If you meet me in my home, my long sleeves and accent will cause you to make certain assumptions about me. If you stumble upon me at work, the string of letters after my name will lead you to an entirely different set of assumptions. However, many of you are here because you’ve met me online, through social media, where the snippets I post, have given rise to yet a third set of assumptions.

Which one is true? All of them. Or none of them. Depending on the day. Because defining myself and reconciling that image with the stereotypes the world thrusts upon me is complicated. It is a predicament I share with high school senior and resident slacker, Amalia Yaabez, the protagonist of Brianna Shrum’s delightfully quirky novel, Kissing Ezra Holtz (And Other Things I Did For Science).

Amalia has always thought of herself as an artist, so when her applications to art school are denied, she must redefine herself. In the process, she joins a bunch of AP classes and has the misfortune of being paired with her long time nemesis, Ezra Holtz, on a sociology project. Although Amalia- the proverbial wild child- has been bickering with straight-laced, Valedictorian-candidate, Ezra since their B’nei Mitvzah, observing him in his natural milieu of academia has Amalia viewing him in a new light. A sexy light. A light that makes her entirely uncomfortable.

As the book progresses, Amalia and Ezra confront many of their previous assumptions about each other. The manner in which they do so alternates between hilarious and hot, concluding with the most creative use of the word “levitically” you’re likely to find this side of the Talmud.

In the efforts of full disclosure, I am more of an Ezra than an Amalia. I’m not usually invited to parties, yet alone greeted as the savior of them. My idea of living dangerously is leaving less than ten minutes early for an appointment. And the science project that Ezra and Amalia performed had me seriously itching to teach the class about the ethics of human experimentation. Yet somehow, I still fell in love with Amalia as a person. Because I know what it’s like to have people think they know me based on a few limited interactions and labels. I know what’s it like to have everything I’ve ever wanted taken away by some arbitrary committee. Most of all, I appreciated watching Amalia internalize the fact that wanting something different than everybody else doesn’t make her less deserving of love. It makes her truthful to herself, which is a conclusion Ezra helps her reach.

I had a mini melt down over the sociology experiment. They don’t have an IRB. Students are experimenting on their peers after a quick nod of approval from a teacher who doesn’t even seem to have reviewed all of the materials. That dude should be fired, yesterday. I didn’t even spot informed consent. Yet, when my blood pressure cooled down, (admittedly still a work in progress), I was able to suspend my disbelief, stop railing about the inadequacies of the American educational system, and enjoy how unexpected and different this book was.

Ezra also helps dispel certain stereotypes with his observance of Judasim. There’s a mistaken and harmful notion out there that reform Jews are somehow less strict, that being reform allows them to break whatever rules they want. Ezra Holtz, who is so much more of a stickler than many Jews I know, proves that all wrong. It is a joy to see him represent reform Judaism on the page through both Shabbat and the high holidays.

This book is full of small surprises like that. Representation that is baked into the characters and plot rather than inserted as an afterthought. I promise, if you read it, you will find your horizons broader for having done so. And you will have a Damn Good Time. I did.

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E Broderick is a physician and speculative fiction enthusiast. When not writing she enjoys epic games of trivial pursuit and baking. She currently lives in the U.S. but is eagerly awaiting the day a sentient spaceship offers to take her traveling around the galaxy.