I was seventeen when I first met Sarah. She initially seemed very open and honest and energetic; a free spirit. But I�d been wrong before. She was completely in love with a guy I knew, and had been for years, which gave her a reason to bother me regularly. I was already indifferent to socialisation by then; though I knew she might be useful to me by unknowingly contributing to a handful of orgasms. Our friendship officially would not have been possible without the internet.

The guy she was in love with, Steve, was the first person in our grade to lose his virginity. Tall, thin, blue eyes, stringy golden hair, mother used to be a model. He was popular, and a genuinely nice guy.

Sarah hoped I would be able to get them in contact somehow. It was going to be difficult, given that Steve always had a girlfriend, but it formed a huge portion of our conversations regardless. Her first questions to me each afternoon: �Any news about Steve? Did you speak to him?� I never did.

We hardly knew each other when we organised to meet at a dance being held at my school. It was proudly announced at an assembly that there would be a ratio of four girls to every guy attending. Guys in their final year of school, like me, would have to wear their school uniforms and do things like restrict how much fun everyone could have.

I planned to arrive with Kevin, without ever mentioning Sarah. I was kind of curious myself; I hadn�t seen a picture of her (I had a basic image of what she looked like that would have described the appearance of almost any fifteen-year-old girl) or planned any specific meeting place or anything, and really barely knew her. She was the main reason I went to the dance, but it wouldn�t have ruined my night if we never met or anything.

We were among the first people to arrive. The dance hall was filled with mist from smoke machines and strobe lights that made every movement seem like it was occurring in slow motion. A few girls danced while an ex-student posed as a DJ. I was sitting on the edge of the stage when a hardbody handed me her jacket, asking me to look after it. I mindlessly threw it behind a curtain.

I was assigned a chair near an exit and told not to let anyone pass me. That would be my contribution to the night. If Sarah wasn�t like a big puppy at the time, we probably never would have met. I suspected it was her before she introduced herself because she almost seemed to have this intimidating force-field of energy surrounding her. That, and nobody else had come anywhere near me before then.

�Are you � Nick?� she asked. �Yeah,� I said. I didn�t stand up, just sat there, staring at her outstretched hand. �Nice to meet you!� �Um, you too �� �� Sarah.� �Sarah. Um, of course.�

She introduced me to a girl with huge knockers that had witnessed our first interaction with an amused look on her face, making me even more uncomfortable. They left soon after, while I sat alone, lamenting that I didn�t plan a more memorable exchange.

Half an hour later when I returned from trying to enjoy myself and accidentally bump into her, there was a huge commotion near the stairwell I was supposed to be guarding � apparently a girl had entered the men�s bathroom. I shuddered. The girl emerged, oblivious to everyone staring at her. It was Sarah. �But look how long the line is to the girls� bathroom,� she was explaining to someone.

I looked straight ahead, pretending not to notice her, assuming she would ignore me too, only to feel her lightly punch my arm as we passed each other. I slowly turning to her, and she gave me a friendly wave without stopping her confession and � thankfully � without waiting for my reaction, because there wasn�t one.

Later I was given a different exit to guard. I just sat there, arms crossed, watching. Virtually every girl was blonde, thin, short, tan, clearly wearing a g-string. Sarah stuck out � imaginary force-field encompassing her, smile beaming � waved, and kept walking. I could only concentrate on hoping for her to come back, which eventually she did. I had an excuse not to dance because of my important position guarding an exit, and wasn�t in the frame of mind to explain my theories on why most people shouldn�t dance. She said the girl with huge knockers was in love with Kevin and could I introduce them?

�He � kinda has a girlfriend at the moment.� �This always happens,� she sighed. �Yeah.� �Can I have some water?� she asked, and before I could answer she grabbed the water bottle next to me � which wasn�t mine � took a few huge gulps, and put it back. She kept talking about Steve, under the impression I was a �good listener�.

�Fuck,� I interrupted, remembering something. �Did you give me your jacket before?� �I gave it to � someone.� �Fuck.�

I leapt up, took her by the hand and led her through the dance floor and up to the stage, frantically searching for her jacket, which took several minutes to find and resulted in Sarah wrapping her arms around me.

Kevin wanted to leave early after having an argument with his girlfriend. I couldn�t find Sarah. She had already made a bad impression on Kevin � at some point she forced me to track him down so he would dance with the chick with huge knockers. He told me it lasted about ten seconds before he could escape.

Kevin slept at my place, in my room, and I had the distinct feeling that if he wasn�t there I would have masturbated about a girl I had actually spoken to in person for the first time.

Sarah left the dance crying because she would never be with Steve.

Before that night, I had no real interest in knowing her. It didn�t take long to see I would never forget her.

The relationship intensified in the months following our meeting. We would talk for two hours after school every day � mostly about Steve; but I was fine with that because a girl wasn�t completely distracted by my obvious lack of experience. It was essential to my survival. There was evidence she existed, she was attractive, she would talk to me; and this was already an unprecedented situation for me. Surprisingly, she was a virgin too. Needless to say, she was the first girl I had ever come close to connecting with.

She assured me that the braces on my teeth were not distracting, were barely noticeable, that I should smile more. She said that my voice was �loud and clear�, that I didn�t swear too much. She misunderstood my paranoia to find her jacket as �determination�. We agreed on things. We shared opinions. There were no competitions or arguments. I trusted someone.

I would have made a good boyfriend back then. We shared the same interests and thoughts; even feelings (this was back when I had feelings). She gave me a reason to care. And I wanted to be her hero by whatever means necessary.

Sometimes I would see her face superimposed over those of total strangers. When I went to a school play with hundreds of people in the audience, I saw her enter with her mother, late, wearing the same annoying jacket she wore to the dance. She turned and waved to a group of hardbodies before taking a seat. Her presence made me revert to how I�ve acted around girls pretty much my whole life � I made loud assessments of every actor, laughed sarcastically at failed jokes, groaned when unattractive actresses joined scenes. But I couldn�t find her during the intermission and, even after whistling at her when she returned to take her seat, she failed to notice me. I didn�t hang around afterwards because I was driving Larry home and didn�t want to introduce them out of fear he might get along with her better than I did.

When she couldn�t use the internet we would talk on the phone. She freely said things like �I love you!� and waited impatiently for me to mutter the same thing in response � roughly a billion times harder to communicate than it was over the internet. I was so worried my family would overhear our conversations that I walked nearby streets with a portable phone while trying to comfort her about what little chance she had at a relationship with Steve.

I envisioned time alone, movies together, even made vague plans one day and hired Wayne�s World with the expectation of watching it with her; which of course ended in a demoralising conversation when I expected to finalise logistics, only to hear her describe her totally unrelated plans for the upcoming days.

I had no idea how to approach this type of thing. Even though she was two years younger than me, she was open, resourceful and independent; always in control.

Back then, anything seemed possible. I was about to finish school and be free for the first time in my life. The only thing that was certain about my future was that nothing was certain. Having Sarah in my life made things worthwhile, and justified a decision I made two years earlier to stay at the school I had been at since I was ten. I told her of my unrealistic plans to travel to Europe, and she encouraged the idea to rely on my accent to pick up Scandinavian pussy.

She was natural and convincing, passionate and sincere. She was the cheerful, attractive hardbody who inexplicably wanted my friendship and saw me as a family member � except that we only spoke over the internet or phone despite living a short distance away from each other. She was the Winnie Cooper to my Kevin Arnold; the Cindy Sanders to my Sam Weir.

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