I first met her in the Eighth grade. I saw her around school before, of course, but it wasn't until Mrs. Williams' English class that I really come to know her. She is perhaps the most inconsistent girl I have come across. Not just fickle and capricious, but beyond a doubt, a vacillating erratic. She was sitting atop her desk legs dangling, kicking nonchalantly in space when I introduced myself to her. She was wearing a long-sleeved white shirt with white Capri pants and kiddish, short hair. By chance she inquired whether or not I was that sweaty boy that came barreling into class late every day, basketball in hand. I lied and said no and looked down at my sneakers, as a drop of sweat compelled itself to rest on them. The first thing we shared was The Pearls of Lutra by Brian Jacques, both her and my favorite author. We subsequently spent every day in 3rd period together.
             Our time together would not become anything until almost three years later, when she was much more than just my friend from English class. We had both made the passage from Carmenita Middle School to Whitney High School, the crowned academic magnet school of our district. I still see her deep auburn eyes shrink ever so slightly as she smiles at me in passing. I still feel her warmth as she wraps her arms around me and gives me the slightest squeeze so only I will notice. Her dress is much more sophisticated now, her russet hair much longer, but her still pale white face is the same. She could be an angel, hovering over us, her legs dangling, kicking nonchalantly in space. I used to think I really didn't know much about her, because nobody does. And perhaps she wants it that way, or maybe she doesn't know much about herself. But what I have come to understand is that if there is one person who is my female counterpart, it's Helen. She is an anomaly, an inconsistency to anything I have ever known. Her enjoyments are eccen...