This is the sort of book I would expect to find in a chick lit dump bin and at first glance it does seem all sweetness and light. However, there are hints of something with more substance - the anecdotes and observations create a mood evocative of adolescence and the struggle to find the person we want to be.
Would my lazy eye close and twitch like our Maths teacher's did when she tried to multiply numbers in her head? Could it eventually cloud over and give up? What if the other one went too? What if I went blind? I buried my face in the bedclothes, and wallowing in self-pity, chest tightening, throat constricting at the tragedy of my fate, I considered one final, frightening question: could blind people still dream?