If you grew up in the late nineties or early 2000s, you probably have a specific memory of a Sarah Dessen book cover. Maybe it was the one with the two girls sitting on a curb, or the later minimalist designs with the vibrant colors. But for a lot of us, Someone Like You by Sarah Dessen was the one that actually stuck. It wasn’t just a "beach read." Honestly, it was a heavy, somewhat messy look at what happens when your best friend’s life falls apart right when you're trying to figure out your own.
I re-read it recently. It’s wild how well it holds up, even without iPhones or social media. The core of the story—Halley and Scarlett’s friendship—feels more real than half the YA being published today. It tackles teen pregnancy, grief, and that suffocating feeling of having a "perfect" mother who doesn't actually see you.
Published in 1998, this was Dessen’s second novel. It’s the book that really solidified her as the queen of the "quiet" contemporary. There are no vampires. No dystopian governments. Just two girls in a suburban North Carolina town trying to survive junior year.
The Raw Reality of Halley and Scarlett
Most people remember the plot points: Scarlett’s boyfriend Michael dies in a motorcycle accident, and then she finds out she’s pregnant. It’s a classic trope, sure. But the way Dessen handles it is surprisingly grounded. It isn’t sensationalized. There’s no "Afterschool Special" vibe where everyone learns a lesson and moves on.
It’s just heavy.
Halley, our narrator, has always been the sidekick. She’s the quiet one. The "good" daughter. When Scarlett loses Michael and decides to keep the baby, Halley has to step up in a way she never has before. But she’s also dealing with her first real, dangerous romance with Macon Nichols. Macon is... well, he's a red flag in a leather jacket.
You’ve probably known a Macon. He’s the guy who makes you feel like the most important person in the world one second and then completely ignores your boundaries the next. Watching Halley navigate her loyalty to a grieving Scarlett while simultaneously losing herself in Macon is painful. It’s a very specific kind of teenage tunnel vision.
The book captures that transition period. You know the one. That year where you realize your parents are actually just flawed people and your best friend might be the only person who truly knows your soul.
Why the 1998 Setting Actually Matters
I’ve seen some younger readers complain that the lack of cell phones makes the drama feel forced. I disagree. The lack of instant communication makes the isolation feel much more visceral. When Halley is waiting for a phone call on a landline, or when she’s stuck at her grandmother’s house without a way to reach Scarlett, the stakes feel higher.
There's a scene where they’re at the Grandview, the local lookout spot. It’s a recurring location in the "Dessen-verse" (the fictional Lakeview, North Carolina). These settings—the Milton’s soda fountain, the high school parking lot—aren't just backdrop. They are characters.
Sarah Dessen has this uncanny ability to make a specific zip code feel universal. Whether you grew up in the South or in a suburb in Oregon, you recognize these places. You recognize the pressure of the "Summer Sisterhood" and the way mothers and daughters fight over the smallest things because they’re actually terrified of the big things.
The "Perfect Mom" Conflict
One of the most underrated parts of Someone Like You by Sarah Dessen is Halley’s relationship with her mother. Her mom is a psychologist. She wrote a book about mother-daughter relationships. Irony, right?
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Throughout the novel, Halley is suffocating under her mother's expectations. Her mom wants her to be a "partner" in their relationship, but she doesn't actually allow Halley any autonomy. It’s a very nuanced look at emotional enmeshment.
- The Control: Halley’s mom uses her professional knowledge to manipulate conversations.
- The Rebellion: Halley’s secret relationship with Macon isn't just about him; it’s a way to own something her mother can't touch.
- The Breaking Point: The climax of the book isn't just about the baby; it's about Halley finally standing up and saying, "I am not a project for you to fix."
Most YA books from that era made parents either invisible or evil. Dessen didn't. She made Halley’s mom someone who loved her deeply but was also incredibly stifling. It’s that complexity that makes the book stay with you long after you finish the final page.
The Legacy of the Film Adaptation (How Do I Deal)
We have to talk about the movie. In 2003, Mandy Moore starred in How to Deal, which was a mashup of Someone Like You and That Summer.
Honestly? It’s a bit of a mess.
Trying to cram two distinct novels into one ninety-minute rom-com-drama was a bold choice. Allison Janney was great as the mom, and Mandy Moore was at the height of her "it girl" phase, but the movie lost the quietness of the book. The book is about internal shifts. The movie tried to make it a spectacle.
If you’ve only seen the movie, you’re missing out on the actual depth of Scarlett’s pregnancy journey. In the book, the pregnancy isn't a plot device to bring people together. It’s an grueling, exhausting reality that changes the trajectory of their lives forever. Scarlett isn't a "brave" cinematic trope. She’s a scared teenager who is trying to hold onto a piece of the boy she lost.
Real-World Impact and Sarah Dessen's Style
Dessen’s writing style is often imitated but rarely duplicated. She uses these long, flowing sentences that mirror the way thoughts actually race through a teenager’s head.
"Life is a long series of moments, and we’re just supposed to live them as they come, even when they’re hard."
That’s a paraphrase, but it captures the Dessen ethos. She doesn't offer easy answers. By the end of the book, Michael is still dead. Scarlett is a teen mom. Halley has a fractured relationship with her parents. But they are moving forward.
That’s the "actionable insight" of her work. Resilience isn't about everything being okay; it's about finding a way to exist when things are definitely not okay.
What New Readers Often Get Wrong
There's a misconception that Sarah Dessen books are "light." If you go into Someone Like You expecting a fluffy romance, you’re going to be disappointed.
It’s a story about grief.
It’s a story about the messy, sometimes toxic nature of first love.
It’s a story about how your "soulmate" might actually be your best friend, not the guy you're dating.
Another thing? People often forget how much Sarah Dessen's books are interconnected. If you look closely, characters from Someone Like You pop up in her later novels like Just Listen or The Moon and More. She built a cinematic universe before that was even a cool thing to do. This book is the cornerstone of that world.
Actionable Steps for Re-visiting the Dessen-verse
If you’re looking to dive back into this world or experience it for the first time, don't just skim it. The value is in the details.
- Read the "Big Three" in Order: Start with That Summer, move to Someone Like You, and then read Keeping the Moon. You’ll see the evolution of her writing style and the way she builds the town of Lakeview.
- Pay Attention to the Side Characters: Dessen is a master of the secondary cast. Halley’s father, for instance, provides a quiet contrast to the intensity of her mother.
- Look for the Symbols: The "earthquake" metaphor in this book is heavy-handed but effective. It’s about the "before" and "after" moments in life.
- Compare with Modern YA: Read this alongside something like The Hate U Give or Emergency Contact. It’s fascinating to see how the "teen voice" has changed—and how much it has stayed exactly the same.
The most important takeaway from Someone Like You by Sarah Dessen is the idea that we are all just a collection of the people who have influenced us. Halley becomes more like Scarlett; Scarlett leans on Halley. They are mirrors for each other.
In a world of fast-paced, high-concept fiction, there’s something genuinely healing about a story that just asks: How do you keep going when the person you leaned on is gone? It’s a question that matters just as much in 2026 as it did in 1998.
Take a weekend. Find a physical copy—ideally one with those slightly yellowed pages and that specific old-book smell. Sit on a porch. Read the whole thing in one sitting. You'll realize pretty quickly why we’re still talking about this book nearly thirty years later. It isn't just nostalgia. It’s good writing. It’s the truth about being young and terrified and somehow, miraculously, okay.