I really liked this, and there's a lot in here for a short hi-lo book, which seems to me to be a delicate balance to pull off.
(I should maybe start by saying if you don't know what a hi-lo book is, it's a high-interest, low-reading level book, meaning it's accessible without speaking down to the reader, focusing on language accessibility, without sacrificing complexity of plot.)
This is actually the second novel I've read about a young husky/chubby/fat gay boy with the title Cub, and I want to take a second to celebrate that, too. Jeff Mann's Cub is far more NA and overtly erotic, but I just love that there are multiple options for young queer cubs to see themselves in fiction.
Theo's head-space about his own body isn't positive at the start of the book, and honestly that was one of the things that dropped me right into the verisimilitude of his character as a reader: lord knows as a teen the last thing I would ever have felt about any part of my body was pride. He wants to be what he's been told is handsome, and that doesn't include having a belly—and let's be honest, that's the loudest message from pretty much everyone, within and without of the queer community (and especially within). Theo's queerness is at no point the issue of the book; rather, it's confidence and self-image that's wearing on him, told through a queer lens. It's painful to read Theo's thoughts about himself and his body, but it's not surprising.
While his best friend Di is a voice against this tirade of "what's hot" (and thereby what isn't), the moment Theo meets his first bear (a bearded drag queen) cracks the first few chips in this mentality, and that character does a really solid job of representing the bear community, which often get glossed over or missed in queer fictions. (Oddly enough, when I came out and ended up flying solo, it was the bears and drag queens who helped me get on my feet, so I have a soft place in my heart for seeing them done so well in fiction, especially YA, where the chorus of "but think of the children!" so often drowns out the realities of queerness behind hatreds cloaked in so-called compassion).
Even though he's seventeen, Theo is a strong baker (and a solid cook, too), and Di puts his name in the hat for a local cooking competition in Toronto run by a gay chef of some renown (and definite good looks). When he's chosen to compete, Theo has to face down more than a few who'd dismiss him based on his looks alone. There's some ruthlessly on-point discussion of him not being "the right brand" and frankly I wanted to punch the organizers, especially since it was way too plausible, and it's the efforts of the drag queen bear alongside Theo's own skill with food that gets him in the competition.
What follows are two plot threads: Theo in the competition, trying to decide how far to push things with themes and ingredients and the one place where his confidence really does shine: the kitchen. This is a welcome part of the dichotomy: confidence isn't universal, and I loved seeing Theo shift into this mode, where even when tempted to take an easy way out he realizes he'd rather go down swinging, a scene that dovetails with the other plot thread.
The second plot thread is by fare more daring for a YA, but I really appreciated it: the head chef of the restaurant (the aforementioned good looking gay fellow, who is married to one of the people who were snarking at Theo about his 'brand' image) flatters and pay attention to Theo when he's most vulnerable, and right off it's clear that this isn't okay, and that it's born from positive press Theo is garnering in the cooking contest. Theo is flattered, of course, and makes some pretty terrible choices (I mean, he's seventeen), but the crux of the matter hits when Theo tries to slow things down once the chef's husband also gets involved in a three-way make-out session and they try to cajole him into doing more than he's ready for (they pressure him, and the scene could easily have turned to an outright assault were he not rescued by the arrival of the drag queen bear).
Content-wise, and descriptives-wise, this is handled with the reader in mind, and honestly, if I time-travel back to my own queer youth, I would have appreciated the hell out of this book. A gay teen who being purposefully misled by the first people to show him sexual attraction is not a storyline I ever encountered (though there were plenty of these stories told about young women learning a similar lesson) and as a queer kid the underlying message would have hit home. Theo realizes he's in over his head, Theo realizes the negatives outweigh the positives of feeling even a mixed good in the moment, and at no point do the grown men come across as positive or genuine, just manipulative and cruel (and, more, there's an obvious counterpoint scene with the drag queen bear that follows to underscore all of the above with his kindness and compassion and clear boundaries).
Young queer me would have loved to see something that complex and real on the page. That it's written for hi-lo readers is an added bonus, to my mind. The convergence of these two threads: the cooking competition and the chef-and-husband trying to outright manipulate (and assault) Theo for the sake of the buzz he has generated in the contest come together into a solid whole. More, though it's a tiny scene as an aside, Theo pays forward his own lesson, checking in with the next person he sees the chef-and-husband paying attention to.
Cub is a great example of how there's so much authors can do when filling a story with more than one or two queer characters, especially when telling a queer story for queer readers, by having queer antagonists and not feeding into the bad rep we so often see elsewhere. We get four other contest members (granted, two of which are mean to Theo, yes, but the other two are not, and one flat-out has his back in a bad moment) as well as the drag queen bear character I couldn't have loved more. And there's even an adorable gay-boy fan in the audience. When you populate the world with queer characters, the result is the opposite of bad rep: the reality is there are manipulative, awful queer men in the world among those who aren't, but so often the queer-coding of villains means the only queerness in the story is villainous. Cub doesn't make that mistake at all, instead speaking to finding those who will treat you well.