It's kind of hard to feel sympathetic towards Calypso.
I originally gave this three stars, but I talked myself down to two when I gave it a bit more thought. It's not that the book is bad -- it's perfectly fine fluff, which is more or less what I expected when I picked it up at the library. It's just...
Oh, Calypso.
I'm sorry, but "woe is me my parents sent me off to a posh boarding school and now we can't afford a pool and I have to buy my designer clothing secondhand" is not a compelling argument for sympathy. I'm not completely oblivious -- I understand that money counts in that kind of environment -- but a little tiiiiny bit of depth would go a long way.
She's meant to have depth. Honestly, she is. She wants to be a writer when she's older (even though she can't stand her English class because it is soooo lame and authors like Hardy and Bronte -- any of the Brontes -- and Alcott are just soooo boring). She's a nationally ranked fencer. The fencing could be really interesting -- except that the only times we ever see Calypso fence are when there's a cute (excuse me, "fit") boy around. So the ideas are there, but the execution is lacking.
While we're on the subject -- or at least not too far off the subject -- of fit boys...the question of pulling boys. Okay. Look, I was not a cool fourteen-year-old. That was perfectly fine with me. I was not stupid, and I was perfectly aware that the popular students dated and made out and so on and so forth, but I really had limited-to-no interest in swapping spit with every cute person who wandered into my eyesight. And...frankly, I don't think most fourteen-year-olds are obsessed with doing so, either. Seriously, to read this book you'd think that every fourteen-year-old girl in England is running around throwing herself at hot boys, making out with them, and then running off to find another, hotter boy. And repeat. Really? Because...no.
I probably would have been happier if Calypso hadn't started so firmly at the bottom of the social heap and risen so suddenly, and improbably, to the top (why is there never a happy middle for this kind of character?). It's just hard to buy the idea that the characters who have made the protagonist's life miserable for the last three years are suddenly her bosom buddies (all because she made up a boyfriend).
In a lot of respects it's a pretty entertaining book -- the same kind as the Gossip Girl books, I suppose, which really have no redeeming values whatsoever except that they're so over the top as to be funny. I wouldn't want to be Calypso, or to go to her boarding school, but at least there's a certain degree of ridiculousness to the story that allows it to be harmless fluff rather than toxic fluff.