Jonah is on a mission to break every bone in his body. Everyone knows that broken bones grow back stronger than they were before. And Jonah wants to be stronger—needs to be stronger—because everything around him is falling apart. Breaking, and then healing, is Jonah’s only way to cope with the stresses of home, girls, and the world on his shoulders. When Jonah's self-destructive spiral accelerates and he hits rock bottom, will he find true strength or surrender to his breaking point? "[F]or those with a taste for the macabre and an aversion to the sentimental, it’s hard not to be taken in by the book’s strong central relationships....[ Break ] is like a one-man Fight Club , and it could find nearly as many ardent followers" -- Booklist , starred review Grade 9 Up—Seventeen-year-old Jonah is determined to break every bone in his body, and to this end he stages accidents that are quite disturbing and painful to read. His friend Naomi encourages him and videos the sickening stunts, which include jumping into an empty 14-foot-deep swimming pool. Jonah's dysfunctional activity stems from family dynamics: parents who argue; an infant brother who wails incessantly for no known reason; and a 16-year-old brother who has life-threatening food allergies that frequently land him in the ER. Jesse is a constant worry for Jonah, who believes his brother is primarily his responsibility. There's plenty of teen angst and drama, but the resolution feels rushed and somewhat implausible. Jonah escapes from a juvenile psychiatric unit with the help of Mackenzie, a teen volunteer at the facility who has access to the isolation unit and knowledge of security codes. Mackenzie is enamored with Jonah's explanation of his self-destructive actions, calling them "adorable." Later that evening Jonah learns that Jesse and Naomi are a couple; this inexplicable union is also crucial to the climax. Despite its shortcomings, the unique, emotional story line may draw in teens who want a quick read and are willing to overlook some of the unlikely plot twists.— Patricia N. McClune, Conestoga Valley High School, Lancaster, PA Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. Hannah Moskowitz is the award-winning author of the young adult novels Sick Kids In Love ; Not Otherwise Specified ; Break ; Invincible Summer ; Gone, Gone, Gone ; and Teeth ; as well as the middle grade novels Zombie Tag and Marco Impossible . She lives in New York City. Break one THE FIRST FEELING IS EXHILARATION. My arms hit the ground. The sound is like a mallet against a crab. Pure fucking exhilaration. Beside me, my skateboard is a stranded turtle on its back. The wheels shriek with each spin. And then—oh. Oh, the pain. The second feeling is pain. Naomi’s camera beeps and she makes a triumphant noise in her throat. “You totally got it that time,” she says. “Tell me you got it.” I hold my breath for a moment until I can say, “We got it.” “You fell like a bag of mashed potatoes.” Her sneakers make bubble gum smacks against the pavement on her way to me. “Just . . . splat.” So vivid, that girl. Naomi’s beside me, and her tiny hand is an ice cube on my smoldering back. “Don’t get up,” she says. I choke out a sweaty, clogged piece of laughter. “Wasn’t going to, babe.” “Whoa, you’re bleeding.” “Yeah, I thought so.” Blood’s the unfortunate side effect of a hard-core fall. I pick my head up and shake my neck, just to be sure I can. “This was a definitely a good one.” I let her roll me onto my back. My right hand stays pinned, tucked grotesquely under my arm, fingers facing back toward my elbow. She nods. “Wrist’s broken.” “Huh, you think?” I swallow. “Where’s the blood?” “Top of your forehead.” I sit up and lean against Naomi’s popsicle stick of a body and wipe the blood off my forehead with my left hand. She gives me a quick squeeze around the shoulders, which is basically as affectionate as Naomi gets. She’d probably shake hands on her deathbed. She takes off her baseball cap, brushes back her hair, and replaces the cap with the brim tilted down. “So what’s the final tally, kid?” Ow. Shit. “Hold on a second.” She waits while I pant, my head against my skinned knee. Colors explode in the back of my head. The pain’s almost electric. “Hurt a lot?” she asks. I expand and burst in a thousand little balloons. “Remind me why I’m doing this again?” “Shut up, you.” I manage to smile. “I know. Just kidding.” “So what hurts? Where’s it coming from?” “My brain.” She exhales, rolling her eyes. “And your brain is getting these pain signals from where, sensei?” “Check my ankles.” I raise my head and sit up, balancing on my good arm. I suck on a bloody finger and click off my helmet. The straps flap around my chin. I taste like copper and dirt. I squint sideways into the green fluorescence of the 7-Eleven. No one inside has noticed us, but it’s only a matter of time.