Praise for Pretty Amy
"Pretty Amy is a coming-of-age story without the comfort of padding. . . . Lisa Burstein's debut novel traces the saga of Amy Fleishman, age seventeen. The book opens on what is one of the most significant days of Amy's life: the senior prom. . . . When the girls get stood up for the prom, they make a woeful decision that leads to them getting arrested and facing real jail time. It's a life-defining moment ultimately forcing Amy to explore and confront who she is--and who she wants to be. Lisa Burstein dares to write a young adult story with a female protagonist that minimizes the romance, focusing instead on the character's psychological underpinnings and true motivation. . . . Pretty Amy makes a great selection for the school market [allowing] young people to debate the actions and motivations of the characters without getting bored in the process . . . "
"--New York Journal of Books"
"Lisa Burstein has one of the most refreshingly real YA voices I've read in years. If you're looking for a helluva trip that begins with an imploding prom night, cruises through the murky waters of the wrong side of the law, bad boys, tough love, and toxic friendship, and ends up with all the right surprises, please get your hands on a copy of Pretty Amy - STAT! " "--E. Kristin Anderson, Co-editor of Dear Teen Me, Authors Write Letters to their Teen Selves"
"In PRETTY AMY, Lisa Burstein has masterfully captured the private heart and soul of what it means--exactly how it hurts--and how vulnerable life is for teen girls. Girls who live in a constant storm fueled by self-doubt, disconnected parents, twisted friendships and normal rebellion all wrapped up in a craving need for love and acceptance. Burstein's writing is beautifully raw and hyper-real. PRETTY AMY will shock you, make you laugh, cry, yell, cheer, look in the mirror and examine your own friendships as you relate to one or more of the unforgettable characters in this story." "- Anne Eliot, Author of Almost "
From the Book

I was glad it was my father who picked me up that night, his hair an assemblage of small brown cowlicks, so that it resembled frosting on a cupcake. He wore his long tan raincoat and unlike on TV or in the movies, it did not cover pajamas and there were not slippers on his feet. He had taken the time to get dressed.

"Who the hell are you?" Cassie's mother asked.

"Jerry Fleishman, DDS," he said, like he was reading the sign on the front of his office.

I looked down and covered my face with my hands.

"Who?" she asked again.

"Amy's dad," he said, trying to make his voice sound proud despite the circumstances.

"Congratulations," she said, walking past him and up to the desk.

"That one's mine," Lila's mom said, pointing at her like she was a dog in the pound. "Lila Van Drake," she continued, maybe because she didn't want anyone to mistake Cassie for her daughter, maybe because she didn't want anyone to mistake me for her daughter.

"So that's the famous Lila," my father said. "Amy talks about her all the time." I pretended I hadn't heard him, and luckily that night I was too preoccupied to be embarrassed.

"I know," Lila's mom said, and I realized I wasn't too preoccupied to be mortified.

From the Book

I was glad it was my father who picked me up that night, his hair an assemblage of small brown cowlicks, so that it resembled frosting on a cupcake. He wore his long tan raincoat and unlike on TV or in the movies, it did not cover pajamas and there were not slippers on his feet. He had taken the time to get dressed.

"Who the hell are you?" Cassie's mother asked.

"Jerry Fleishman, DDS," he said, like he was reading the sign on the front of his office.

I looked down and covered my face with my hands.

"Who?" she asked again.

"Amy's dad," he said, trying to make his voice sound proud despite the circumstances.

"Congratulations," she said, walking past him and up to the desk.

"That one's mine," Lila's mom said, pointing at her like she was a dog in the pound. "Lila Van Drake," she continued, maybe because she didn't want anyone to mistake Cassie for her daughter, maybe because she didn't want anyone to mistake me for her daughter.

"So that's the famous Lila," my father said. "Amy talks about her all the time." I pretended I hadn't heard him, and luckily that night I was too preoccupied to be embarrassed.

"I know," Lila's mom said, and I realized I wasn't too preoccupied to be mortified.