This distinction goes to two books I really loved when I was around fourteen: The Lovely Bones and White Oleander. Something about these two books really struck me and stayed with me and I just LOVED them. (And I thought I was reading really cool, intelligent, high-brow stuff, because that’s the kind of obnoxious fourteen year old I was.)
I still kind of love both these books, just because I loved them SO much when I was younger, but I can recognize now that neither of them are nearly as interesting or life-changing as I originally thought. White Oleander does hold up pretty well, though. Ingrid Magnussen is a really intriguing character.