not to fight, but aren't some things in life worth the battle?

While Jericho Walls by Kristi Collier tells a familiar story, it's the voice of its narrator that makes the book really stand out. You can't help but love Jo - she's vulnerable ("I decided then and there that being alone and friendless was something that sounded romantic in books, but in real life ... wasn't that great at all" [109]), but spunky enough to quote the "the wickedest verses I knew of in the whole New Testament" (156) to a roomful of church men. Gentle Lucas provides the perfect counterpoint to spirited Jo, although he's got too much of his own pluck to let a skinny little white girl get anything over on him. It's natural to root for this pair, to want their easy friendship to endure despite all the odds stacked against it. Although stories about the Civil Rights Movement are rarely warm and fuzzy, Jericho Walls manages to be both heartwarming and true. I adore it.

(Readalikes: a little like To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee)

Grade: B+

If this were a movie, it would be rated: PG for mature themes (racism, interracial marriage, etc.)

To the FTC, with love: Another library fine find

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• Unlike the other members in her family, Bronwen has brown hair. Underneath the blonde dye job her mother insists on, anyway.
• While Bronwen is passingly pretty and has plenty of friends, she's not exactly Homecoming queen material. Unlike her mother, who's still beautiful and svelte enough to earn the title.
• Bronwen detests ketchup. Enough said.
• Although she's a good girl - she doesn't drink or smoke and refuses to have sex before she's married - Bronwen's far from perfect. Unlike her brother, St. Peter (aka Jesus), who practically walks on water.
• Bronwen wants to be a journalist. A writer in her family tree? Highly unlikely.
• Although none of the other Olivers will mention his name or touch the topic of grief with a 10-foot pole, Bronwen desperately misses her dead father.

It's uncanny, really. Why Bronwen's so-called mother hasn't figured out the mistake yet is beyond her. It's pretty obvious to Bronwen that somewhere out there, a sane, brown-haired, news-loving family is wondering how they ended up with a blonde, manicure-obsessed, ketchup-loving, Homecoming queen in the making. All it would take is a little switcheroo to bring the world back into balance.

A girl can dream, anyway. The fact is, Bronwen can't understand her family. Jacquelyn Oliver Van Horn is more concerned about Bronwen's roots showing through than trying to understand her own daughter. Whitt's a nice enough stepdad, but he still hurt Bronwen in a deep, unforgivable manner. Peter's perfect, of course, because he's not around enough to be anything but. And then there's the rest of the Oliver clan. Certifiable doesn't even begin to describe them. Can anyone blame Bronwen for wanting to escape? For longing to join a new family?

Handsome, well-bred Jared Sondervan offers Bronwen the perfect solution: marriage. His family is close, loving and, most of all, sane. So what if he's older (a senior in college), more experienced (in every way), and ready to settle down (with kids - the sooner the better), he's still the sweetest, most thoughtful guy she's ever met. Best of all, she loves him, truly and deeply. She'll still get to experience the college scene she's been so looking forward to, she'll just do it with a ring on her finger. Wedding the perfect man, slipping into a model family, becoming someone new - it's exactly what she's always wanted. Isn't it?

The more Bronwen contemplates her upcoming nuptials (AND works on the school newspaper AND fills out college applications AND plans her wedding AND tries to fit in coffee dates with her BFF AND attempts to live up to her mother's every expectation AND ...), the more she starts to worry about the big questions: Who is Bronwen Oliver? What does she want from her life? Is she ready to sacrifice "me" for "us?" Is getting married right out of high school the perfect start to fulfilling her every dream or is it one big, colossal, mistake?

I've been mulling over I Now Pronounce You Someone Else by Erin McCahan for a few days now, not because its content is so deep and heavy, but because I've been trying to pinpoint the exact reason it rubbed me so wrong. It's not the writing itself, although the prose is a bit stilted. Maybe it's just the whole idea of a senior in college proposing to a senior in high school - and everyone being okay with it. Or, the fact that the characters came off as kind of flat (especially Jared, whose biggest flaw is snoring). Possibly it's because Bronwen herself is so naive and whiny that I had trouble liking her. I'm not sure, but whatever it is, it kept me from really enjoying I Now Pronouce You Someone Else.

On the bright side, the story is light, funny and sweet in a lot of ways. I read it quickly, engaged (pun intended) enough to finish it almost in one sitting. Bronwen's definitely likable, but her immaturity gets annoying (even though I realize she has to be that way in order for the story to work). I also like that Jared's a nice guy, a positive example of a kind, considerate boyfriend (even if it's a little creepy for him to be dating someone so young).

Despite all this, I feel like something essential is missing from the story. I can't put my finger on it, but I know it when I don't see it, if that makes any sense. I liked I Now Pronounce You Someone Else enough to finish it, I just didn't fall in love with it. Amazon reviewers, incidentally disagreed with me, so maybe I've got it wrong. What do you think?

(Readalikes: Hm, I can't really think of any. Can you?)

Grade: C

If this were a movie, it would be rated: PG-13 for language (there may have been more than one F-bomb, in which case the rating would be R, but I can't remember ...) and sexual content (not graphic, more like making out and innuendo)

To the FTC, with love: I received an ARC of I Now Pronounce You Someone Else from the generous folks at Scholastic. Thank you!

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No one's business is their own in The Hollows, a sleepy little town outside of New York City. Put one toe out of line and the whole place will be buzzing by lunchtime. The unrelenting scrutiny is what drove Maggie Cooper out of town in the first place - and what brought her back. As oppressively intimate as life felt when she was a child, that's exactly what she wants for her teenage son: a nice, safe upbringing. She's succeeded. Despite his eternally black clothes and always screaming iPod, Rick's a good kid. Which is why Maggie refuses to believe he has anything to do with his girlfriend's disappearance.

Charlene Murray is no one's idea of a good girl. With her natural beauty and goth style, she's got an edgy vulnerability that makes the boys wild. Rick, especially, has fallen hard. Everyone knows Charlene's trouble. Her friends admits she's a user, someone who will step on anyone to get what she wants. Still, she's not the type to disappear without a trace. A drama queen like her craves attention, yet she's gone from Facebook, isn't answering texts, and still hasn't come home. Even glass-half-full Maggie has to admit that it looks like foul play. But, if Charlene's dead, what does that mean for Rick? Could her gentle boy have harmed the one he claims to love? Or did another of The Hollow's boys mess with the resident bad girl?

The disappearance carries an eerie resemblance to an older case - during Maggie's high school years, another teenage girl vanished. Although her killer confessed, his admission never really rang true. Now, the secrets of the past seem to be coming home to roost. Haunted by his own guilt, police chief Jones Cooper does his best to ignore painful memories and concentrate on the job at hand: finding Charlene. But, the more he digs into the new case, the more he comes face-to-face with the old. Is it a case of history repeating itself? Or some terrifying new threat? Where has Charlene Murray gone? Will she ever be found? Can Jones find justice for one girl, let alone two? Or will the misdeeds of the past taint everyone's future?

What is it about the families/old secrets/small town combination that makes a story so compelling? It's my favorite mixture, one that's been done well by authors like Jodi Picoult and Lesley Kagen. I've never read a Lisa Unger novel before, but Fragile definitely sounded like this kind of book, my kind of book. And it was. Sorta. The plot moves along swiftly, keeping the story interesting, definitely holding my attention. However, I never felt deeply connected to the characters. The almost overwhelming dysfunction of nearly every family in the book made it seem both cold and unrealistically melodramatic. This isn't a warm fuzzy type of novel, I realize that, I just needed something to alleviate the story's bleakness, something to make me believe in Unger's cast of characters. I didn't get that from Fragile. Likewise, I found the mystery a bit cliched, quite predictable. Perhaps it's because I'm used to subtler, more nuanced stories (a la Picoult and Kagen) that Unger's straightforward style didn't work very well for me. I wanted more complexity, more originality out of this story.

That being said, Fragile is a riveting pageturner, equal parts compelling and disturbing. It didn't wow me like many of Picoult's novels do, but it definitely kept me reading. While I can't say I loved the book, I can say I couldn't put it down. However awful the outcome, I had to know what happened. Although I knew I didn't really want to know. Despite my other complaints, this ability of Unger's to hold my attention impressed me. It's what makes me want to read her again. Even if Fragile didn't quite work for me. I may never love Unger like I do Picoult, but I'm more than willing to give her another chance. If this book's any indication, she absolutely deserves it.

(Readalikes: Unger's writing style reminds me of Jodi Picoult, although I like the latter better.)

Grade: B-

If this were a movie, it would be rated: R for language, violence, and sexual content

To the FTC, with love: I received a finished copy of Fragile from the kind people at BookSparks PR. Thank you!