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

own business, just like everyone else.

She opened her folder and poked around at the contents. Bored, Zormna glanced up from her desk with a yawn. She rested her chin on her hand, and tried not to fall asleep.

More kids trickled in as the minutes passed. Then the kids came in groups. Zormna watched, but tried not to stare.

The thing about those coming in was that most of them were dressed the same. It wasn’t exactly a uniform, Zormna realized, but a style they all conformed to. But the style, to her eyes, did not make any sense. Most of them wore a ghastly shade of black. Not pristine black, but distressed black, like it had been entombed with the dead for a few hundred years. Almost all of her classmates had their flesh pierced in some way, if not repeatedly. And the tee shirts they had on were decorated with violent if not grotesquely revolting imagery. One boy wore this baggy, decoratively-decomposed shirt that had a skull dripping with blood painted on it. The boy with him had on a shirt with a green snake wrapped around a dangerous looking dagger and spiky writing. Their friend was showing off his new tongue ring, telling the others where he got it done.

Zormna had no idea she had been gaping until one of the crowd turned and snapped, “What are you looking at?”

Logically, her brain answered ‘You, you moron.’ But wisely she did not say it out loud. She immediately diverted her gaze back to the blank page of her open folder.

But that boy marched up to her. She could hear the jangling chains hanging from his torn jeans pocket. He stopped right next to her desk, smirking down on her.

“You’re in my seat, butt-head.”

The first time she had been called that….

Zormna clenched her teeth, her thoughts going into overdrive. At Home she never put up with bullies. But then she never had to. Bullies had learned to steer clear of her since Korven Bentley messed with her when she was seven years old. She had flattened him during a lesson in class.

This boy puffed up his chest and cracked a knuckle. She could break his entire hand if she wanted to. If he only knew.

But the reality was that she was sitting in a classroom in America, and subduing of a bully on the first day among these kids was not the best way to blend in. She had to play nice.

Her expression lightened. Zormna drew in a resigned breath and rose from her seat.

“I am sorry,” Zormna said, picking up her folder. “I did not know this was your seat. If you would excuse me.”

She bowed and moved to go.

Breaths drew in at the sound of her brogue. It was a new phenomenon, one she was becoming familiar with.

The boy grabbed her arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Zormna glared at his grip. He was really asking for it.

“You owe me rent for sitting in my seat.” 

“That’s right, Brandon. You tell her.” His friends cheered. They gathered behind him like giants, puffing up their chests. Towering over, the smirking, moronic louts waited for her to squeak in protest.  

She jerked out his grip with an easy self-defense move, then stepped back, holding her folder to her chest.

Brandon reached to get at her again, but Zormna ducked out of range. No fighting, she reminded herself. Simple self-defense was all that was necessary here. He was just a stupid kid. That’s all.

Licking his lips, Brandon glanced down at her chest. Cocking his head back, he stuck his tongue in his cheek and grinned wider. He reached for her again, exposing his yellowed, plaque-crusted teeth. It took everything within Zormna not to gag as she slapped his arm to the side and backed away. She peeked behind her. Nothing but wall. The only way out would be over the desks or over the boys. Both would cause a ruckus.

 The giant idiots grinned, advancing.

“Class, would you take your seats.”

Every head turned.

A man in a brown suit strolled into the room carrying a brief case. He set it on the desk, lifting his eyes to the group of boys. “That means you Brandon, Richie, John, and Peter.”

“Yes, Mr. Keller.” The gang grumbled under their breaths, dropping all advances toward Zormna. And the circle broke up.

The boys climbed into the nearest seats like territorial animals claiming their perches. All of them purposely slouched in their chairs. One leg extended into the aisle. Their arms dangled lazily along the armrests. Their heads lolled back so they could look down their noses at the teacher. All posturing. And total garbage, of course. If they hadn’t cared, they would not have moved at his word.

Teachers. Zormna had mixed feelings about them. This one (a clean-shaven man somewhere in his late thirties, possible early forties), for example, had saved her a fight. And Mr. Keller looked honest. She had to respect that. But she was wary of having to deal with a schedule of six different teachers. Not all would be as decent as this man appeared to be.

Zormna found an open seat and sat down. Her eyes flickered uncomfortably at the cluster of those boys ahead of her. Their backward glances promised to resume their hunt when class was over, once they got her alone. She sighed. Apparently the teacher had only delayed a fight. It was not going to be a good day.

 “Hello. We have a visitor,” Mr. Keller said, seeing her. “Would you mind coming forward to introduce yourself?”

Would she mind? Zormna thinly frowned. Of course she minded. What kind of question…? Ugh. Zormna rose from her seat.

 Every eye of the thirty-some-odd students rested on her, and they were not welcoming. Zormna delivered Brandon a glare as she passed him to the front of the room.

Halfway there, her foot snagged on something. Catching herself on a desk to keep from falling onto her face, she swallowed a breath.

The class burst into snickers. The loudest came from the boys nearby. Several whistled. Some spat out profane language that did not belong in respectable company.

She glared poisonously at the boys behind her. The gang cackled in pure pleasure. Brandon waved his outstretched leg across the aisle with a sneering grin.

Zormna straightened her shirt with an indignant huff. She marched the rest of the way to the front of the room. Lifting her head high, she snapped out her schedule then stepped to the side, her spine straight and her shoulders square. Resting her hands behind her back, she waited.

Mr. Keller took the paper with a mild smile. With his pen, he quietly added Zormna’s name to the bottom of the class roll then patiently signed the paper. He passed back her schedule without a word.

She took it, making two crisp folds before shoving it into her pocket. Then she resumed her position.

“You can begin,” the teacher said.

But Zormna didn’t begin. Those vile punks were still gazing up at her like she was meat to be devoured. And the others in the room were still snickering over…whatever. They stared at her as if she was the freak. Clearly she was out of uniform if she wanted to fit in with the majority in this room.  

“Quiet!” Mr. Keller ordered.

The room hushed to the sound of a pin drop.

One student squirmed in his chair. His chair squeaked.

Again the teacher deferred to Zormna. “Please.”

Impressed, Zormna openly said, “My name is Zormna Clendar, sir.”

The class snickered.

Mr. Keller silenced them with a glare. Definitely impressive. At least he knew discipline.

“Would you mind telling us where you are from?” Mr. Keller asked.

Zormna hesitated. What should she say? What had the Kevin said to do? Blarney and blather?

“I noticed your accent. Please, go ahead,” the teacher said, encouraging her with a smile.

Her accent…right. Her accent, besides her looks, was the one thing that would always stick out. So, she took a breath and said, “I am from Ireland, sir.”

The teacher smiled broader. He then got this inquisitorial look in his eye as he rubbed his chin and asked, “Class, do you have any questions for our new student?”

Ugh. This kind of thing. She had to get it over with. Who knew how many people would make her do this?

The kids leaned across their desks and gossiped amongst themselves. Peter, one of Brandon’s friends, lifted up a hand.

“I got one for you,” he said, “What’s with all the ‘sir’s. You sound like a dork.”

And the entire class exploded with laugher again.

Dork…another word that had escaped her language study. Alea Arden had mentioned real Americans used a great deal of slang, which their language program had been unable to keep up with. This was becoming a repeated struggle. Perhaps keeping notes on their usage would be wise. Whatever dork meant, it wasn’t complimentary.

She decided to reply with dignity. “I went to an exclusive military academy, and treating your superiors with respect is customary.”

The class quieted down. Interest had clearly been piqued. Zormna hoped those boys understood the message that they ought not to mess with her.

Mr. Keller smiled and excused Zormna to sit.

Obediently, she marched back—ably stepping over Brandon’s outstretched leg without even a look at him. Back in her seat, she waited until all staring eyes returned to the front of the room.

Mr. Keller was a good teacher. He went directly into his lesson, explained things clearly, then assigned appropriate activities and reading. Unfortunately, he referred to the textbook often—which she couldn’t use. And the first half of the class they spent going over the answers to the previous day’s homework. It was hard to keep from nodding off in boredom.

“Do you have your book yet?” the girl sitting in the next row whispered to her.

Zormna blinked then looked at her. The girl had dyed black hair, heavy black eyeliner around her eyes, and white lipstick. Zormna shook her head.

“You can share mine,” the girl said. 

Nodding, Zormna looked over at the open page, pretending to read. It was embarrassing.

“I’m Jessica, by the way,” the girl said.

Blinking at her again, Zormna took in Jessica’s gothic clothes, multiple earrings, and her nose ring. So bizarre. Yet Jessica smiled sincerely at her, no malice or jealousy at all.

Sighing, Zormna smiled, her dimples carving into her cheeks. “Nice to meet you.”

*

Jennifer rushed out the classroom as soon as the bell rang. Zormna would be waiting, and Jennifer was eager to see how the Irish girl fared… especially in a class like Mr. Keller’s remedial Life-Science course. The girl would probably rush to her like a scared rabbit, Jennifer thought with a snicker. She would—

But Jennifer lurched to a halt when she reached the second floor.

In the middle of the hall, standing with that stupid traitor, Jessica-the-jerkoff, Zormna was smiling. Smiling! And that creepy metal-head, Brandon Fry, was watching her with a—ugh—degree of reverence. Was no one immune to that blonde’s allure? Jennifer ran over.

Zormna turned when Jennifer rushed up.

And so did Jessica. Jessica’s gaze leveled at Jennifer dryly. “What do you want, Jenny-poo?

Jennifer glared back. “Zormna is with me.”

“Oh, I didn’t think you were into girls.” Jessica’s grin twisted into a simper. “Did you dump that puppy, Kevin?”

“No!” Jennifer snapped, a blush rising to her cheeks. She pushed up into Jessica’s face, almost nose to nose. “Zormna is staying with my family.”

Jessica pulled back, shooting Zormna a look. “Are you really?”

Zormna had been standing there, gazing at the ceiling as if she were dealing with little children. Her eye briefly met Jennifer’s. “Yes. Now can we go? I would like to arrive at my next class before the late bell rings.”

“Then come on.” Brandon reached out to physically escort the blonde, chuckling in that sleaze-bag way of his. “Mr. Parker’s math class is my class too. Let’s go together.”

Zormna ducked around his arm, scowling at him. She went to Jessica’s other side.

Jessica slapped Brandon on the chest. “She told you to stop it!”

It hardly made a dent.

Brandon and crew cackled, hungrily watching Zormna.

Jennifer raised her eyebrows. Zormna stood with her