Since middle school, I’ve craved male attention. Early on, I developed a sixth sense for athletic and charismatic boys, the kind who’d make the loudest jokes in class; ask the girl next to me to slow dance while seeming to look right through me. At night I prayed to magically wake up more extroverted, flirtier and funnier and please, please less pimply. I became certain if I could just make one boy like this love me (or at least look at me), then I would somehow be lovable, confirming my femininity and worth. Though I remained fixated on boys, my closest, most intimate relationships were with other girls.