Review from 2016:

I can envision the reader who will connect with this book--savvy bookstagrammers who read fanfic on Wattpad and repost OTPs on Tumblr. If none of that made sense to you, likely this book is not your bag. Also, the word McYolo appears, used ironically, but it's there. This book has pop culture references on every page ranging from the immediate to forty plus years ago, some of which are probably unknown references to teens, but presented in a similar way that Gilmore Girls, Veronica Mars, and Buffy managed fast, quippy remarks; if you're interested enough, you'll search for the reference.

There's this gem:
"If nobody dances to the Black Eyed Peas, do they even exist? Just food for thought."

When Scarlett Epstein's favorite TV show is cancelled, it's a death knell for her online fanfic group. She eventually creates new fic based on real people, classmates, and I'm sure you can guess how well that goes. I liked how we see Scarlett as an introverted, precocious teen who has every available cultural advantage in the modern era, but still struggles with the age-old themes like first dances and first kisses. And that pisses her off. She wants to be above basic teen tropes, and yet, that's kind of what life is sometimes. Add in a wisecracking seventy-ish-year-old neighbor, and Scarlett has a real challenge to her jaded view of life. Ever since reading the non-fiction Reviving Ophelia, I've been a fan of multi-generational friendships.

Quote from elder lady Ruth to Scarlett:
"You're so angry all the time. Aren't you tired?"
"I'm kidding. I mean I won't go to another dance, but I'm mostly joking."
"That's what's angry, the jokes...."

There's some wicked feminism here that strays into Frankie Landau Banks territory (always a plus), a little absurdity, and a bit more heart once you really dive in, dealing with Scarlett's fractured family. A lively, memorable read.

And this, from the nested-within fanfic Scarlett writes about a company creating lifelike female companion robots:

When surveyed, the feedback from consumers was that [the female robot companions] would sit patiently as the men talked at length about noise bands, HTML, or Hemingway but never seemed to listen or appreciate the invaluable cultural education the men were so thoughtfully attempting to give them.

That is my kind of satire.