In this Amazon Best Book of the Month--with a very timely theme around girls and their bodies--a teen rewrites sex education, one viral post at a time. Phoebe Townsend is a rule follower . . . or so everyone thinks. She’s an A student who writes for her small-town school newspaper. But what no one knows is that Phoebe is also Pom —the anonymous teen who’s rewriting sex education on her blog and social media. Phoebe is not a pervert. No, really. Her unconventional hobby is just a research obsession. And sex should not be a secret. As long as Phoebe stays undercover, she’s sure she’ll fly through junior year unnoticed. . . . That is, until Pom goes viral, courtesy of mayoral candidate Lydia Brookhurst. The former beauty queen labels Phoebe’s work an “assault on morality,” riling up her supporters and calling on Pom to reveal her identity. But Phoebe is not backing down. With her anonymity on the line, is it all worth the fight? Julia Walton delivers a brutally honest novel about sex, social media, and the courage to pursue truth when misinformation is rife. Who knew truth could be so scandalous? "An essential, sex-positive volume." -- Publishers Weekly "Already known for dealing with complex subjects with grace and honesty, Walton creates in Phoebe, best friend Cora, crush Neil, and eventual boyfriend Jorge real, imperfect characters with genuine emotions and actions. Through the medium of Phoebe’s blog posts and tweets, Walton also manages to include a tremendous amount of useful information about sex." -- Kirkus Reviews "A sex-positive read that spotlights the importance of sex education and information. Give to older YA readers who enjoy contemporary realistic fiction with a message." -- School Library Journal JULIA WALTON is the author of the award-winning Words on Bathroom Walls and Just Our Luck. She received an MFA in creative writing from Chapman University and BA in History from UC Irvine. Julia lives with her husband and children in Huntington Beach, California. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram at @JWaltonwrites and visit her website JuliaWalton.com. 1 I thought about making my second tweet a little-­known fact about the human penis. But I changed my mind. There were hundreds of alerts on my phone, my follower count was climbing by the second, and I didn’t want to lean into my new “viral” success with a fact about male genitalia. Starting with something about the male body, no matter how obscure, seemed like a betrayal. I mean, focusing the study of sex on men is what everyone expects you to do. Because it’s what everyone else does. Right? I looked at the sentence I was about to post and deleted it. I’d only ever wanted to have my blog, The Circle in the Square, as a depository for my research, not a Twitter account. But everything changed when someone alerted Lydia Brookhurst, our wealthy town embarrassment, to the existence of my work. “Phoebe, maybe you’d fall less if you weren’t texting while rollerblading?” Cora sped past me and swerved to an elegant stop that made her look like part figure skater, part hockey player, and complete badass. Meanwhile, my follower count jumped by a thousand in a five-­minute time span. What. Life. Is. This. I lost my balance and fell spectacularly on my ass, still clenching my phone in my fist. Cora looked down at my face. “Actually,” she said, “you’re fine. Keep texting.” Then she leaned forward to pull me up. “I miss our old Thursday routine,” I complained, still clutching my phone. I could almost feel it pulsing in my hands, even though I’d turned vibrate off hours ago. Cora had no idea what secrets I was hiding, but she’d definitely know something was up if I missed our regular Thursday plans. Even though I was still bitter that we’d been forced to change them. Thursdays used to be for romantic comedies. We’d spend hours eating junk food and watching people fall predictably in love with their worst enemies. But when Cora’s parents threatened to sign her up for yet another beach cleanup group because they were afraid she was spending too much time inside and not enough time communing with nature, we decided to try something else. “Rollerblading?” I’d whined. “It is making a comeback,” she’d said. “And it’s fun!” It is not, I’d thought. “And can you believe I found these two brand-­new pairs of Rollerblades by a dumpster?” Yep. I definitely can. My butt cheeks might be permanently bruised from our first week on wheels, and even though I can mostly move without falling now, she’s probably right about the texting. But if she knew what was happening right now on my phone, she’d—­ “Oh my God, Phoebe! You’re never going to believe this,” Cora shouted. She let go of my hand, and once again I fell hard on my ass. Exact same spot. I stared up at the sky with my ponytail pressed against the pavement, wondering if I’d ever be able to sit comfortably again and why I’d chosen to sacrifice a butt cheek for the sake of our friendship. “Pom! The one