When I was young, I thought Sandy and Danny from Grease were the epitome of sexy. Nothing was better than the bad boy wanting the good girl. Similar sentiments followed me through my teenage years – I obsessed over She’s All That and stayed up late as I scrolled, bleary-eyed, through Wattpad books about a hot, tattooed motorcyclist falling for the virginal straight-A student. Even better was the plotline of the bad boy not realizing he was in love with the good girl until she had gone through a metamorphosis, changing from good to slightly bad, or at least conventionally pretty. I was enthralled: The idea of the rogue, ruffed up man being attracted to his exact opposite literally kept me up at night. 

Sally Thorne breathes new life into the bad-boy-good-girl trope in her upcoming novel Second First Impressions. Centering on the safety net young Ruthie has built for herself in a retirement villa, the novel introduces Teddy, a tattooed motorcyclist (we can’t be too shocked, can we?) looking to shake things up and make enough money to open a tattoo shop. They’re as unlikely a pair as Ruthie’s woodland-creature cardigans are to a wealthy resident’s designer blouses. And yet, they seem to work perfectly together. Although their differences are superficial, they are the epitome of opposites attract. 

Ruthie is in the process of shaking up (read: beginning) her dating life when she meets Teddy. With the help of her friend and co-worker, Melanie Sasaki, and Melanie’s “The Sasaki Method,” Ruthie slowly and effectively enters the world of romance. The method is perfect for Ruthie as it mitigates risk and allows her to slip into something she’s been too shy to do herself. And while it is never quite necessary in her actual dating life, as she finds herself falling for Teddy, it gives Ruthie opportunities to step outside her comfort zone and better understand what she wants and doesn’t want in a partner and in life. 

Central to Thorne’s writing are characters that are complete beings before they fall in love. Ruthie is never made to feel like she isn’t desirable the way she is. Her dating profile is a true-to-character representation of her, and everything that is done for Ruthie is done in a way that affirms her validity just the way she is. The plotline that Thorne pens is not in the business of contorting Ruthie to be something she isn’t, but rather emphasizes the fact that Ruthie was whole and complete without love. Romance aside, Ruthie’s character development is impactful. Rather than Ruthie changing throughout the book to fit the mold of someone she isn’t, she grows into character traits that readers get little glimpses of throughout the novel. There was never a time where I was shocked by the way Ruthie’s character evolved, because it just made sense. 

There was so much room in this novel for Thorne to write the traditional bad-boy-good-girl trope. Ruthie is the daughter of a Reverend, and her narrow sexual experience was followed by a real come-to-Jesus moment on prom night. Thorne could have easily written a plotline that follows Teddy ruining Ruthie’s purity – and it would’ve fit nicely next to all the other romance books that equate women to something for men to value. But she didn’t. 

The most integral part of Ruthie’s development, and of this novel as a whole, is that Ruthie’s sense of self-worth develops separately from the relationship she builds with Teddy. As a lover of romance novels, I got to the end of Second First Impressions slightly disappointed with the lack of steamy scenes and gushy confessions of love. But that’s the point – Thorne doesn’t want Ruthie’s character development to be tied to Teddy. Although their relationship follows the path of Ruthie becoming more confident in herself, it isn’t the reason for her rise in esteem. Readers are never meant to question which love story–the one between Ruthie and Teddy, or the one between Ruthie and herself–is more important, because nothing ever overpowers the relationship Ruthie has with herself. Teddy is merely a side character to Ruthie’s personal growth, supporting and loving her instantly from afar, and more intimately as they grow closer. 

There are so many things wrong with the way I idolized the bad-boy-good-girl trope. While there’s nothing inherently problematic with it on surface level, it’s the deeper meanings we need to have an issue with. Equating virginity with sex appeal, telling girls they aren’t worthy or important until a man wants them, asking them to fit into the mold of conventional attractiveness. It’s all wrong, and it’s all very exhausted. 

As I grow older and my awareness of what I read changes, I realize more and more that there’s nothing sexier than feeling confident in yourself, and surrounding yourself with people who support your growth – both romantically and platonically. Thorne effortlessly writes a character that finds security in herself; falling in love is a bonus. This is fresh and oh so welcome in the world of romance novels. 

But, it’s also the bare minimum. For writers and readers of romance, this should be the norm. It should not be difficult for readers to find books that celebrate the act of growing independently without a partner. The story that Thorne pens is only the beginning of something that lovers of romance need to hold as the gold standard. Our young readers deserve that, and so much more.