Now I'll Tell You Everything (Alice) by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

birth control and safe sex, and a small sack with a tube of spermicidal cream and a plastic plunger.
    “Have a good day?” Abby asked me when I got back—Abby, the girl who’s already had at least two intimate relationships. She was lying on the cot reading a bodice ripper showing a woman on the cover with her dress hiked up to her thighs and a bare-chested man with anything but safe sex on his mind.
    “Yeah, I did.”
    She studied the little package I dropped in my dresser drawer. “Shopping? Buy something cute?”
    “Planned Parenthood.”
    “Ah!” said Abby. “It’s about time.”
    *  *  *
    Jayne said we outdid ourselves with our milk chocolate cupcakes on market day. Each had peppermint frosting and a cream filling that oozed out of every bite. They sold out first thing. Abby and I sat behind the baked goods table, watching the panorama before us—the endless variety of people—while Jayne presided over the packaged casseroles: the Swedish meatballs, the spinach quiche, chicken and dumplings . . . all the things we’d sampled during the week.
    Our attention was drawn to a young couple sauntering by. The girl was probably a sophomore in high school, the guy somewhat older. He was wearing a tank top over his muscular frame, showing off the tattoos on his arms and back. She was also in a tank top, braless, a long sarong-type skirt, and an embroidered headband low on her forehead.
    They stopped to look at the handmade jewelry in the booth across from ours, and there was something about the girl that was so artificial, so awkward, it was almost embarrassing to watch. While the guy inspected the metal belt buckles, the girl seemed to find it impossible to let him be. She toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck, and when he brushed her hand away, she extended one hip and gyrated slowly against him. The more time he gave the two girls behind the display table,the more insistent the girl became, until finally she wrapped her arms around his neck and began running her lips along his cheek, drawing the furtive looks of passersby.
    “I can’t stand it,” Abby said.
    “She must be terribly insecure,” I mused.
    Abby turned and stared at me. “Are you kidding? She probably thinks she’s God’s gift to men.”
    “If she is, then I feel sorry for her, because she’s not enjoying herself one bit,” I said, watching the way the guy ignored her. Finally the couple moved on, the girl still draped around his body, publicly coaxing a kiss from him.
    “You always excuse people, did you know that? Even when they’re awful?” Abby said. “Don’t you simply dislike some people? Other than Jared, I mean.”
    I was genuinely surprised. I remembered how I had both envied and loathed Pamela in sixth grade; Penny, when she came between Patrick and me; and I never did care much for Dad’s assistant manager, Janice Sherman; or Mr. Hensley in seventh, with his horrible breath.
    “Not true,” I said. “I can think of plenty of people I’ve disliked.”
    “But, I mean . . . people like that girl, who put on a big show. I just wanted to go over and tell her how obnoxious she really was.”
    “She knows that, Abby! And she’s miserable. Couldn’t you tell? If she felt good about herself, do you think she’d have to try so hard for her boyfriend’s attention? She was totally desperate.”
    “Hmmm. Maybe you’re right. I’ll try to think of her as a comedy act,” said Abby.
    By noon the banana date bread had sold out, and the only items left were a few casseroles of baked ziti.
    Abby and Jayne wanted to look at some gauzy skirts at the other end of the market, so I kept watch over the table and took orders from people who wanted a particular item the following week.
    And there they were again, the no-bra girl and her tattooed guy, back at the jewelry booth across from me. The two young women behind the counter were pretty and jewel-bedecked themselves, obviously eager to sell. They bantered and parried