The Member of the Wedding -- Carson McCullers

Regardless of era or locale, being twelve is rough:

There was a watery kitchen mirror hanging above the sink.  Frankie looked, but her eyes were gray as they always were.  This summer she was grown so tall that she was almost a big freak, and her shoulders were narrow, her legs too long.  She wore a pair of blue black shorts, a B.V.D. undervest, and she was barefooted.  Her hair had been cut like a boy's, but it had not been cut for a long time and was now not even parted.  The reflection in the glass was warped and crooked, but Frankie knew well what she looked like; she drew up her left shoulder and turned her head aside.

Carson McCullers continues to amaze me.