The Secret of Zormna Clendar - Julie Steimle (best autobiographies to read .txt) 📗

one is for sending the water to the shower rather than the tub.”

“H for…?”

Staring at the knobs, Zormna did not quite catch that. Jennifer had said it too fast, and for that matter didn’t explain what to do with the knobs. Pull them? Push them? How far?

“Oh my gosh!” Jennifer threw up her hands. “It’s right there! The red H is hot. The blue C is cold! What planet did you come from? Are you a Martian too?”

Zormna weakly laughed. If only…

But she wasn’t home. And her desire to slap Jennifer silly for talking down to her when all the girl had to do was speak civilly and explain the system—well…she had to restrain that.

“You are either really stupid or crazy like your aunt.” Jennifer turned the knobs herself. Water heavily dumped out of the spout below, then shifted into a rain from the spout above. It still looked like way too much water.

“Just don’t shower longer than twenty minutes and take all the hot water. Ok?” Jennifer snapped. “My parents have to pay for it, you know.”

Zormna’s face felt even hotter. She muttered, “Nee za takal ray cha’ra.”

“What did you say?” Jennifer’s eyes narrowed at her uncomprehendingly. She was trying to be intimidating again. If only Jennifer knew Zormna had been stared down by truly dangerous men…

Yet, breathing in, breathing out, Zormna attempted to reset her attitude. She was stuck. She had to make the best of it. And that meant being civil with this kid.

“Fine, get out,” Zormna said, “and I will wash fast.”

Jennifer huffed, rolling her eyes back to the ceiling as if Zormna was the only person being rude here. And she stalked out.

Zormna leaned against the closed door. Breathing in. Breathing out. She stared at the downpour of water in the shower and shrugged, stripping for a quick drench. 

 *

 

The church service was nothing like Zormna had ever experienced. Then again, back home, she rarely attended services. She had always been assigned to some kind of guard duty during those hours.

Back home, the priests had been pretty dull. Lots of droning voices and solemn declarations about proper behavior that would please the Father in Heaven. But here, the minister here talked on and on, quoting flowery, outdated English that Zormna simply could not understand. He might as well have spoken in Greek. And what intelligible words he did say seemed to be in condemnation for some activity on the internet, which Zormna had yet to experience. The parents had not given her permission to use their computer system yet, and she doubted they ever would. The McLenna parents were—as Todd put it—control freaks.

During the hour, her arms remained clenched across her chest. It kept her from nodding off. And she was still scowling because they had forced her to wear a dress. She glared at the minister. She glared at the floor. And she glared at the parishioners as they walked past to their own seats.

Mindy and Andrew were secretly playing thumb-wars while Todd passed notes to this guy in the pew behind them. But Jennifer was spying on her out of the corner of her eye. When it was over and they were going outside, Jennifer asked, “So, are you Catholic or Protestant?”

Zormna kicked the ground with her boot. The eyes of the parishioners followed her as she went with the McLenna family to their car. She was wearing her own white boots still, since Jennifer’s feet were almost an inch longer than hers and Andrew’s shoes were ‘inappropriate’ for a girl to wear at church. Zormna hoped they would never find shoes her size. Her boots were the only things from home the McLennas would let her wear in public.

“I know that’s a big deal in Ireland,” Jennifer said, continuing to pry.

 “Neither,” Zormna muttered “I do not usually go to church.”

Jennifer pulled back. “Are you atheist?”

Zormna stopped where she was. “Do I sound atheist to you?”

“You said you didn’t go to church,” Jennifer pertly replied.

The other McLennas were already taking their seats in the car. Jennifer’s parents peeked back, barely listening.

“I am not atheist,” Zormna said. “I just…I never exactly….”

“You’re agnostic,” Jennifer jumped in with one of her usual assumptions.

“No. I believe in a Supreme Being,” Zormna said, feeling scandalized.  “It is just…I…well, at the military school, I was always kept busy on…uh, Sunday. It was complicated.”

Jennifer shot her another one of her judgmental looks. Finally Jennifer sighed and said, “So…are you Catholic or Protestant?”

Whimpering, Zormna leaned her head on the seat in front of her. She could hear the parents chuckle.

 

The family served Sunday dinner soon after they got home. Mrs. McLenna had a slow ham cooking in the oven, its rich sweet odors filling the house like syrup. She had baked several potatoes with it. While the mother finished the last preparations for the meal, Zormna had locked herself in her room. She didn’t care if they thought she was sulking. She had to remove herself. So tired from the time difference, and so stressed, it was difficult to keep from snapping at everyone.

And considering how Jennifer treated her like she was a sulky, brainless little brat, it was frankly difficult not to act that way.

None of this was going well. No matter how much Zormna attempted to shift her attitude, her nerves were so raw. She wasn’t handling it right. Besides, she was still angry that the Kevin had unceremoniously sent her off without any way to contact him.

But Mindy called her to dinner. And Zormna could not say no to her.

Once more the meal was way too fancy. So many dishes, and too many utensils. Why couldn’t have just been soup? Or those sandwiches again? Those were easy. But navigating this ham with a knife and fork—it was a juggling act.

And Jennifer would not stop staring at her as if she were stupid.

Todd, however, was trying to be helpful. He passed her things she could eat with her fingers, such as the bread. It was kind of cute, coming from this blushing freckle-faced guy. And he was polite about it, which was nice. And she knew from the way he was putting himself out that he wanted her attention. He smiled like all those boys she had grown up with, with hope and interest. But he was not quite entirely grown enough for her to consider him a man. Maybe in a couple more years he’d be impressive. But for now Zormna wondered what Alea Arden was up to.

Besides, his parents were watching.

“Cut it into pieces with the knife.” Mrs. McLenna pointed to the ham. She passed the butter tray to Todd who had just set a roll onto the corner of Zormna’s plate.

Here we go again, Zormna thought, picking up the knife with the desire to murder the ham slice. She held knife down in her fist, with the fork in her other hand.

Jennifer leaned across the table, plucking both utensils out of Zormna’s hands.

“No. Like this.” Jennifer corrected Zormna’s hold, then demonstrated on her own piece of ham. “The fork holds the meat on the plate. You cut with the knife.”

“Haven’t you ever used a knife and fork at your school?” Andrew stuffed a meat chunk into his mouth, snickering.

Zormna didn’t lift her eyes as she copied Jennifer. Her face felt hot.

“Did you use chopsticks?” Andrew asked.

“That’s China!” Mindy shook her head.

Zormna’s ham slid from under both knife and fork, skidding across the plate. It landed on the table. Groaning, she stabbed the ham with her fork and dropped it back onto the plate.

Todd politely smothered a laugh, stuffing a potato chunk into his mouth.

But Andrew and Mindy laughed out loud.

Jennifer shot the youngest two poisonous looks. Yet even the parents snickered.

That was it. Zormna tossed the knife and fork onto her plate and picked the piece of meat up with her fingers. She dropped her elbow to the table.

“That is unsanitary,” Mrs. McLenna declared.

Blinking at her, Zormna thought about countering with something scathing, but she merely sighed and slouched on the table more.

“And poor posture,” Mrs. McLenna added.

“Look.” Zormna dropped the meat. “I washed my hands before we started eating, and I am tired right now. What is the problem?”

“The problem,” Mrs. McLenna said, lifting the serving spoon to the potatoes so she could dish Mr. McLenna another helping, “are your table manners. From now on, young lady, you will learn how to eat properly. No elbows on the table. No slouching. And you use your utensils.”

Zormna picked up the spoon with a painful smirk. “I’ll use my spoon. Satisfied?”

“You will not talk to Mrs. McLenna like that, Zormna,” Mr. McLenna cut in.

Awash with chills, Zormna struggled with the glare she wanted to give them both. Yet a primal terror seized her whenever Mr. McLenna spoke in a certain tone. He was, after all, from Home. And with a name like McLenna, she knew what kind of people they were from.

Replacing her irritated expression with a stoic duty-driven one, Zormna straightened up. She set her shoulders back and lifted her chin to a dignified level.

Jennifer raised her eyebrows.

This was a challenge anyway. She had to learn how to fit into this society. And that meant leaving behind all old manners and customs.

So she tried.

She really did try.

But Jennifer’s disgusted looks said it all. She thought Zormna was a slob. Clearly she wasn’t cutting the pieces small enough. Or she was filling her mouth too much. Or she wasn’t using her napkin often enough. Or used her utensils wrong not matter how carefully Zormna mimicked the others. And when she hopped out of her chair at the conclusion of her meal, Jennifer gave her such a disapproving glare—her scathing eyes shouting for her to sit down—that Zormna dropped back into her seat with shame. Zormna rested her head against the table, breathing in and out. If she had seen their looks as she sat there, she probably would have thrown her knife at the far wall and stomped upstairs to her room without another thought.

And the events repeated at supper.

*

 

So, Monday morning, Zormna once more stared at the ceiling, breathing in, breathing out…anticipating the day with dread. While Mr. McLenna would be arranging everything with Mr. Earnhardt so there would be no legal hassle concerning the house and her inheritance, she would be out with Mrs. McLenna registering for school and seeking ‘normal’ clothes.

Normal. Zormna hated that word. It didn’t just mean ordinary to her. Nor average. It meant that anything not fitting in was somehow degenerate. It was an unfair category, she thought. Unfair and cruel. Mostly because she had never, ever been normal. Not a day in her life. Normal was for people who didn’t want to excel. Normal was for drones. Normal was for people who didn’t think. For pity’s sake, Zormna would rather take ordinary any day. At least that meant not standing out.

A brisk rap came at her door.

“Hey, Zormna! Are you up?” It was Jennifer.

Rolling over, Zormna moaned. The truth was, she had been up for hours. It had been impossible trying to sleep on that bed.

“I’ve got clothes for you to try on.”

Sighing, Zormna sat up. They were being nice. She had to be nice back. Jennifer didn’t have to help her. Nobody did. They were doing it willingly.

So Zormna slid out of the blankets and went to the door, opening it.

Jennifer straightened up with a smile. She was wearing this simple outfit—jeans and a tee shirt with writing on it. That’s what she would have to get, Zormna was sure. Jeans and tee shirts. That, she didn’t mind. It looked like average utilitarian wear. Just as long as they didn’t make her wear frilly silly clothes, or shirts that said something embarrassing.

“It’s all in my room,” Jennifer said, then waved for Zormna to follow her.

So Zormna did.

Jennifer’s room was clean this time. When she came in, Mindy knelt on her bed, arranging her stuffed toys around her pillow. Soon after, Mindy grabbed her backpack from off the floor