The Sword and the Sophomore

Cool, popular outsider Arlynn Rosemary Banson, effortlessly straddles the line between divas and dorks. Atypical as she might be, her drama is pretty ordinary from the outside: A mother dedicated to making her life awkward by trying to be her best friend. Her workaholic history professor father, Alan, barely acknowledges his family’s existence. And her boyfriend, the homecoming king and quarterback, Benz, just broke up with her. But nothing is ordinary about the new Welsh foreign exchange student, Emrys Balin, who looks like a teenager but acts much, much older. His arrival brings the less-normal side of Rosemary’s life to the forefront, upending it to become so much more than ordinary.

Emrys knows why Rosemary has uncanny athletic prowess. Even why her mother is forever young. Rosemary learns she is part of the Lust Borne Tide—children conceived in lust and born to the royal line of King Uther Pendragon, imbued with mystical powers. Rosemary’s parents aren’t just regular “Jennifer” and “Alan.” They are the actual Guinevere and Lancelot, banished by King Arthur to twenty-first century suburban America prior to Rosemary’s birth as punishment for their affair. But Rosemary isn’t the first in the Lust Borne line. King Arthur’s son Mordred, has traveled to the future, intent upon continuing the line of the Lust Born Tide—by forcing Rosemary to return with him to the late fifth century where he will conceive a child with her.

But no deranged creep or archaic prophecy will tell Rosemary who she’s going to have sex with. No, she has other plans—plans that involve becoming even stronger and more awesome by training under Emrys and kicking Mordred’s butt. As long as it doesn’t interfere with prom or getting her boyfriend back.

Action-packed and funny, but also serious and insightful, The Sword and the Sophomore goes beyond usual YA fantasy tropes to confront real-life teenage issues of social cliques, relationships, sexual agency, and profound personal loss.