The Mars Project - Julie Steimle (good ebook reader .TXT) 📗

about him?” Agent Powell asked.

Staring at the man, Darren chuckled. “Are you kidding? Jeff is tighter than Fort Knox. Zormna told me to stay away from him, and I am doing that.”

“She didn’t tell you anything else about him?”

Darren shook his head wearily. “Only that he’ll kick the crap out of me if I bug him.”

The two agents were disappointed, but not entirely surprised by Darren’s answers. As they let him go, watching him head off to the stadium, they wondered if there was any way into the information that they needed on Jeff. That entire day spying on the house, the agents on duty there got a series of recordings of Jeff playing various instruments and complaining about reading opposite Zormna as Romeo. Jeff was happy to have gotten out of it. He had even made up an impromptu song, singing about it to his ‘aunt’.

They played the recording several times, as it was a funny:

“I don’t wanna be your Romeo…

I just wanna go to class.

I don’t wanna be your Romeo.

Even if you’ve got the finest—”

“Hey!” His aunt shouted at him. “Not that kind of language!”

“I was gonna say…uh, sass. Yeah. Sass.”

“Not funny.”

But the agents laughed and played it again.

*

After cheer practice, much to Sam’s insistence and even to Jennifer’s, they all met at the old crazy lady’s house to plan their Ireland booth for the upcoming fair uninterrupted. When he came in, Sam peered around the house with a degree of awe, overthrown that Zormna not only owned a place, but that it was a three-story Victorian structure which included a turret. Zormna had unlocked the door and let them in, going straight to the kitchen to fetch drinks from the refrigerator and snacks from her cupboards while he looked around at the pictures of southwestern deserts, the large player piano and the various books on the shelves. Zormna took he time in the kitchen as she had stocked both the cupboards and refrigerator that summer with unperishable foods. She set the food out on the coffee table in the living room where they would spread out every bit of research they had so far on Ireland.

That last Friday at the internet café, Zormna and Sam had actually found several recipes for shortbread tarts online, much more Scottish than Irish but easy to produce in mass quantities. They also dug up a recipe for corned beef and cabbage stew. Zormna said they could use her kitchen to make all of it, as long as she did not have to do the cooking. Seeing the recipes, Jennifer agreed to be the chef.

Zormna put the printed copies in her kitchen so they wouldn’t get lost. As for the booth itself, Sam brought his pictures for the poster display and a flag he had purchased while he was in Ireland on vacation.

“Miss Bianchi said we have to put a personal twist on this,” Jennifer muttered with disdain. “You have your pictures, but my parents have kept nothing from there. So how do we do this?”

Zormna swallowed. “What about me then? I mean…I’ve also got nothing.”

Sam looked at her, thinking, though he was frowning. “Not even a school banner or uniform?”

A flash of light went through Zormna’s green eyes, but she shook her head.

“Nothing,” she lied. What she had wasn’t Irish. And there was no way she would pass it off as Irish, even if she could. The only remains of her home that she owned was plain peach two-piece outfit, one jumpsuit in the same color, her unmarked white boots, one undersuit, and her duffle bag.

He laughed. “You have absolutely nothing to contribute?”

Frowning, Zormna hunched toward the ground, digging at the carpet and thinking. Glancing up, she finally shrugged. “Materials? And I can run the booth. Since you contributed the most, you can walk around. I will just stand and be the—what did they call it? Leprechaun.”

He laughed, shaking his head.

Nodding decisively, Jennifer said, “Ok. Zormna, you can find stuff for our costumes and food, and buy all the materials. We can make the booth and set it up there.”

“You don’t even know a song you could sing?” Sam asked, still digging for something.

Zormna shot him a sharp look. “I’m tone deaf.”

With a chuckle, Jennifer ducked her head, smirking.

*

That week flowed faster than each of them anticipated. Once they skipped the initial embarrassing scene in English class that everyone expected Jeff and Zormna to choke on, Shakespeare became less of a pain. In many ways, Jeff did them both a favor by skipping class that day.

They read scene three and scene four on Tuesday then wrote a paper on what they would do if their parents forbade them to see anyone. Zormna pulled that one off as quickly as she had the last assignment, knowing now what the teacher expected from them. Jeff, on the other hand, filled his homework with his usual alibi, mentioning his father in Chicago and their fights. On Wednesday, when they had to read scenes five and six and had to write how they imagined their future weddings, Zormna made hers a brief one about how, if she ever married, her wedding would be as quiet and non-visible as possible, inviting only her closest friends. Jeff penned that he’d leave it up to the bride, being not really interested either way in weddings at all. By Thursday, their teacher had them set aside their textbooks and read some of the papers in class.

“I found several of your papers extraordinary. I’d like us all to listen with respect to Mr. Perkins’ paper on,” reading the title, “Unfair Pressure of My Parent’s Generation.”

Embarrassed as everyone had been, Sam stood up, his face turning a light shade of red. Mr. Humphries handed him his paper. Sam awkwardly smiled as he took a breath and read.

“My parents always ask too much of me. I mean…I’m still a kid. Yes, I know I can drive now and I have school to take care of so I can go to a good college and get a good job, but they also expect me to be perfect. I’m not allowed to make mistakes or get grades lower than perfect. They get angry at me for the minor things like coming home five minutes late or forgetting to fill the car with gas. I have heard all the lectures. It is the same thing every time. ‘Why are you late?’ or ‘Are you disrespecting me’ or ‘When will you be back?’ like they are my warden or something….”

Sam’s paper ran on like that. While listening, Zormna wondered if what he was reading was how it was for everyone, since the last time she had parents she had been five years old. Several of their classmates weren’t so much listening as worrying over whether they would be called on to read next—including Jeff. So many of these topic were personal after all.

“…ever. There are times I want to scream. Sometimes I think they were never kids. They always talk about how when they were young they never did the sort of things my friends did. I think parents just need to chill. I mean, we’re only young once, right? So why spoil it for us when we still are young?” Sam put his paper down, giving the teacher a half smile. He sat down.

Their teacher grinned. “Not bad for a second draft.” Then looking at his stack of papers, Mr. Humphries pulled another out. Lifting his eyes to the nervous crows, he said, “Miss Clendar. Would you please read your paper on what you would do if you parents forbade you to hang out with certain friends?”

Zormna knew that wasn’t a request. She had been feeling incredibly flippant when she wrote that paper and started to regret being so honest. She stood up. He handed her the paper. Taking it, she looked it over with a sigh.

“Please read the title,” Mr. Humphries said, looking straight at her.

She nodded as she tried to keep her eyes on the paper. However, as she started, she glanced down at Jeff who gazed up at her wondering what she wrote. She also peeked to Joy who had been sort of peevish lately. Joy really hadn’t talked to her at cheer practice and was standing closer to Jennifer McCabe these days.

After a breath, she read: “I Wish I Had Parents at All.”

She swallowed, sneaking a look at her teacher. He waited. She took another breath and closed her eyes. Opening them, she plunged in.

“I wish I had parents to tell me not to hang out with certain people. I wish I had parents at all. My parents were killed when I was five. They were murdered. I barely remember them, and when I do it is usually during nightmares where I hear them screaming. I look at all the children who take their parents for granted, who whine when their parents are trying to raise them right, who complain when they have to do without one little toy or some outfit on sale. I wish I had parents that would warn me away from dangerous characters. I wish that they had lived to see me grow up to have friends. What a luxury people have that they don’t understand. I wish I had that someone that cared about me and my future enough to devote that much interest in whom I called a friend. What I had instead were instructors and teachers. I grew up in a military school. I had classmates. But no brothers or sisters.”

Brian squirmed in his seat. He glanced at Joy who stared up at Zormna as she read, tears welling in her eyes. Though Joy also glanced back at her brother as well, then Jeff.

“I had no real comfort when I was sad. If I was disappointed, I had no one to cheer me up and tell me about what it was like when they were kids. If I failed, I had to suffer it on my own. No one showed me how they also struggled when they were young or showed me how to overcome it from their experiences. I had to learn it all on my own. I didn’t even have one parent to fight with when I wanted someone to blame when my own logic failed me,” she read.

Though Jeff’s eyes had been on her the entire time, he swallowed then looked down.

She continued to read. “I only had me and the vision of my future. I had friends. I had teachers. I had leaders that talked with me when they had time. But these leaders were often too busy to take time out for only one soldier when they had so many to tend to. I used to pull pranks for attention. After that I just did it for the fun of it.”

Jeff smiled again, shaking his head as he looked up at her. Joy peeked at him then Zormna, a little stiffening in her neck and gaze.

“I realize that I too am guilty of taking for granted those things which I had been given,” Zormna read. “I was granted the best education in the best school in the world. I was granted a second chance. I did not die with my parents. And as for them, I think they would be glad I had friends at all, since that meant that at least I was still alive. So, as this applies, I am simply glad I had parents at all to give me life.”

She put down her paper with a solemn-faced look at her teacher.

Mr. Humphries sighed and nodded, actually wiping an eye. “Well read.”

He then took a breath and looked through the stack of papers again. Jeff leaned near once Zormna sat down.

“I need to talk to you,” he whispered to her.

She glanced at him, wondering if she was going to be criticized for telling too much. But his looks didn’t reveal a great deal. Joy, however, was watching them intently. So was Brian and Sam.

“Ok, Becky