I'm not reading the Alice books by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor in order: some are checked out at my library, and some we don't even own, so I'm just reading haphazardly. Which is fine, even if I know what's going to happen in a later book it's still fun to hear Alice tell it. In "Alice In April", Alice is in 7th grade, almost 13. She's working hard to live up to Aunt Sally's telling her how to be Woman of the House. She plans her dad's 50th birthday party and supervises spring cleaning. She's also dealing with the boys at school giving girls state nicknames based on their bust size. Poor girls. Do we ever really get over caring about what random guys think about us?
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