The toads crawled like commandos across the Sink, under cover of darkness, reaching out to the left and right on their cold and clammy-white bellies. Unnoticed, they slipped past the cantaloupe and corn and parsley. One toad would silently drop into a trench, then another would fall into a vertical shaft; one not knowing the fate of the next, unable to proceed with the nocturnal assault.
Two bare feet perched at the edge of the trench, and then stepped back. Little tan shins lowered to the earth, and a skirt settled over the shins and feet. 
Cindy leaned down from her knees and reached down to grab a toad out of the trench. She got up to her feet, and put the toad into a nearby bucket. Armen brought a couple toads to the bucket from a nearby shaft.
Cindy and Armen started with small game, first netting insects and trapping frogs. Next came lizards, and with time and a tip here and there from Garegin or Saroyan, squirrels and birds.
Cindy had always been coordinated and physically confident. When Armen went out to play baseball in the nearby lot, Cindy would follow, as she would later accompany Armen into organized ball. None of the boys ever complained. They needed bodies, and Cindy could play. She had an eye for projectile motion, and this was, after all, the era of Billy Jean King and the “Battle of the Sexes.”
But Cindy wasn’t out to prove anything any more than any other kid on the lot. She just liked the game. She enjoyed the challenge. She enjoyed the feeling that contact with the ball gave her. Still, she didn’t always play, and it wasn’t always baseball season. Cindy spent a lot of time on her own with her critters and her traps. She was just as happy on her own as she was with the neighborhood gang, and so it was that when Armen began to lose interest in competitive sports, Cindy simply drifted away from it all.
I remember the time I let Cindy try my new slingshot. She took it and knocked a walnut out of our tree. Her arm never seemed too shy to pull hard. Her amber eyes always seemed steady and undistracted. They seemed to take hold of whatever they focused upon—the eyes of a hunter.
Cindy always seemed confident, even when she was uncertain about something or someone. She was uncertain enough about what her peers and teachers expected of her, but that uncertainty was not debilitating. She was simply uncertain about them. She never seemed to crave anyone’s attention or approval, though she could certainly use both. She was social. She could engage anyone with a natural charm, but she never made an effort to keep anyone close or committed. She was far from incurious, but she sometimes seemed aloof toward social obligations. It seemed that the society of her peers, though of interest to her, held no special place in her heart. Likewise, she did reasonably well in school, though she was not highly motivated or disciplined. She didn’t seem interested in proving her worth to anyone. Still, she often felt as though there was a gap in communication between her and others.