From the Publisher

Meet Felicia, 14-year-old student at the Manhattan Free Children’s School (also known as the Pound). In Felicia's world, she and her best friends, Jess and Kat, like to refer to themselves as the Sex Kittens, and the boys they know as the Horn Dawgs.
Felicia is getting tired of waiting for a Horn Dawg to notice her uniqueness, however. So she devises a project she and the object of her affection, Matthew the Science Brain, can work on together. Felicia is determined to discover the Secret of Love with Matthew while winning both Matthew’s heart and the science fair. But love has other plans.
(Doesn’t it always?)

Publishers Weekly

Narrator Felicia has a crush on science-obsessed Matthew, so she proposes a science project for them to work on together: to "unmask the meaning of X" ("the thing that makes Love Work Out"). Of course, first Felicia must confess her feelings, but once she makes that leap, Matthew admits he "think[s] we could win the science fair with this one." The fast-paced, slang-driven narration in this debut novel takes a bit of getting used to (Felicia sprinkles the narrative with poems, friendship rules, known as Kitten Directives, and lots of capital letters) but, once hooked, readers will race along with the heroine as she and Matthew explore love's strange phenomena, such as "Romantic Setting" and "the Romeo/Juliet Thing." The 14-year-old's alternative New York City school provides plenty of other likeable, offbeat characters, such as a sitar teacher who reveals her personal love story in a Hindi love song. As Felicia watches other friends connect-and miss-she discovers that even she gives off her own brand of X. Readers may not be surprised about the pair's scientific conclusions, but they will certainly have a positive reaction to this fun, original plot. Ages 12-up. (Jan.) Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.

Wendy M. Smith-D'Arezzo - Children's Literature

In spite of the title this is not just another in the endless supply of sappy teen diaries detailing profound crushes, klutzy-but-lovable teen girls, or who-stole-my-boyfriend sagas. Wood has found a fresh voice in her protagonist, Felicia, writing with tongue firmly in cheek. She gives readers a fresh take on the acute pain of that ever-present teen crush. Felicia, fourteen and firmly in love with science-guy Matthew, uses her brain to come up with a plan that guarantees time spent with the "Horn Dawg" of her desire. In the midst of the hooking up and breaking up that keep Felicia and her friends busy, she discovers self-knowledge, as well as a Horn Dawg (not Matthew) who crushes on her. (Okay, it does get a little sappy in the end.) The book would be more appealing if Wood had left out the entire sex kittens and horn dawgs shtick, as the relationships are quite innocent; but perhaps that edge is what draws the young teen readers. 2006, Delacourte Press/Bantam Doubleday Dell, Ages 10 to 14.

Abbe Goldberg, Teen Reviewer - VOYA

The novel, while cute in concept, is written poorly. The characters are lacking enough description that the reader cannot determine anything, not event he race of the teenagers in the novel. The voice of the protagonist comes across as a character that is too excited or too upset and not overly realistic. The title is one that readers would be embarrassed to have peers see them reading and would not be a big seller. VOYA CODES: 3Q 3P M J (Readable without serious defects; Will appeal with pushing; Middle School, defined as grades 6 to 8; Junior High, defined as grades 7 to 9). 2006, Delacorte, 192p., and PLB Ages 11 to 15.

School Library Journal

Gr 6-9-This lightweight foray into the love life of 14-year-old haiku-writing Felicia, one of the supremely self-confident "sex kittens" at the Manhattan Free Children's School (aka the "Pound") will provide hours of laughter and empathetic nods from readers who enjoy the trendy lingo. The Pound is a free-spirited place where students can cut class at will, never do homework, and spend lots of time doing extremely original projects, and Felicia and her fellow kittens, Jess and Kat, make the most of every opportunity. The "Horn Dawgs" are the male students, and Felicia has zeroed in on making her science fair project a study on the Search for X, otherwise known as the thing that makes the one you love love you back. The Dawg participant is Matthew, the object of her affection. While the title might make some adults cringe, in fact the story is nearly squeaky clean and lots of good fun with a predictable but happy ending.-Susan Riley, Mount Kisco Public Library, NY Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.

Kirkus Reviews

Fourteen-year-old Felicia, a student of the Manhattan Free Children's School (aka the Pound), devises a clever science project to work on with her crush, Matthew, in an effort to get closer to him. Thus, Felicia and Matthew begin their search for X-the elusive factor that makes people attracted to one another. Experiments they've named "Opposites Attract," the "Romantic Setting" and the "Best Friend Switcheroo" serve as plot devices to comically carry Felicia, Matthew and the other "kittens" and "dawgs" of the Pound through love triangles, misunderstandings, broken hearts and matchmaking schemes. The Pound, with no supervision and self-directed learning, is an unlikely concept for a school. The text is peppered excessively with capital letters and exclamation points to signify Felicia's histrionics. Typical for her age, the dramatic behavior is tiring at first, but Felicia's boundless energy and witty-albeit hyperactive-musings are infectious. Although the title belies something steamier, this is a tame offering for younger teens who enjoy Meg Cabot's and Sue Limb's books and are looking for pure entertainment. (Fiction. YA)

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Sex Kittens and Horn Dawgs Fall in Love

Random House

Chapter One

1
My Dubious Mental State Gets an Ass-Whupping from the Great Beyond


Kitten meets Dawg. Soon,
A warm yellow rain anoints
The hydrant of love.


"You promised me some animal poems, yes?"
Mr. Frasconi is looking at me with one silvery eyebrow lifted a half-inch higher than the other. You would think I'd know better than to try and pull a fast one on a world-famous poet, but apparently, I don't.
"Um," I say, oozing lameness. "That is an animal poem. Kitten. Dawg. Get it?"
"It's a love poem, Fe-li-ci-a." He always gives my name four syllables. When you're writing a lot of haiku, like I have been lately, you automatically count the syllables in everything. Rice Krispies, three. Matthew Dwyer, four. Mrs. Felicia Dwyer, seven. Not that I'd really take his name once we're married, my mom would go all Gloria Steinem on me.
Mr. Frasconi sees my mind wandering and repeats, for emphasis (insert Meaningful Echo Effect here): "A looooooooove pooooooooeeeemm." Poem, two syllables. Some people think it's one. Not me.
Me, Fe-li-ci-a! Po-et-ess, Total Mess, Felicia the lovelorn. Whose name means happiness, HA!
"This Kitten in your poem, she is you? And the 'Dawg'-interesting spelling-still the same boy? The one with the rabbits?" Mr. Frasconi can never remember Matthew's name, which isodd, since he's been read-ing my unrequitedly-in-love-with-Matthew poetry since late September and now it's February, and that is like ten zillion poems by now. But I guess I don't call Matthew Matthew in the poems. Usually it's just "him," or "you," or "O, perfect one!" or "unattainable boy of mystery."
"And the 'warm yellow rain'-hmmmm." Yes, thanks to me, Mr. Archibald Frasconi, mega-award-winning poet and currently a Master Mentor at the Manhattan Free Children's School, is being forced to contemplate the symbolic use of pee-pee in a love poem.
Poor Mr. Frasconi. Maybe I should explain the whole Sex Kitten and Horn Dawg thing to him. But a poem has to stand on its own, as Mister Master Mentor himself has often told me, and after some initial resistance I've come to agree with him. You can't follow your poems around explaining them to people, it's just impractical. So, as they say in the cartoons, I shaddup.
Mr. Frasconi leans back in his chair. "No more love poems for a while, okay, Fe-li-ci-a? Look around. Observe. There's so much to see."


There are private schools in this great city where all the students are bored fashionistas and all the teachers are boring fascists.
The Manhattan Free Children's School is NOT one of these schools.
What the MFCS is, instead, is a small private school housed in a crumbly-pretty, pretty crumbly old brownstone near Gramercy Park. And we never call it the MFCS-at least, my friends and I don't. We call it the Pound. Why? Because we are the Kittens, the boys are the Dawgs, so we go to the Pound, get it? And, frankly, it's just too hysterical-making to think of ourselves as the Free Children. I know I go there because my mom is stuck in groovy mode (can somebody please give peace a frikkin chance already, so the poor woman can MOVE ON?), but being the Free Children is too granola for words. We'd much rather be the Sex Kittens, thank you!
Kitten Directive Number Infinity: Kittens Are 4-evah!
Speaking of which:


"It's a perfectly NICE poem. It's just a little-you know! Gross!" Jess says, helpfully.
"Ewww," adds Kat, cutting to the chase.
We are sitting in our favorite booth at the Moonbeam Diner, Official Restaurant of the Sex Kittens of New York City.
Kitten Directive Number Twenty-three: Any Kitten can convene an Emergency After-School Kittensnack at the Moonbeam to discuss matters of personal urgency. Her littermates will listen, advise, and pounce if necessary, to perform the Kitten Heimlich Maneuver and help said Kitten cough up those painful furballs of self-doubt.
But right now, my fellow Founding Members, Miss Jessica Kornbluth of the Upper West Side and Miss Katarina Arlovsky, born in Moscow but now residing in Washington Heights, are not pouncing or Heimliching. Instead, they are looking at me with looks of extreme dubiosity. As in, Felicia, we have read your little haik-ewww and you need to WAKE UP.
"Really?" I say, feeling tragically misunderstood. "You don't think it's about animals?" Stubborn, I know, not my best quality. But Mr. Frasconi kind of bummed me out by kiboshing the Matthew poems, and if your two tightest Kittenpals can't see your side of things, who can?
Jess has an unusually animated face and way of talking, and her eyebrows achieve serious altitude when she's expressing any strong emotion (sort of like Mr. Frasconi's, come to think of it). Right now they look like they're about to fire their booster rockets and bust a move out of the atmosphere. "Fee," she says, in her listen-to-me tone of voice. "I'm no poet, but I think Mr. Frasconi's point MIGHT be that you are spending way, way, WAY too much energy on this THING, you know, this nonexistent THING with Matthew, and maybe, just MAYBE you should take a BREAK!"
"You're obsessed," says Kat darkly. She's chewing on her hair, which she quit doing a year ago because it gave her split ends. "Obsession is dangerous. People go insane."
"The syllables are perfect, though!" Jess adds. "Five-seven-five, that's awesome!"
I am about to feign huffiness and get all don't-count-syllables-to-me, but for one thing the Moonie arrives with our food (all the waitstaff here at the Moonbeam Diner wear black T-shirts with big yellow cheesy moons on them), and for another thing-
Could they be RIGHT?
Am I not only obsessed with Matthew, but skipping merrily down the garden path to kookooland?
There is only one way to find out.
Felicia's Private Kitten Directive Number Eleventy-seven: (insert New Age Music Suggestive of Imminent Communication with Unseen Forces here!): When in doubt, consult the Oracle!


From the Hardcover edition.

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Excerpted from Sex Kittens and Horn Dawgs Fall in Love by Maryrose Wood Excerpted by permission.
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