Science Fiction & Fantasy
![Rachel Lynn Solomon - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B071JMJW7S.jpg)
See You Yesterday
A New York Times bestseller!
From the author of Today Tonight Tomorrow comes a magical, "emotionally savvy[,] and genuinely romantic" (Publishers Weekly, starred review) story in the vein of Groundhog Day about a girl forced to relive her disastrous first day of college-only to discover that her nemesis is stuck in the time loop with her.
Barrett Bloom is hoping college will be a fresh start after a messy high school experience. But when school begins on September 21st, everything goes wrong. She's humiliated by the know-it-all in her physics class, she botches her interview for the college paper, and at a party that night, she accidentally sets a frat on fire. She panics and flees, and when she realizes her roommate locked her out of their dorm, she falls asleep in the common room.
The next morning, Barrett's perplexed to find herself back in her dorm room bed, no longer smelling of ashes and crushed dreams. It's September 21st. Again. And after a confrontation with Miles, the guy from Physics 101, she learns she's not alone-he's been trapped for months.
When her attempts to fix her timeline fail, she agrees to work with Miles to find a way out. Soon they're exploring the mysterious underbelly of the university and going on wild, romantic adventures. As they start falling for each other, they face the universe's biggest unanswered question yet: what happens to their relationship if they finally make it to tomorrow?
From the author of Today Tonight Tomorrow comes a magical, "emotionally savvy[,] and genuinely romantic" (Publishers Weekly, starred review) story in the vein of Groundhog Day about a girl forced to relive her disastrous first day of college-only to discover that her nemesis is stuck in the time loop with her.
Barrett Bloom is hoping college will be a fresh start after a messy high school experience. But when school begins on September 21st, everything goes wrong. She's humiliated by the know-it-all in her physics class, she botches her interview for the college paper, and at a party that night, she accidentally sets a frat on fire. She panics and flees, and when she realizes her roommate locked her out of their dorm, she falls asleep in the common room.
The next morning, Barrett's perplexed to find herself back in her dorm room bed, no longer smelling of ashes and crushed dreams. It's September 21st. Again. And after a confrontation with Miles, the guy from Physics 101, she learns she's not alone-he's been trapped for months.
When her attempts to fix her timeline fail, she agrees to work with Miles to find a way out. Soon they're exploring the mysterious underbelly of the university and going on wild, romantic adventures. As they start falling for each other, they face the universe's biggest unanswered question yet: what happens to their relationship if they finally make it to tomorrow?
Readers Top Reviews
Linda L. HallJuli
A riveting twist about a love story revolving on the same repeated day. A mystery ensues to get back into the right time loop to return to the next day while, secrets on both sides are revealed. This story is a page turner that keeps the reader well, stuck, engaged until the end. Great job, Rachel L. Solomon!
CatherineLinda L.
5/5 stars Not at all what I expected when I picked this up as a light and fluffy pallet cleanser, but it was so cute! I really liked this one.
AuntieDCatherineL
So many times this beautiful book hit me in all the feels to the point of tears. These were tears of recognition, empathy and triggered memories. I know the author personally, and setting aside my bias, I'd like to say this is my favorite book of hers so far. I am a mix of Miles and Barrett in ways I didn't know until they were there in front of me in writing. What a fantastic healing experience to relive those old feelings, and to be reminded that life really does have some magic in it.
RachelAuntieDCath
A young adult / new adult novel, this is a delightful story using the "Groundhog Day" trope. It's a romance but also so much more. Main character Barrett is brave, quirky, and determined to conquer college - to make up for being a social pariah in high school. I was cheering her on as she tried to bond with a high school nemesis, figure out who she wanted to be in college, and separate from her mom (who's also her best friend). Miles is stuck in the loop with her, and at first they barely tolerate each other. Miles is a dream - kind, nerdy, and also quirky but in a different way. He's really well fleshed out and I loved seeing both characters figure who they wanted to be - including the romance. Clearly, I loved this one. It most likely will be on my top ten of the year list. If you like YA / NA, the movie "Groundhog Day," or Jewish representation - then pick this one up. Thank you to Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing Division for the advanced e-copy.
Utopia State of M
(Disclaimer: I received this book from the publisher. This has not impacted my review which is unbiased and honest.) I don't think I can properly describe how much I love time loops and time travel. My obsession has been steadily growing and so See You Yesterday delivers an un-explainable dopamine rush. If you love time loops or time travel, you have to read this, conversation done. At the same time, if you love Rachel Lynn Solomon's ability to write nuanced, complex, and emotional characters, pick this one up. See You Yesterday features Barrett and Miles who have seriously charmed me. There's a snark to Barrett and a wit that instantly told me, "you get me". I love how wry she is, how she has this deep seated passion, and also this complex history and vulnerability. Barrett has a love of storytelling, a curiosity to unravel people, and it's infectious. Barrett is one of those characters who just resonated within my soul. At the same time, Miles is a character who made me laugh, shed a tear, and smile.
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter 1 Chapter 1
"THIS HAS TO BE A mistake."
I pull the extra-long twin sheets up over my ears and mash my face into the pillow. It's too early for voices. Much too early for an accusation.
As my mind unfuzzes, the reality hits me: there's someone in my room.
When I fell asleep last night after testing the limits of my dorm's all-you-can-eat pasta bar, which involved a stealth mission to sneak some bowls upstairs that were forbidden from leaving the dining hall, I was alone. And questioning my life choices. All those lectures about campus safety, the little red canister of pepper spray my mom made me get, and now there is a stranger in my room. Before seven a.m. On the first day of classes.
"It's not a mistake," says another voice, a bit quieter than the first, I imagine out of respect for the blanket lump that is me. "We underestimated our capacity this year, and we had to make a few last-minute changes. Most freshmen are in triples."
"And you didn't think it would be helpful for me to know that before moving in?"
That voice, the first voice-it no longer sounds like a stranger. It's familiar. Posh. Entitled. Except… it can't possibly belong to her. It's a voice I thought I left back in high school, along with all the teachers who heaved sighs of relief when the principal handed me my diploma. Thank god we're done with her, my newspaper advisor probably said at a celebratory happy hour, clinking his champagne glass with my math teacher's. I've never been more ready to retire.
"Let's talk out in the hall," the second person says. A moment later, the door slams, sending something crashing to the carpet.
I roll over and crack one wary eye. The whiteboard I hung on Sunday, back when I was still dreaming about the notes and doodles my future roommate and I would scribble back and forth to each other, is on the floor. A designer duffel bag has claimed the other bed. I fight a shiver-half panic, half cold. The tree blocking the window promises a lack of both heat and natural light.
Olmsted Hall is a freshmen-only dorm and the oldest on campus, scheduled for demolition next summer. "You're so lucky," the ninth-floor RA, Paige, told me when I moved in. "You're in the last group of students to ever live here." That luck oozes, sometimes even literally, from the greige walls, wobbly bookshelves, and eerie communal shower with flickering light bulbs and suspicious puddles everywhere. Home sweet concrete prison.
I was the first one here, and when two, three, four days passed without an appearance from Christina Dearborn of Lincoln, Nebraska, the roommate I'd been assigned, I worried there'd been a mix-up and I'd been given a single. My mom and her college roommate are still friends, and I've always hoped the same thing would happen for me. A single would be another stroke of bad luck after several years of misfortune, though a tiny part of me wondered if maybe it was for the best. Maybe that was what the RA had meant.
The door opens, and Paige reenters with the girl who made high school hell for me.
Several thousand freshmen, and I'm going to be sleeping five feet from my sworn nemesis. The school's so huge I assumed we'd never run into each other. It's not just bad luck-it has to be some kind of cosmic joke.
"Hi, roomie," I say, forcing a smile as I sit up in bed, shoving my Big Jewish Hair out of my face and hoping it's less chaotic than it tends to be in the mornings.
Lucie Lamont, former editor in chief of the Island High School Navigator, levels me with an icy glare. She's pretentious and petite and terrifying, and I fully believe she could kill a man with her bare hands. "Barrett Bloom." Then she collects herself, softening her glare, as though worried how much of that conversation I overheard. "This is… definitely a surprise."
It's one of the nicer things people have said about me lately.
I should be wearing something other than owl-patterned pajama shorts and the overpriced University of Washington T-shirt I bought from the campus bookstore. Medieval chain mail, maybe. An orchestra should be playing something epic and foreboding.
"Aw, Luce, I've missed you, too. It's been, what, three months?"
With one hand she tightens her grip on her matching designer suitcase, and with the other she white-knuckles her purse. Her auburn ponytail is coming loose-I can't imagine the stress my appearance has caused her, poor thing. "Three months," she echoes. "And now we...
"THIS HAS TO BE A mistake."
I pull the extra-long twin sheets up over my ears and mash my face into the pillow. It's too early for voices. Much too early for an accusation.
As my mind unfuzzes, the reality hits me: there's someone in my room.
When I fell asleep last night after testing the limits of my dorm's all-you-can-eat pasta bar, which involved a stealth mission to sneak some bowls upstairs that were forbidden from leaving the dining hall, I was alone. And questioning my life choices. All those lectures about campus safety, the little red canister of pepper spray my mom made me get, and now there is a stranger in my room. Before seven a.m. On the first day of classes.
"It's not a mistake," says another voice, a bit quieter than the first, I imagine out of respect for the blanket lump that is me. "We underestimated our capacity this year, and we had to make a few last-minute changes. Most freshmen are in triples."
"And you didn't think it would be helpful for me to know that before moving in?"
That voice, the first voice-it no longer sounds like a stranger. It's familiar. Posh. Entitled. Except… it can't possibly belong to her. It's a voice I thought I left back in high school, along with all the teachers who heaved sighs of relief when the principal handed me my diploma. Thank god we're done with her, my newspaper advisor probably said at a celebratory happy hour, clinking his champagne glass with my math teacher's. I've never been more ready to retire.
"Let's talk out in the hall," the second person says. A moment later, the door slams, sending something crashing to the carpet.
I roll over and crack one wary eye. The whiteboard I hung on Sunday, back when I was still dreaming about the notes and doodles my future roommate and I would scribble back and forth to each other, is on the floor. A designer duffel bag has claimed the other bed. I fight a shiver-half panic, half cold. The tree blocking the window promises a lack of both heat and natural light.
Olmsted Hall is a freshmen-only dorm and the oldest on campus, scheduled for demolition next summer. "You're so lucky," the ninth-floor RA, Paige, told me when I moved in. "You're in the last group of students to ever live here." That luck oozes, sometimes even literally, from the greige walls, wobbly bookshelves, and eerie communal shower with flickering light bulbs and suspicious puddles everywhere. Home sweet concrete prison.
I was the first one here, and when two, three, four days passed without an appearance from Christina Dearborn of Lincoln, Nebraska, the roommate I'd been assigned, I worried there'd been a mix-up and I'd been given a single. My mom and her college roommate are still friends, and I've always hoped the same thing would happen for me. A single would be another stroke of bad luck after several years of misfortune, though a tiny part of me wondered if maybe it was for the best. Maybe that was what the RA had meant.
The door opens, and Paige reenters with the girl who made high school hell for me.
Several thousand freshmen, and I'm going to be sleeping five feet from my sworn nemesis. The school's so huge I assumed we'd never run into each other. It's not just bad luck-it has to be some kind of cosmic joke.
"Hi, roomie," I say, forcing a smile as I sit up in bed, shoving my Big Jewish Hair out of my face and hoping it's less chaotic than it tends to be in the mornings.
Lucie Lamont, former editor in chief of the Island High School Navigator, levels me with an icy glare. She's pretentious and petite and terrifying, and I fully believe she could kill a man with her bare hands. "Barrett Bloom." Then she collects herself, softening her glare, as though worried how much of that conversation I overheard. "This is… definitely a surprise."
It's one of the nicer things people have said about me lately.
I should be wearing something other than owl-patterned pajama shorts and the overpriced University of Washington T-shirt I bought from the campus bookstore. Medieval chain mail, maybe. An orchestra should be playing something epic and foreboding.
"Aw, Luce, I've missed you, too. It's been, what, three months?"
With one hand she tightens her grip on her matching designer suitcase, and with the other she white-knuckles her purse. Her auburn ponytail is coming loose-I can't imagine the stress my appearance has caused her, poor thing. "Three months," she echoes. "And now we...
