Seventeenth Summer by Maureen Daly. Reprint of 1942 edition.

Oh, I'm so glad I didn't have to read books like this when I was growing up.  This is probably my third re-read of one of the first YA superstars in publishing, and it just gets better with time.  So sexist, annoying, and full of cliches.  Angie's love story with basketball stud Jack is just perfect.  Although I'm not sure if their legs ever touch like on the cover?

"Anyone with a date as dull as I was would naturally want to dance with someone else (49)."

"In the loveliness of the next moment I think I grew up.  I remember that behind him was the thin, yellow arc of moon, turned over on its back, and I remember feeling my hands slowly relax on the rough lapels of his coat.  Sitting on the cool grass in my new sprigged dimity with the little blue and white bachelor's buttons pinned in my hair, Jack kissed me and his lips were as smooth and baby-soft as a new raspberry (69)."

A raspberry, people.

Hilarious how there were so many references to how clean Jack is, but, boy, his manners need work.  Poor Angie almost had to break up with him because of how he clicked his ice cream spoon against his teeth.  Twice.  And he couldn't serve himself with double salad servers.  Oh, the shame!