A new-school jitters meets found-family vibe in this warm, funny graphic novel set in rainy Rainport, Oregon. Juniper (June) Park signs up for the HEART Crew at Roosevelt Middle because she misreads the flyer and thinks it's the art club—turns out it's a scrappy peer-wellness team that keeps the snack pantry stocked, pens kind notes for the Warm Fuzzies mailbox, and quiets squeaky lockers with borrowed WD-40. After a move across the Columbia and late nights waiting for her nurse mom to get home from St. Mary's, June is learning fresh bus routes, not-so-fresh cafeteria fries, and how to speak up when silence feels safer. She falls into stride with skateboarder Leo Cruz (scuffed deck, big grin), violinist Priya Shah (case stickered to the moon), and shy doodler Nora Bell (raccoons on every page). Together, they plan HeartFest, a pop-up kindness fair in the Maple Street Gym, only to tangle with a busted PA, a runaway sea-lion mascot head, and the rumor churn of the Grapevine app. Mischief, tiny disasters, and brave apologies pile up into friendship—the kind you build one note, one snack cart, one hand-painted banner at a time.
If Kayla Miller's Click is about club logistics and Jen Wang's Stargazing tunes into quiet insecurities, this sits between them: lots of friendly tasks, a few anxious beats, and a tidy bow. The HeartFest snafus read cute rather than tense, and the Grapevine hubbub fizzles before it stings.
I liked Leo's skater looseness and Priya's stickered violin case, but the emotional arc stays safe, so I left warmed but not changed.
Craftwise, the book is steady if a bit safe: crisp linework, soft coastal blues and mossy greens, and a panel grid that rarely surprises. Dialogue balloons sit comfortably, and the lettered sound effects for squeaky lockers are playful, but page-to-page momentum dips whenever we cut from group scenes to solitary beats; the gutters ask for inference the script doesn't quite earn. The Grapevine posts get clean, phone-like layouts that are readable but could have pushed design further to reflect rumor spread. Still, the final HeartFest montage carries a pleasing rhythm, proof the creators can choreograph a crowd when they lean into movement.
As a middle school librarian, I see this landing with grades 5 to 8 who like service clubs, light friendship drama, and rainy-day coziness. The HEART Crew's snack cart, kind notes, and WD-40 fixes give practical SEL touchpoints without preaching.
Clean humor, no strong language, gentle rumor tension, and a working-parent backdrop make it an easy add for advisory or counseling tie-ins.
Rainport could have been a character. Instead it's a postcard: same drizzle, same sidewalks, same gray windows, scene after scene.
Roosevelt Middle never settles into a real place. The Maple Street Gym appears when needed, then vanishes again, with little sense of how people move through it. Staging gets fuzzy, so set pieces land soft.
The snack pantry and Warm Fuzzies box carry a brochures-and-bulletin-boards sheen. WD-40 jokes are cute, but the hallways feel polished to frictionless; I kept wishing for scuffed tile, muddy tracks, something lived-in.
Even the sea-lion mascot head chase spirals without texture. Puddles don't splash, they decorate. Two stars for a few lovely cloud breaks over the Columbia, but Rainport never breathes.
I came for cozy community vibes and left frustrated that the big talk about kindness boils down to a slogan. The book keeps repeating "one hand-painted banner at a time," but the banners feel like wallpaper instead of hard-won growth.
The HEART Crew's good intentions are never in doubt, yet the story treats empathy like a switch you flip. The Grapevine rumor flare-up promises real consequences, then shrinks into background noise. If you're going to name the pressure, don't tiptoe away from it.
The rain is everywhere, yet oddly weightless: panel after panel of drizzle that looks pretty but doesn't soak the people underneath. June's mom's overnight shifts are mentioned and then sidestepped, the ache sketched but not inhabited.
HeartFest serves up a busted PA and a runaway mascot head as obstacles, which play more like stage business than stakes. Why pretend a squeaky locker is a crisis when the loneliness of a new school is right there?
I value gentle books, truly. But this one kept patting me on the head when I wanted it to sit with the mess. Two stars because the crew's snack-cart rituals occasionally spark, and Nora's raccoon doodles do their raccoon thing; the rest feels laminated.
