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

because she didn’t pursue the written English emigration program. Salvar said it would come back to bite her. Why did he have to be right?

“Can we get a schedule written up now?” Mrs. McLenna asked.

Miss Silver sighed again with a glance to Zormna. “We can. But we’ll have to go back to Mrs. Carver’s office to do it.”

Hardly looking at Zormna, Mrs. McLenna said, “Don’t worry. Just sign her up for the basic classes.”

“Any desired electives?”

“Just the usual.”

“I suppose we’ll skip a foreign language class this semester?”

“Of course.”

“Driver’s Ed?”

“Not this term.” But then Mrs. McLenna shot Zormna an almost wicked look. “How about Home Economics? Do they still teach that elective?”

Miss Silver raised her eyebrows. “Actually, yes. There was a call for classes in sewing and cooking this last year. It is making a comeback as the school board is trying to combat childhood obesity. The sewing class has a fashion design section, if she is interested in that.”

Fashion design? Zormna clenched her hair, still staring at the table top. Was she serious?

“That sounds perfect. Sign her up,” Jennifer’s mom said. “I’ll stay with her while you speak with Mrs. Carver. Best to keep this young lady here.”

Zormna groaned. Mrs. McLenna had a cruel sense of humor.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in…

Oh, to heck with it.

 

Chapter Five: Cruelty, Thy Name is Underwear

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 “Nobody is so miserable as he who longs to be somebody and something

other than the person he is in body and mind.”—Angelo Patri—

 

 

They didn’t say much to each other on their way to the Pennington Heights Mall. Zormna didn’t want her temper to get the better of her and let the wrong words slip. And Mrs. McLenna apparently was too pleased with herself to care.

When they pulled into the parking space, however, Jennifer’s mother turned towards Zormna, her bearing so serious that Zormna sat up straighter. “Alright. I realize it has been difficult for you coming here, especially since you obviously had not intended to ever leave the homeland. But it is about time you settle with the fact that you are here and you must try to blend in. Now, we can accomplish this easily if you cooperate fully with me. You need to trust my judgment.”

“Such as a course in Home Economics?” Zormna muttered.

A smirk played on Mrs. McLenna’s lips. “That was for almost tackling a school administrator. Besides, you need to learn to be more girly.”

Zormna rolled her eyes, hanging her shoulders. “Please!”

But Mrs. McLenna waved it off. “The point is, we need to get you your own clothes. Your job at this moment is to try things on to see if they fit. That is all.”

“I will not have a say?” Zormna objected.

Mrs. McLenna shook her head. “No. You do not know what is normal in the U.S. of A. Besides, you have been raised military. That’s two things stacked against you. But don’t worry. I’ll mostly get you what Jennifer wears, just smaller.”

Then she exited the car.

Zormna sighed heavily. But she followed Jennifer’s mother into the hub of Pennington Heights shopping.

The Pennington Heights Mall was an enormous two story building with large glass windows at the main entrance, banks and restaurants not far from the large open atrium, and a large Cineplex with twelve movie screens with usually about seven movies showing at the same time. Zormna marveled at each poster they passed, her eyes flickering to the bright neon signs and psychedelic lettering over the various shops. The faceless mannequins in the windows dressed in the latest ware, matching the large variety of color schemes, sent shivers up her arms. Though she had been in places like this before, it was not as intense. Most of the mannequins in the windows looked half-naked. And the shopkeepers in booths selling bath salts and Mediterranean body lotions, smiled invitingly, attempting to catch both hers and Mrs. McLenna’s eyes. But Mrs. McLenna marched straight past them all.

Jennifer’s mother took them directly into an open tiled area of a department store at one end of the mall, heading to a section that was clearly women’s clothes. Most of the outfits sold were loose, flowing, or sheer with the same color scheme. Tank tops paired with most of these outfits, thin spaghetti straps holding up what fabric covered the torso. And the skirts hung low on their hips, exposing the dimpled impression of the mannequin’s belly button, as well as the top of their backsides. Zormna’s eyes widened at them.  

“I cannot wear any of that!” She pointed at one mannequin that also had on Daisy Dukes.

Mrs. McLenna smirked, continuing to the pants on display nearby. “Funny. That’s the outfit Jennifer had begged me to buy for her just last week.”

“Well, I do not want it!” Zormna protested.

Jennifer’s mother chuckled, shaking her head. “Don’t worry. I’m not buying it for you. And I didn’t buy it for her either. We are sticking to something simple.”

Zormna sighed heavily with relief.

As Mrs. McLenna picked up articles of clothing, reading the sizes carefully, Zormna idly perused the racks. Her eyes flickered to some of the shoppers strolling by. Some wore clothes from that shop. Others looked like they wanted to. As always, passersby snuck second and third looks at her. It made her unpleasantly self-conscious. Eventually, Mrs. McLenna had gathered enough outfits in her arms, then guided Zormna to a changing room where she pushed her into one of the stalls.

“Try this on,” became the woman’s new maxim.

And Zormna, grudgingly, obeyed.

The shirts without sleeves, Zormna automatically threw back. “I am not wearing them ever. So you can just take them back.”

The shorts she didn’t protest so much. She only said, “I would prefer not to expose my backside, thank you.”

The pants, she protested the fit only when they hugged her hips too low. “How will they stay on?” she said.

Finally, Mrs. McLenna handed over frilly blouses.

Zormna stared at them and moaned. “Is this really necessary? I am more of a utilitarian kind of person. Clothing ought to be practical.”

Leaning on the outside of the door, Mrs. McLenna looked ceiling-ward, silently groaning. “You aren’t in the military anymore, Zormna. Dress like a girl for once.”

Zormna scowled at the closed door, thinking ‘Who was to say how a girl dressed? That’s just a cultural construct. Out loud, she said, “I am a girl who likes practical clothes.”

“You need something pretty.” And Mrs. McLenna tossed over a dress next.

Moaning, Zormna resisted the urge to tear apart the frothy blue fabric that had landed on her head. Instead, she tossed it to the side and said, “It does not fit.”

“Nice try. Put it on and model it for me.”

Huffing, Zormna obediently took it back up, removing the hanger. She slipped it on. There were a few dangling ties and lots of rolling fabric in the skirt. The sleeves covered her shoulders well enough, which was the main thing. She zipped it up.

Sliding the catch to the door, Zormna stepped out, glowering.

One of the shop keepers drew in her breath.

Mrs. McLenna smiled. “Perfect.”

But Zormna hung her shoulders, turning bleakly around for the full effect.

“That’s a good one for you,” Mrs. McLenna said. “We’ll have to find shoes to match. How are you in heels?”

Zormna turned a little quicker. “What do you mean?”

Sighing, Mrs. McLenna said, “I mean, can you walk in high heels?”

Zormna shrugged. “I have generally worn boots. Low and medium heels.”

Mrs. McLenna nodded. “I see. Very well. We’ll have to practice walking in heels then.”

Raising her eyebrows, Zormna sighed then slowly dragged her feet back into the changing stall.

“We’ll also have to purchase you some underwear.”

Zormna halted. She remembered what Jennifer’s underwear looked like. Thin, flimsy, and definitely no coverage. She turned around and said, “Can we just stick with what I own?”

Almost cackling at the idea, Mrs. McLenna shook her head. “No…. No. You have to change clothes in PE—that’s Physical Education. The girls would all see your funny underwear and tease you. The name of the game here is blending in. You need to learn how to blend in.”

Groaning, Zormna turned back to the changing stall. Closing the door, she tiredly pulled off the blue dress. She set it aside with all the other clothes she really didn’t want to buy. As it was, she knew she was paying for it all. Mrs. McLenna had informed her that they would be taking from Zormna’s inheritance to reimburse them for the expenses. They considered it payment for room and board. Zormna mused that it was convenient that her great aunt at least had the foresight to set aside money in an easily accessible way.

Mrs. McLenna tossed over another dress, this one simpler and much more modest than the blue one. “Try this on. I’ll be back with the bras. We can guess about the underwear from your pants size.”

Zormna did not even bother putting on the second dress. It would fit. All of it had fit. Mrs. McLenna was incredibly good at guessing sizes. That wasn’t the problem.

The problem was this shopping trip clinched the entire thing. She was stuck. New clothes? It was basically a new uniform. Everyone got a new uniform when either promoted or demoted. And this was a demotion. A lousy demotion. And no matter how much she tried to breathe in and out to keep her perspective, it just was not happening. She just could not see this situation in a good way. She had become a civilian. And not just a civilian, a fugitive.

A flimsy, transparent clothes hanger holding a small white garment flew over the top of the door. It landed at her feet. Staring at it, bending over, Zormna picked it up. Then she held it up.

“Is this all of it?” Zormna about choked.

“That’s a bra. A brassiere.”

Zormna’s eyes widened on it as she turned it around. “How…How is it worn? Where is it worn?”

“Over your chest.” Mrs. McLenna laughed. “Unlock the door and let me come in. I’ll show you.”

But Zormna leaned against the lock, holding it closed. “NO! No. I…I can figure it out for myself.”

“Zormna, you don’t have to be shy. We are both women.”

Blanching, Zormna shook her head and stared at the ceiling lamps. She peeked once more at the bra and cursed whoever invented it. “Uh, thanks, but no thanks.”

“Come on, I won’t look, if you are that shy,” Mrs. McLenna said.

But Zormna replied, “No. Really. Just give me a moment. I will figure it out.”

Silence came in reply. Finally Mrs. McLenna said, “That old world modesty may be fine for now. But eventually you have to adapt. Be like everyone else.”

Zormna cringed. Replying through her teeth, she said, “Some things should never be cast off. And being the same as everyone else isn’t exactly a sign of intelligence.”

She jerked the bra straps off the hanger then searched for how the thing was fastened so she could unfasten it. It took only a few seconds to find the hooks. From there, Zormna figured out how the bra ought to fit. Then she wrangled it on. It took about five minutes to actually accomplish. She put it on over her underclothing.

She opened the stall door.

Mrs. McLenna turned when she felt the door move, and blinked at the end result.

“Um,” Jennifer’s mother scratched the side of her