About the book
I met Sarah working at a candy shop in the mall, back when AIM away messages were a legitimate form of emotional expression and I thought a well-timed song lyric could solve just about anything.
We spent our shifts goofing around, occasionally selling candy, and getting a little too comfortable with each other. Soon there were sleepovers, late-night phone calls, long drives, and an alarming amount of cuddling for two people who were supposedly just friends.
Somewhere along the way, I fell for her.
Minor problem: Sarah liked boys. Bigger problem: I liked Sarah.
So naturally, I overanalyzed every hug, every lingering touch, and every vaguely romantic thing she ever said to me. And of course, we never talked about it. Or about us. Talking about it would have meant admitting there was an it. And if she didn’t feel the same way, I could lose her. Which was obviously so much worse than quietly losing my mind.
And as we got older, I kept finding new reasons to hold on to something I knew wasn’t going to happen. Because apparently, knowing someone isn’t going to love you the way you want doesn’t make loving them any easier to stop.
If you love stories about first love, complicated friendships, queer awakenings, and the people who live rent-free in your head long after you’ve stopped talking, The Candy Shop Girls might be your next favorite read.
Think the emotional messiness of The Adult, the nostalgic ache of The Rachel Incident, and the sapphic yearning of Sunburn. Add a mall candy shop, a few burned CDs, and an embarrassing amount of overanalyzing song lyrics, and you’ve pretty much got the idea.
