The best middle grade and young adult books with disabled protagonists by disabled authors

The candor and vulnerability of seventh-grader Al Schneider grabbed me from the start. Her best and only friend is drifting away, she hasn’t told anyone she likes girls, and a constant urgent need to poop has taken over her life. When Al learns she has Crohn’s disease, she is terrified at first, but then the unexpected happens.

Her diagnosis brings a new group of friends into her life. They call themselves the Bathroom Club, and they’re warm, funny, understanding, and, above all, welcoming. What a gift to a kid who, until now, has found it “mortifying just to be alive and have a body.” What a gift to readers who have yet to discover that, if you let it, disability can offer entry into a rich, vibrant, and accepting community.

What makes this novel so compelling to me is how it captures the exuberance and intensity of teen friendships. That intensity has really revved for seventeen-year-old Andrea now that she’s realized she’s in love with her best friend Hailee. Unfortunately, she’s certain—partly because of her cerebral palsy—that Hailee couldn’t possibly feel the same.

Despite these doubts, Andrea has confidence and sass, which makes her a great model for readers with disabilities. That, along with her loyal, affectionate friend group, are my favorite aspects of the book. Andrea’s friends adore her, even as she makes a mess of things in an attempt to fall out of love. Also, they treat her disability matter-of-factly, as does the author. Andrea’s C.P. is real and present but never takes over the story.

Being a poet, I love verse novels, and this one grows richer every time I read it. Seventh-grader Selah works hard to follow rigid, self-imposed rules so she’ll be seen as a “normal” girl in school, someone who doesn’t get overwhelmed by crowds or noise or jump from unexpected touch as though she’s been shocked.

What’s amazing about Selah is that, when keeping to those rules proves impossible and she gets in trouble, she trusts herself. With a few clues, she comes to understand she’s on the autism spectrum and finds simple tools that make a big difference.

She also starts expressing herself by writing poems. It moves me so much that poetry is represented here as a source of strength and that being unique is recognized as an asset.  

So many of us, especially as teenagers, have felt the need to hide what’s different about us from classmates and friends. This spare, lovely verse novel captures those feelings perfectly. Natalie, who lives with chronic pain and frequent bone dislocations due to Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, is so invested in this facade that she hides her wheelchair and forces herself to walk in school despite the pain and damage to her joints.

But secretiveness is, of course, born of shame. And disability, Natalie eventually learns with the help of a fiery, self-possessed disabled friend, isn’t what’s shameful. Inaccessibility is. Ableism is. Eventually, the two girls join forces to confront both in their school community, making this book a call to action and self-acceptance. I also find it to be an unputdownable page-turner.

I know a book has me in its grips when the world the characters inhabit feels as real as my own. This was so true for me with Cursed that when I got to the part where ninth-grader Ricky has a falling out with her dorky yet incredibly wise, solicitous friend Oliver, it upset me enough to affect my sleep.

Life’s thrown a lot at Ricky by the time we meet her. The end of her parents’ marriage, friends who ditched her when she got sick, bullies at her new school, and, through it all, debilitating pain from juvenile arthritis. She’s understandably angry. She’s also smart, determined, and funny as hell. I loved being in on her private jokes and innermost thoughts, watching her evolve, and ultimately evolving with her.