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I turn to my friend on the train and giggle, 

“He’s so cute!” 

“So you gonna try to get with him tonight?”

“Haha, no.”

“What? Why not?”

“I don’t know how to flirt.” I pause. “Actually, that’s a lie. I can’t flirt with guys I’m attracted to.”

“Well, you better learn!”

I put my energy into talking to everyone except him. Maybe if he sees me laughing with everyone else he will become attracted to me.

He’s not even looking at me. I am Helga G Pataki. I am in fourth grade and my life is a Hey Arnold cartoon. 

You start to doubt if men even find you attractive anymore. You can’t understand why—your breasts are still perky, your waist is still slim. Your eyes are wide and your lips are glossy. You smile and nod in all the right places. You say things like, “How’s it goin’ over here?” and, “Oh yeah, how was that?” 

This isn’t okcupid. This isn’t a dive bar with sleazy men.

How do I even develop relationships in the real world?

No one is telling you that you are special anymore. No one is blowing up your phone with text messages that make you smile. Your bed is empty and it’s okay, you really don’t mind. It’s nice to sprawl out, stretch your legs from corner to corner, hog the covers all to yourself—

but sometimes, you just wonder. All the wondering creeps up on you, attacks you like an army of red ants. You wander around and stare at the ceiling, at the silverware, asking inanimate objects, “What is my life about?”

You aimlessly fumble around until the next bit of fun. Anything that provokes a grin. A wrinkly, tattooed drunk man says, “Look at you, cutie pie! You new here?” You smile sheepishly. A man with a ring on his finger sarcastically tells you, “Alright, Princess!” You laugh hard.

This is flirting. Easy when they’re unavailable, when I am disinterested because it doesn’t mean anything. Harmless. Feel how my body rolls when I let my laughter roar. 

Overly-confident, cocky. Bright blue eyes and a V-neck. He puts his hand on my shoulder every chance he gets. I keep a watchful eye, waiting to see if he is doing this to the other women. 

Am I flirting? I don’t know if this is flirting. I’m afraid to make eye contact. I fear laughing too hard. Keep the pitch of my voice steady. Do not giggle, do not act amused. I keep myself in check these days. No giddy feeling, no butterflies. Every human interaction is carefully crafted. 

Is he gay? Why am I so attracted to men who don’t even blink twice at me? 

Too many ellipses. Scrutinize. Would I sleep with this person? No. 

The same wavelength. People have to be on the same wavelength. I need a person who will walk by me and say, “Merp.” The kind of person who drums on their knee and asks inanimate objects questions. 

I need someone to be amused when I say, “I just found out beer on draft comes from kegs in the basement!” 

“Where did you think it came from?”

Someone who laughs hard when I smile and respond, “The beer fairy.”