A Parthan Summer, Julie Steimle [best ereader for pdf TXT] 📗

while the other two were techno-mixes with pirate motifs, including bits from recent movie soundtracks. Michelle shouted out each step as they performed it, so no one would forget. The one they were working on required them to form themselves into something like a pirate ship with a mast. Three girls had to stand on each other’s shoulders with the top one holding the Jolly Roger. In this case, they created their mast, topping it with their smallest and lightest—who also happened to be the one person who had been watching the karate club down the hill instead of paying attention during Miss Betiford’s lectured on stunt safety.

But Zormna easily climbed to the top of their tall human structure, resting her feet on Stacey’s shoulders with perfect balance. She peered down over the open area of the campground and into the parking lot as she stood up. She had an amazing view, but she could not allow herself to get lost in it this time. She could see over the mountain road leading into the campground. As the song continued, the Jolly Roger flag (which was the moment was an empty stick) getting passed up for her to hold, Zormna spotted a familiar sedan on the mountain road. Not that she hadn’t expected it. But she wondered what they intended to do once they arrived. After all, they should have already infiltrated the camp with spies among the counselors. They had a month to prepare at least.

Yet as she took up the empty flagpole, waved the stick in the air and waited for when the song indicated for her to toss it back down then flip off into the arms of the girls who would ready themselves below to catch her, she saw the sedan to drive into the parking lot then park next to the lodge. Then they got out.

She tossed down the stick to the girl catching below, her eyes following the FBI agents’ journey. The two men in suits went directly to the main office door which was connected to the lodge. A nasty sense of foreboding washed through her. This was not their usual way. What were they up to?

Those below were not ready for her to dismount, but she no longer could wait. She was done. Without giving anyone notice, Zormna flipped off Stacey’s shoulders. The girls who had been preparing to catch her gasped when she dropped early and landed a couple yards behind them. Zormna braced herself on the grass to catch her breath. Her mind was racing.

Those blasted FBI. Certainly there were already agents in the camp—right? She had every intention of playing things safe because of that. What was this new game? Why were these agents coming so boldly into the camp? Did they want to make her feel even more like a bug under a microscope with all the attention they would draw?

As she knelt upon one knee on the ground trying to get a hold of herself, the other cheerleaders carefully dismounted and surrounded her. Michelle tromped over, looking ready to spit nails. “What are you doing?”

All calls and echoes from the karate camp had also ceased.

So did the other cheerleaders in the other groups. Everyone stared at what they had assumed was a slip and fall—especially with the way her team surrounded her. Miss Betiford dropped her clipboard, dashing over to see if Zormna was all right. The other coaches ran up, but did not reach Zormna before she rose with a jerk.

Pivoting on the balls of her feet, Zormna marched toward the lodge.

“You get back here this instant!” Shouting after her, Michelle stomped her foot.

Mutters of ‘what is she doing?’ and ‘where is she going?’ echoed throughout the clusters of girls on the grassy knoll. The Monroe cheerleaders stared at her the most, watching her ankle—which, of course, had no limp. 

Miss Betiford chased after her. “Zormna, where are you going? Is your ankle hurt? Are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” Zormna barely replied, still watching the FBI at the lodge door. The two men in dark suits scanned the horizon before entering the office. One of the men paused, looking towards Zormna. He spoke to the other, who responded.

Zormna continued in the direction of the lodge, her pace quickening as her eyes fixed on it. Miss Betiford hurried to her side.

“The workshop is not over,” Miss Betiford protested. Looking to where Zormna was staring, Miss Betiford caught a glimpse of the car. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Zormna didn’t even glance at the counselor, picking up her pace. Miss Betiford rushed right on her heels, more than a little surprised at how fast Zormna could move. She grabbed Zormna’s arm, startling Zormna into stopping.

“You can’t just go tromping off. What happened?” Miss Betiford looked into the green eyes of the pale-faced girl, sternly seeking the answer. 

Zormna glared at the grip on her arm then lifted her head.

“The FBI,” Zormna said through her teeth. “Those blasted agents are here. That is what’s wrong. ”

Jerking out of her counselor’s grip, Zormna once again tromped toward the director’s office where she had seen the two men go.

Miss Betiford stared after her and then at the office. Turning to the other girls who had slowly followed the pair of them down the hill, she called, “Go back and finish your routines. We’ll be right back.”

The Pennington cheer team watched her, each one shaking her head with whispers before they returned to their spot on the hill.

Marching faster to the lodge and straight to the office doors, Zormna grabbed the doorknob. She had expected it to be locked, but it twisted easily in her hand. A shiver raced up her arm like a shock of electricity. Glancing down, she saw that her hands were shaking.

And it made her furious. So furious, she turned the doorknob and barged into the room.

The two respectably suited men with dark hair turned toward the sound. The camp director sat up rigidly in his chair. He scowled at the small cheerleader intruding into his office.

Miss Betiford rushed in after her.  

“Sorry, Mr. Hardt. We didn’t mean to interrupt your meeting.” Miss Betiford hastily attempted to steer Zormna out of the room.

But Zormna refused to budge. Instead, she stepped up with a nasty look at the two men. “What are you doing here? Don’t you already have spies in the camp?”

One of the men huffed. 

The director rose from his seat. “Who is this girl? Get her out of here! This is a private meeting.”

One of the men gently rested his hand upon the director’s wrist. “It is ok. This matter is about her, actually.”

Zormna flinched, recognizing that voice. It sliced through her memories, bringing her thoughts back to a place she hated to recall. Barred windows. Cold white walls. A fenced lot. And a gunshot.

Miss Betiford’s eyes opened wide. She gawped at the men then glanced at Zormna. “Then you are FBI.”

It felt as if a knife had been inserted in her temples. Zormna clutched her head. “Why can’t you just leave me alone!”

“Zormna, you know full well we need to keep an eye on you to protect you,” one of the men in suits said.

“Like a roach you do!” The pain increased, bringing back to her memory the nauseating stench of stomach acid and cigar smoke. Zormna closed her eyes. “You just want to keep an eye on me so I won’t run off anywhere!”

“Zormna!” Miss Betiford’s mouth dropped open as she became increasingly appalled.

The camp director agreed indignantly. “That is hardly respectful, young lady! Now apologize to the man!”

But Zormna’s head was killing. She could hardly stand. It was like a cleaver was dicing her thoughts into icy shards.

“I said apologize!”

Zormna managed to open one eye. “You have got to be mad if you think I’m going to apologize to that man. They were involved in my kidnapping—”

“Now wait a second—” the second agent retorted. He looked a little paler than before, peeking a glanced to his partner.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the other replied, more calmly.

“I remember!” she spat back, clutching her head. She pointed at the one whose face she recognized. “You shot me.”

He went pale. But then he quickly regained his composure. “You have an overactive imagination.”

She shook her head, staggering to the desk. Zormna leaned against it, breathing hard as her head killed. “I have a bullet wound in my leg. A scar.”

“What is going on?” the camp director demanded.

“Insanity runs in her family,” one of the FBI agents replied. “Ignore what she’s saying.”

“What?” The camp director stared at the federal agents.

The first FBI agent explained. “Zormna Clendar’s late great aunt was insane.”

Zormna’s eyes lit up angrily. Breathing heavily through her teeth, she struggled to regain her composure, but it was a losing battle.

“She was temporarily institutionalized for assessment,” the agent said.

“My great aunt was not crazy,” Zormna growled back.

“She believed she was a Martian,” the same agent explained to the camp director in a regular, calm voice.

Zormna could not tell how the camp director or her counselor were reacting. All she knew was that the world was spinning as the pain in her head refused to stop. Zormna punched the desk top, trying to keep on her feet.

The two FBI agents nodded to one another.

“As we said before, we need to set a few of our men about the camp to keep an eye on Zormna,” one of the agents explained. “For her safety.”

“You haven’t already?” Zormna growled under her breath.

But the agents ignored her. “Despite the family insanity, she is also key to solving the murder of her great aunt—as we tried to explain before on the phone.”

“You mean that’s real?” Miss Betiford exclaimed.

“I told you…” Zormna muttered. But then the pain cut in more. She could see in her mind’s eye her climbing a tall wrought iron fence. Her leg was throbbing. Her hands were bleeding. Her feet felt like there were tiny pieces of glass in them. And something sharp stuck into her back. And she slipped and fell.

Zormna hit the ground in her memory—and in the office also.

Miss Betiford gasped. “Zormna!”

“Is she all right?” The camp director’s voice sounded distant.

Zormna attempted to open her eyes, but the light had become so much brighter and more painful. She curled into a ball, clutching her head and rocking.

“What’s going on?” the camp director shouted out.

“This has never happened before…” one of the agents murmured, but with curiosity rather than concern.

The memory of being carried back into a white building by a number of men in suits swallowed her, pain chewing into her skull. Tears rolled down her cheeks as the memories carved sharply into her mind.

Zormna sobbed for relief, reaching for help. “Jafarr…”

The commotion in the room stopped at that word.

All four adults stared down at her. She rocked tighter, holding her head with her hands and calling for the last and only person she knew who could help.

“Jafarr!” She moaned from her gut.

Miss Betiford knelt at Zormna’s side. “What is it, honey? What’s wrong? What can I do?”

The woman brushed her hand across Zormna’s cheek and attempted to wipe away the stream of tears that were running down Zormna’s face. But Zormna’s breathing grew more labored.

“They shot me in the leg…” Zormna moaned. “Jafarr, you promised… help.”

The two federal agents both blinked at her, pulling back. They shared a glance.

“What?” the counselor asked. 

The agents also wanted to know what, and listened intently.

Zormna barely had time to think. Her head killed. All she wanted was for it all to go away.

“Who?” Miss Bianchi shook her head resolutely. “Let’s get you to the infirmary.”

The two agents nodded, reaching down to help Zormna off the floor. The second they touched her, Zormna shrieked, recoiling as if their fingers were knives.

“Get back!” the camp director bellowed at them. “You’re obviously setting her off.”

“Alright, but—” The agents shared a look, taking steps further back.

“Is there somebody named Jafarr at this camp?” Miss Betiford asked. “Or is that also some imaginary…?”

The director shrugged as he rushed back to his