Neon is moments away from having sex for the first time with his longtime girlfriend Aria, but it’s nothing like he thought it would be. Via flashbacks that vary in time increments of 24, we follow the path that leads Neon to this big moment of his life. We spoke with Jason Reynolds, former National Ambassador for Young People’s Literature and a 2024 recipient of the MacArthur Foundation fellowship, about his latest YA book, Twenty-Four Seconds from Now…, the importance of centering tenderness in romance for young people, injecting humor into uncomfortable situations, and how love has always been at the crux of his stories.
Twenty-Four Seconds from Now is new territory for you in the sense that it focuses primarily on navigating a romantic relationship. How did you come to write this story?
At the beginning of my career, I used to do lots of school visits, and visits to juvenile detention centers. At one time, there was a librarian in Oakland, California, Amy Chang, who asked me what I thought the most read books were by the juvenile boys. And I said, probably books that are about things that they can relate to: street stuff, gritty stuff—[books by] Walter Dean Myers, and some of my earlier books that represented their environments and their struggles. Her response was, “No, it’s romance novels.” She said the reason is because these are kids who are incarcerated during a time where they would be exploring their first romantic relationships, and they were determined to see the good girl accept what people saw as the bad boy. So that was the beginning.
The second thing was realizing during the #MeToo movement that now we were having very forward conversations about consent. But the tricky part for me was, well, after the person has learned that they have to have consent, we don’t have any conversation about sexual health after that. So it’s like, yeah, you have to ask permission, but after you get permission, you have no idea what to do, how to feel, and no one seems to care. It’s like, after you get consent, wear a condom, [that’s] the end of story, right? And it’s like, no, that’s the beginning.
You noted that this book is not a romance, but a love story. What was the major distinction between those two genres for you?
This is interesting, because the publishers are like, “Yes [it’s a] love story, right?” For me, is it romantic? Sure, but, is the fantasy of the romance what the story is about? No, not at all. It’s actually about the reality of this relationship, the realities of puppy love, the realities of desiring a sexual relationship with someone you love, but not actually understanding what that means. Not knowing what that looks like and how it’s going to affect you. It’s romantic, in the sense that it’s tender and there is passion in the way he feels for her.
I really respect the [romance] genre. It’s not a slight for me to call this book a romance. It just wasn’t my intent to write a romance. It was my intent to write a love story. And the only thing that I think that makes it different is what the focus is on. And the focus isn’t on the romance. The focus is on the interior life of this boy.
It’s interesting that boys are often the subject of affection in a love story, but typically aren’t the ones solely telling the story. Why was it important to center Neon’s voice?
I think what seems to be lacking in most [love stories] is spaces for boys to be vulnerable. This is the reason why all of my books are sort of similar in this way. I really am working to try to create as many spaces as possible for young men to be able to express vulnerability, and also to be able to be seen as vulnerable human beings. Because vulnerability is an ingredient to wholeness, and I need them to know that it’s okay to be a human being, because that’s what you are anyway, right? A whole person. It’s just that not every chamber of you is often depicted in art.
What I’m concerned [with] is the way Neon is—what he’s feeling and dealing with internally. What is he going through? What is he afraid of? [Things] you never hear anybody, any boy, say in a book. Like Neon said in the first chapter, “I hope my body is okay for her. I hope it’s enough.” That’s a very real thing. We talk about women and young girls and their body dysmorphia, or their body insecurities, societal pressures, all of which is absolutely warranted, but we never consider that boys show up and have to get naked too, right? It’s frightening.
Tenderness is a word that’s come up a bit for you. What does that mean to you and why is that idea important to spotlight?
I’m around kids all the time and I listen to them talk. I’m on YouTube looking at all the things they’re looking at; 90% of my life is me surveilling teenagers to make sure that I know exactly what’s happening in their world. There was a YouTube phenomenon a couple years ago. They were taping themselves in cars playing a truth or dare game as a first date. These kids are probably 15, 16, 17, years old. Inevitably, what happens toward the end of this video is there’s some sort of physical dare, and usually [it] is something like a kiss. And nine times out of 10, when it’s time for the kiss, the young man reaches out, and he grabs the girl by the jugular. And I thought to myself, “Why?” I was always taught the first kiss should be a tender one. And instead, what’s happening now is that somewhere along the line, there’s been a breakdown, because we’re not talking; no one is saying anything.
I need[ed] to figure out how I can remind everybody that tenderness is a superpower. It’s one of the best qualities that we have—not because you’re a boy and she’s a girl, but because you both are human and don’t want to break each other. To be gentle, to be tender is another part of the human language.
As important as having sex for the first time is, you tackle the subject with humor. Why was humor a necessary tool for this story?
I think that all things considered [it can be] pretty funny. Barring sexual assault, and all that kind of stuff, [which is] not funny ever. But the stumbling, through your first time? If you come out unscathed and everybody comes out safe and unharmed, it’s pretty funny. It’s ridiculous when you get older, and you look back and you’re like, “God, it’s so crazy. How do I take off a bra? I saw somebody in a movie do it with one hand!” It’s all this stupid, right? For me, the conversation is already going to be uncomfortable enough if people start to use this book to broach some of these conversations, but I needed to figure out a way to inject some levity, just so that everybody’s okay. And that’s how I feel about all my books. I’m always thinking about the emotional safety of the young person. Like, if your mom is going to sit with you and read this book, I need to make sure that there’s some laughter involved.
Can we expect more love stories from you?
You know, if anyone’s read Boy in the Black Suit, it’s a love story. If anyone’s read When I Was the Greatest, it’s a love story. If anyone’s read As Brave as You, it’s a love story. So it’s interesting. This is the reason why I won’t call it a romance. I’ve actually written lots of love stories. Miles Morales, he’s in love with Alicia. He wants Alicia more than he wants anything. Most of my stories are actually love stories. No one talks about them that way, though.
Love is always there, but other things take precedence.
Exactly. Even though my books get minimized to a “big problem” and “tough issues,” they’re actually love stories. But most of what takes precedence is the interior life of this boy. The big issue is the thing that’s causing the boy to think about things, but the book itself is about the inside of this boy and how he’s dealing with what he’s dealing with, and this person he has the hots for is helping him process the things that he’s dealing with in almost all of them. Those books are about partnerships, if anything.
That’s a beautiful way to think about it. We should coin that: “partnership novels for young readers.”
Exactly.
Twenty-Four Seconds from Now by Jason Reynolds. Atheneum/Dlouhy, Oct. 8 $19.99 ISBN 978-1-66596-127-1.
