I cannot fully express how dramatically the book shaped my life as a tween. It was the first ever book I picked up with a narrator I felt like I could actually relate to—Ari wasn't just a name on a page, he felt believable and most of all, he felt like me. He was sardonic; sometimes shitty and spiteful; jealous; loving; and most of all, complex. Dante felt like the kind of boy I would've fallen in love with, not another white archetype I'd yet to see in person. They felt like the two halves of myself: one sensitive and sweet, the other brooding and deep-thinking. This was the first novel I ever read that didn't just say it was okay to be gay, it said it was okay for people like ME to be gay, brown men in real life, not just skinny white NYC twinks. It taught me that not every member of the community is as privileged as we're taught they are and that I am not failing to meet a standard. I see Ari in myself constantly and Dante in my lover. I have read this book twice and cried all the way through, first because it felt like relief: the sweet, summer rain falling onto the desert. The second because it felt like coming home. The final scene lives in my head rent free. There is nothing else that feels as timely and well-deserved as that first and final (to us) kiss. Ari + Dante was the book that I needed when I was questioning in middle school and I can guarantee that another brown queer kid in another town needs this book as much as I did. And I hope they know that they are not alone.