Unfortunately, it read like a book trying really, really, really hard to sound like John Green. I would have had a lot more respect (and enjoyment) if the author had just used her own voice.
But more than the John-Green-wannabe-ness of the writing style, this book suffers with the inclusion of the MC, Henry.
Henry is literally the creepiest MC I've ever read about. He's creepier even than the many and varied sociopaths, stalkers and murderers I've read about in fiction over the years because I actually think that the author meant for him to be this romantic hero when he's actually that stalker who follows you around, not even realising what a stalker he's being.
Henry is maudlin and fancies himself as this amazing writer and although he believes the editorship of the school paper is his by rights he does precisely 'fuck' and 'all' in terms of work when the position is awarded to him. The cast of characters are an eye-wateringly pretentious collection of people, but even in this group, Henry is King of Pretentious. He fixates creepily on Grace as soon as she walks through the door of his classroom.
Grace is a disturbed loner with some undisclosed personal issues. Henry decides to brush her insular nature and desire to be left alone aside and he befriends Grace even though she clearly wants to be left alone and eventually they get drunk at a party together and kiss. Then Henry discovers that Grace's problems stem from the fact her boyfriend died a few months ago. Like literally just a very few months ago.
Instead of backing off and offering to be the friend she so clearly, desperately needs, Henry keeps creepily pushing the romance and even after they have sex and Grace lays sobbing in his arms having basically used him as a flesh dildo so that she could pretend to be shagging her dead boyfriend, EVEN THEN he doesn't gently disengage himself from her romantically and guide her towards the nearest bereavement counselor.
And even when Grace makes it clear that she wants nothing more to do with him (she discovers him snooping around her bedroom - don't ask), he still mopes around wondering to himself where he stands with her.
The whole thing came across as so far beyond creepy, it was really unpleasant to read.
There were plenty of other characters that annoyed me - the most Australian Australian guy in the world, the kooky-yet-highly-intelligent sister - but these felt like sad caricatures. Henry was the real star of the show. Because of the creepiness.
I deeply regret reading this book. I don't recommend it to anyone.