As a teenager, I was going about my own merry way until Margaret and her literary ilk sent me into a neurotic spiral of "why don't I worry about my body shape?" "Why don't I have obsessive, angsty crashes on guys?" "Why don't I care whether my friends have their periods?"

The answer, revealed years later is that I'm far wiser than these girls and their nonfictional counterparts -- a truth I wish I knew as a middleschooler when teachers harassed me about not being able to find ways that Margaret resonated with me.

A book about a petty and shallow girl, befitting petty and shallow preteens and the intelligent young women who want insight into why their peers have suddenly gone crazy.