Dear High School Girl: Every morning, I crawl my way through the turbulence in the halls, swimming through an intoxicating mixture of Dollar Store body sprays and hormonal odors, dodging students jostling with friends or infatuated with phone screens. And, every morning, I catch sight of you . . . well, you AND him, as I approach the classroom. Yeah, I admit, I have to swallow down the gag reflex while the two of you make out and run hands all over each other. The way you look at him, twirling a stray curl from his cheek in one of your fingers, I know that nothing else matters in…