This book actually killed a few of my brain cells. 
 I get the idea. I get it. A love story that's told from the POV of it's bystanders. Cute idea. 
 Do not base an entire book around a cute idea. 
 I dragged myself through this book. I did not give a fuck about Gabe or Lea because I knew very little about Gabe or Lea, other than that they drank coffee and ordered Chinese food frequently and had a class together. Lea in particular was criminally underdeveloped, and while Gabe's backstory excused his behavior, he spent most of the book looking like he had serious mental problems. I did not care about the bystanders because it seemed like their worlds revolved around wishing two teenagers would just shut up and admit their convoluted attraction. 
 This book is just all the worst parts of dating; mixed signals, long conversations with friends discussing minute details, drama and self-loathing and insecurity and speculation and UUUGGGHHHHHHHH. 
 It's love without intimacy. We are never alone with these people, which is the entire missed point of the novel. We know they're getting together. Of course they're getting together. There's no surprise in this story, THERE ARE NO STAKES. I DON'T CARE. 
 And one of the characters is a bench who monologues about asses. What editor let this slip through? 
 Sandy Hall just basically stretches out a creative writing exercise into a novel, and it is like pulling teeth. Without Novocain. Or any pay-off in the end.