Chapter 1: Fitting In

Not your ordinary 15-year-old, Ariel Evans didn’t fit in very well with her high school peers. For one thing, she was immune to all the hype of Disney films and their parade of “princesses.”

“You’re Ariel, like in ‘The Little Princess’?”

“No, like the font,” she would snarl. That usually fended off any more bullshit. “Tomboy” could describe her—a term she also loathed. She was tall and strong, enjoyed archery and basketball, and thought of herself as simply an independent young woman trying to make her way in the world.

She didn’t reject her femininity, nor was she attracted to girls. She just didn’t want to be stereotyped or made to fit others’ preconceived notions. With that understanding, she could be warm, funny, and loyal.

“Call me A,” she would say. Strangers would also ask about her ancestry, but her reply was “Don’t know, don’t care.” Her black hair was full of natural tight curls, but it didn’t quite read as African American. Unless pressed into a ring or clamp, her hair was loose, wild, and bushy. A’s skin tone suggested southern Europe or Middle Eastern origins, and her large eyes showed striking green irises. Her average nose rose over plump lips and perfect teeth. Below that, exercise kept her in peak condition but not overly muscular.

Depending on her mood, she either wears bras or doesn’t. In basketball (because of the running), she usually wears a stretchy sports bra. All that jumping had developed her butt muscles, though, and she caught her more lesbian-oriented teammates from time to time eyeing her in the shower room.

She didn’t return their appraising looks. On the other hand, she allowed herself many opportunities to hang around the gym bleachers to covertly eye the men’s team’s butts and bulges. Too shy to act on her attraction, she would rush home afterwards with plenty of time for at least two orgasms before her grandmother returned from work.

Lucy Johnson raised A from infancy after her daughter Leila absconded. The last time she saw Leila was soon after she completed the birth certificate, giving the name “Ariel” to her daughter and naming a mysterious “John Evans from Illinois” as her father. Lucy believed this was a fabrication, and even if it wasn’t, not enough information existed, meaning that finding him was impossible.

They never heard from Leila, either. Six months after she left them, Leila had been out hooking one night and was enticed to go party on a “gentleman’s” boat on Lake Ontario. Unfortunately for her, he got his sadistic rocks off by choking his partners. After he finished, he discovered that Leila was no longer breathing. He weighted down her body and dropped it overboard in ninety feet of water. No one ever investigated her disappearance; her body remained at the bottom of the lake.

As A grew up with (understandable) feelings of rejection, Lucy did her very best to shower the little girl with love and warm affection. This helped her to thrive and (in her words) to “not take any shit from anybody.”

Starting at age 11, she developed a passion for archery. At least twice a week after school, she would hike the half mile from school to the archery range to practice her form and perforate paper targets tacked onto bales of straw. Madeleine Laurent was the chief instructor, and A was able to obtain lessons from her in exchange for cleaning up and other chores.

Madeleine was fascinated to see A’s progress. When she started, she seemed too small to effectively draw a heavy bow. But she was wiry and surprisingly strong, showing a tremendous natural aptitude. If only she had the resources to dedicate herself fully to the sport, A’s potential was truly unlimited. Madeleine informally coached A as much as she could.

Similar to the systems in gymnastics or swimming, young archers with ability, talent, and ample family financial support could excel in competitions, potentially even moving up to become members of the US Olympic archery team.

Instead, A worked mostly on her own and learned to be quite capable, even proficient. She shot arrows for recreation; she could enjoy the sport without being pressured to practice for hours day after day. Shooting on her own schedule and for her own reasons provided her with confidence and a justified feeling of accomplishment.

For added satisfaction, she would tack up her specially printed targets on the range. They depicted Disney’s Ariel as the “Princess of the Sea,” but with a bold bullseye symbol covering over the cartoon character’s foolish face.

Ms. Laurent taught paid after-school classes at the range. While she worked with her students, A and another guy would be shooting independently at the end of the row. Kendrick Leong was the other archer, and he had friendly conversations with A as they shot arrows, using soft voices to keep from disturbing Ms. Laurent’s paying students.

At the age of twenty-one, Kendrick was working part-time while attending community college, aiming to enhance his transcript to secure admission into a bachelor’s program at the university. Picking up the bow only recently, he was nowhere close to A’s skill level.

As they stood at the targets retrieving their arrows, Kendrick turned and spoke.

“Can I buy you a coffee or soda, A? I want to ask you a question.”

Being only 15, she couldn’t imagine that Kendrick, at 21, had any romantic interest in her. It must be something else, she concluded.

“Sure, one cream and two sugars, Kendrick.”

“Wow, A, most people think soda is already sweet enough in the can,” he answered, deadpan.

She giggled, realizing he was being silly. Collecting their things, they walked next door to Starbucks.