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

nod, hope lifting in her gaze, the impossibly bewitching girl said in what didn’t really sound Australian, “I am sorry, but can you help me find my great aunt’s house? I am lost.”

Jennifer blinked. Lost. Really? Already she was intrigued.

She watched the girl dig into this peach duffle bag she was carrying. It exactly matched the pajama-like outfit the girl was wearing, which was weird. The girl extracted a wrinkled, yet folded piece of paper, then proceeded to pry apart the damp pages. Water stains covered half of it.  The ink bled straight through, if not off the page entirely. Holding it out, the girl shrugged with embarrassment.

“I have this address,” she said. “But I cannot read it.” She had a peculiar accent on her R’s. Her vowels also didn’t sound right. No, it wasn’t Australian, or Cockney. Scottish possibly.

Jennifer shrugged as she reached for the paper. Turning it around, she peered at the water-damaged writing. Half of the marks were some kind of Chinese. Or at least Jennifer guessed it was Chinese. It could have been Japanese for all she knew. Or Korean. It ran top-to-bottom in vertical rows, full of slashes and checks and funny shaped A’s. The other half was in English—but the handwriting was warped, like it was from someone who had studied the language but never grew up with it. Unfortunately most of the letters were half missing, the ink entirely gone because of the wet.

“I am supposed to find a house on the corner of…I think it is called…Hayzzz and Dah-rrrr-ling Streets.” This blonde was clearly not entirely up there in the head.

Jennifer choked down a laugh. “Ah. That’s Hayes and Darling Streets. And this isn’t it.”

The girl looked around at the stadium, track, and school. Her dry expression said: ‘I figured that much, thanks.’

Ok, so she wasn’t a ditz. Jennifer chuckled to herself. That part was reassuring.

“Can you tell me where it is?” the girl asked, again her accent oddly familiar, R-emphasized, yet obviously not American. Probably Scottish. Most likely Scottish. Though—and Jennifer hoped this—maybe Irish.

Sighing, Jennifer peered at the smudged-up paper again. Her mind went back to her lost run. Clearly this girl was the type that demanded attention. Pretty girls were like that, of course. High maintenance. Though examining this girl’s face, Jennifer noticed the blonde was not wearing any makeup. And her clothes—a one piece peach outfit with a matching duffle bag? Obviously she wasn’t a reader of Vogue.

“Where are you from?” Jennifer asked.

The girl winced with a look to the sky. “Ireland.”

Jennifer’s heart jumped excitedly.

“Ireland. Really?” Hopping closer, Jennifer grinned, a thousand questions bursting from her. “My ancestors are from Ireland. Where in Ireland are you from? Mine are from Carlingford. Well, not recently, but anciently. My folks grew up in Dublin. Have you ever been there?”

The girl backed away slowly, hands up. She appeared inclined to run away, so much that Jennifer apologetically stepped back.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve never met another Irishman, uh, I mean woman, before… You know, besides my folks and stuff.” Jennifer ducked her head between her shoulders to show she was harmless. “But hey, I can help you find the place you are looking for. I can even get you there.”

Perking up, the girl stopped retreating. She nodded, her face saying: This will do without even a word. Jennifer wondered what went on in that blonde head. Despite being eye-catching, yet short, this girl carried about a presence that said she had seen a lot. Definitely no ditz. She had to respect that.  

“I’m Jennifer McLenna.” Jennifer stuck out her hand.

The girl tentatively took it, gripping Jennifer’s palm as if trying to get the feel of the gesture. She didn’t have one of those wet-fish handshakes, but it wasn’t a solid businessman handshake either. And the girl let go as soon as possible.

“Zormna,” the girl said.

Jennifer blinked, not sure she heard the girl right. “What?”

Sighing much like an adult too tired to deal with things, the girl said, “My name. It is Zormna. Zormna Clendar.”

Admittedly, Jennifer stared. What kind of name was Zormna? It was too weird.

But with a shrug, Jennifer said, “Well, Zormna, follow me. I could use some good karma.”

She led straight to the fence.

Zormna followed.

Hayes and Darling Streets. Hayes and Darling…. Jennifer mused over them.

She knew Hayes Street. It ran north-south all the way through Pennington. But she had never heard of Darling Street. Maybe it was a small cul-de-sac near Harvest Town. Or perhaps it was a street that actually extended into Billsburg. Or worse, it was part of Monroe, the town of their hated rival high school. No Penningtonite entered Monroe without backup.

Jennifer finally decided that she needed a map. Which meant, of course, that she had to go home. Her dad kept several maps in his office. The office was just off the living room. All she had to do was sneak in, find it, and sneak out. The problem was (Jennifer thought this as she glanced back at Zormna) her dad was possessive of his stuff and super paranoid.

Jennifer glanced quickly back at Zormna again. Or, rather, where she had been. Even though she clearly had said, “Follow me,” Zormna was not right behind.

Had she lost her? Or did the girl just ditch her? Jennifer swore under her breath, looking around. It felt like a prank. But she looked back for her all the same.

She saw the Dickerson boys ride past on their bikes. They had been going up and down Maple Road all morning. They were now calling to Kenny Thompson to hurry up, as they were going to Pennington Park to play baseball. Lawnmowers had started up by then in a chorus of distant-and-near roaring, assaulting them with smells of fresh cut grass. Finally Jennifer located the girl a block away, back near Mrs. Gibbon’s rose hedge.

Jennifer swore under her breath.

The click-click of sprinklers showered over the woman’s lawn, forming a mist on the air where that Zormna was standing. The blonde’s eyes were closed. As the fine mist settled on her face, Zormna inhaled a deep breath over the flowers. Dimples dug into her already perfect cheeks as a mesmerizing smile formed in her soft lips.

It was sickeningly unfair for a girl to be that beautiful.

“Hey, Zormna.” Jennifer struggled not to sound snide.

Zormna looked up, hastily tucking her hands behind her back. Her cheeks flushed in unfair innocence. She had been lingering over a rose, not quite touching it yet desperately wanting to.

“Do you want my help or not?” Jennifer set her hands on her hips.

“Of course I do.” Zormna’s cheeks grew a little redder, and she immediately marched to Jennifer’s side, though she averted her eyes.

Jennifer snorted then she led the way back down the road again. It took a while to muster a less bitter tone in her voice, though it was hard, as she said, “I see you take that ‘stop and smell the roses’ saying literally.”

Halting, Zormna blinked dumbly at her—like the blonde she was. And she said most naïvely, “Do you mind if I—” And yet halfway, she recognized the sarcasm in Jennifer’s voice. She averted her gaze again, biting her tongue.

Rolling her eyes, Jennifer huffed. “Please keep up. You can smell the roses later.”

They continued on as before.

Zormna’s footsteps were like marching. They went on for another block in a decent silence when Jennifer heard Zormna involuntarily gasp.

“What is that machine?” And her voice came from farther behind once more.

“Have you never seen a mower before?” Mr. Harker replied, chuckling.

Groaning, Jennifer turned around again.

Zormna was in that man’s yard this time, gingerly stepping onto his grass. Mr. Harker leaned on the mower push bar, the engine rumbling between them as the old letch grinned. For pity’s sake—the blonde was half his age. His eyes especially caressed the curve of Zormna’s chest, a lewd remark probably forming on his lips. 

Naïve foreigner. Didn’t she know not to talk to strange old men?

Then again, Jennifer realized when she saw the intense interest on the blonde’s face, watching Zormna shake her head at the man while peering at the rumbling lawn mower as though it were the most fascinating machine alive, the girl probably hadn’t even noticed.

Mr. Harker laughed. “Where’re you from?”

Zormna cringed, glancing at the sky again like she just wanted to fly out of there. “Uh…”

“What? Don’t you have grass in Ireland?” Jennifer walked back, going just to the edge of the yard. She would not have anything to do with that old man if she could help it.

Zormna averted her eyes, blushing deeper. Her ears went pink. It was annoyingly cute.

“Ireland?” Mr. Harker blinked at Jennifer then Zormna. “Is she a cousin of yours, Ginger?”

Jennifer shook her head with one of her billion dirty looks for that old letch. “No.”

“Ah, we were going, right?” Zormna promptly trotted off the lawn.

Nodding, finally glad the girl got it, Jennifer waved for them to hurry on. Zormna jogged faster.

“Come back any time to visit!” Mr. Harker waved, leering after them.

“Dirty old man,” Jennifer muttered.

Zormna peeked back, nodding.

They finally crossed the road to her house. They went into the carport, passing her dad’s sedan and her mom’s station wagon to the side door. Jennifer hopped up the steps without thinking. But on the top step she paused with a thought.

“Is this it?” Zormna asked. She looked around them, her expression confused. Jennifer could see her counting the number of cars, two clearly being more than one, which was what the girl must have expected for her aunt who obviously lived alone. And the house wasn’t on any corner.

“Ah…” Jennifer veered about-face to address the girl. “No. Actually this is my house. I need to slip in to get a map so we can find your aunt’s house. Hayes Street I know, but Darling is a mystery to me. Just wait a second. Ok?”

Zormna nodded then moved to follow her inside the house.

But Jennifer did not go any further. She cringed, thinking over the trouble that would come next if she brought a stranger home.

“Ah, actually, my parents are kind of paranoid,” she said, holding up her hands. “So I think it is best you just wait in the carport. Ok?”

Zormna shrugged, tossing up her hands in exasperation.

Immediately Jennifer went inside.

The truth was, as a rule, her parents did not let any sort of strangers into the house. Ever. They vetted every one of her friends before they were allowed into their home, including, if not especially her boyfriend Kevin. The Hendersons had passed inspection. But they wouldn’t let her brother’s friend, Jeff Streigle, into the house at all—though Todd had once snuck him in when their parents had not been home. Of course that guy had a scar across his face and a reputation for once being in a gang, so he really didn’t count.

Crossing the linoleum in the kitchen to the family room, Jennifer spotted her parents sitting together in front of the TV. Problematic. To pull this off, she had to just get by without any suspicion. Unfortunately, her father would have a clear view from the family room couch into the gap between the living room and his study door. The front entryway stood between it with a patch of tile. She had to look calm-like. Nonchalant. Like she was getting a book from the shelf in the living room rather than sneaking into his study to use the internet without his permission…which is what she usually did when she went in there.

Jennifer passed the stairs, rounded the banister, and turned to the family room to go to the front room they generally labeled the living room. She had to get by the photo wall just under the stairs; averting her eyes from the grinning picture of her older brother Todd, herself, and her younger brother and sister, Andrew and Mindy. Four redheads, freckled, and grinning with corn-ball primness. Then she passed the family photo, all of them together. There were no others. Not one of grandparents or