The Mars Project, Julie Steimle [read aloud txt] 📗

of 1812, the Civil War, World War One and Two, and the Korean War. They protested the Vietnam War, and the Iraq War, and the rest of time we lived in peace here in the U.S. My family heritage is full, and I am proud to be an American. What does this tell you?”

“That she seems to measure time only by war,” Zormna muttered.

Jessica snickered, ducking to keep from being heard. Even Jennifer chuckled. Sam heard her and smirked.

Tammy staunchly raised her hand. “That our patriotic ancestors fought so that we might have peace.”

She grinned smugly back at the others. Michelle wasn’t paying attention, too busy painting her fingernails.

Zormna shrugged her shoulders then glanced toward the window. Some of the leaves on the tree outside were going from a strong green to a light yellow. Some were orange. It was the first time she had ever seen leaves change color and it took away all her interest.

“That is very true,” their teacher said. “What we have is built upon the efforts of our ancestors. Next Saturday—not tomorrow for those who are looking worried—will be the cultural fair. You must not only show your knowledge of your chosen nation but you must show your personal connection with that nation. I don’t want impersonal booths. You should be prepared to answer questions about your nation and yourself. I want a taste of the place. Be your place.”

Miss Bianchi gazed across the class, eyeing Jennifer McLenna specifically. Jennifer sighed and slumped in her seat. However, Zormna also caught her gaze. And perhaps for the first time the teacher saw her there. To be frank, the teacher hardly looked beyond the first two rows. But Zormna’s icy green eyes pierced her as she stared back.

Miss Bianchi looked away nervously to start her lesson again.

“Ok, the next assignment, which is due at the end of the month, is a paper,” Miss Bianchi said. “I want you to write about your first ancestors in America. Find out what you can about them and the area they lived in. I want a five-page paper—without mistakes (you will be counted off for grammar)—about how they arrived and what it was like when they first came. Did they have obstacles? Who came with them? You must have your own pilgrim story, if only set in recent years.”

They all nodded and murmured to each other. Sighing, Jennifer sat back. She knew that meant she had to interview her parents and write down their made up story from when they supposedly came from Ireland. But then she noticed the others in class. Many had more perplexed looks. Michelle shrugged as she muttered that she didn’t know when her ancestors came to America. Stacey seemed to be the only one completely comfortable with the idea, though Jessica murmured to herself that this project was going to be a headache.

“Oh, my mom has several volumes of family history in our library. This is going to be easy,” Stacey whispered back to Michelle. “My grandparents were so into that genealogy thing.”

Zormna raised her hand, sitting up straighter in her seat.

Their teacher’s eyes fell on her again. “Yes? Miss…?” searching her roll.

“Clendar. Zormna Clendar. How can I do this assignment? I am the first person to America in my family.”

Their teacher gazed at her as if she was still seeing her for the first time. Miss Bianchi curiously tilted her head. “And where are you from?”

Glancing at Jennifer, Zormna replied, “I am from Ireland.”

Jessica then spoke up. “But, wait, Zormna. What about your aunt? She came here before you.”

Zormna glanced at Jessica as she huffed. “She is not my ancestor—and she was my great aunt, my mother’s aunt.”

But the teacher smiled with a nod. “Then you can write about her.”

Zormna vigorously shook her head. “No, I can’t. I never knew her. She died before I got here, and she left no journals or anything.”

Miss Bianchi looked hardly moved. “Well, then you have some research to do.”

Groaning, Zormna wouldn’t stop, hand still in the air. “Research what? She left no journals. And the government picked up everything else. What am I supposed to do? Talk to my lawyer about her?”

Miss Bianchi had started to frown, thinking Zormna was making fun of her when she talked about getting information from a lawyer. “Then write about your experiences here as a pilgrim.”

Almost looking ill, Zormna replied, “As a pilgrim? I don’t want to be here. I’d rather go home.”

Jennifer covered her head with her hands. Sam stared, and Jessica slapped a hand over her mouth to stop a laugh. Michelle and Stacey stared, but they did not seem as surprised. Half the class looked flummoxed—especially Adam.

“Are you saying you hate America?” Miss Bianchi’s nostrils flared indignantly. Her chest heaved as she seemed to rise in height.  

Zormna’s eyes flickered dangerously as they narrowed on the woman. Fed up, she rose from her seat and packed her books into her book bag. Everyone watched.

“What are you doing?” the teacher demanded. “Sit down.”

However, Zormna shook her head with such a sour expression. “I’m going to the nurse’s office. I have a headache.”

“No, you’re not.” Miss Bianchi replied, her mouth gaping at such rude response. No one had either spoken like that to her like that before, or at least never gotten away with it. “You can’t go unless I excuse you. We were having a discussion, and you were showing me disrespect. Now you will follow our one rule and give me the respect that I, as a teacher, deserve.”

Zormna stood there. And though she set her books back on her desk, she merely bowed to the teacher. Standing up again, she said, “Can I go now?”

The class stifled laughs.

“That’s not what I meant!” Miss Bianchi’s voice went shrill.

Sighing, Zormna sat down. “Then what do you want?”

“Just answer my question,” their teacher repeated with bite. “Do you hate America?”

The room went deathly silent. All eyes were on Zormna. Love? Hate? Honestly, it just wasn’t home. And regardless of the all the faults of Home, no country could replace it.

Zormna sighed, shook her head and looked up at her. “If I say ‘yes’ will you let me go to the nurse?”

Miss Bianchi just stood there, pale with astonishment. “You hate the nation that has given you such a good life since you’ve gotten here?”

“My life hasn’t been good since I got here.” Zormna laughed bitterly.

Her teacher shook her head sternly. “You take it so for granted.”

Zormna started to cough, choking down an even larger laugh. Jennifer could follow what she was thinking though, and had to admit that Zormna wasn’t having the best of time on Earth. After all, her parents were treating her lousy. Her great aunt was dead, murdered. The FBI were following her everywhere. They had kidnapped her. Shot her. And done who knows what to her while she had been missing. And she had lost all her rank and status in her military, leaving her to fend for herself, with only a former enemy to guard her. It probably impossible for Zormna to think positively about her situation.

“You think this is funny,” her teacher continued.

Everyone watched, waiting with great interest. Zormna’s ‘infamous’ past was a thing for rumors, already told, retold and twisted so many times that this fresh scoop of Zormna weirdness made them wonder what was happening outside school. Only a few really believed the FBI were following her like they had her ‘crazy’ aunt. Zormna was also famous for weird outbursts, and they wanted to see one.

“I don’t hate America,” Zormna said at last. But then shaking her head, she said, “But I don’t prefer it to Home. Once I get my chance, I’m going back.”

“And forgetting it all, no doubt,” their teacher replied sourly, sitting back at her desk.

She closed her eyes¸ Zormna was feeling her head throb more. Taking deep breaths, she asked again, “Can I please go to the nurse?”

Their teacher shook her head. “You can’t fake a headache to get out of class.”

She then turned to face the rest of the students. She told them to open their texts to the next chapter, entitled: ‘Our Founding Forefathers.’ But her hands were shaking.

Handing a small white pill forward under the desk, Jessica said, “Here. I have one you can have.”

Zormna nodded and took it. “Thanks.”

Their teacher hardly noticed the exchange, but everyone around glanced at one another knowingly. Many had seen it all before, especially the cheerleaders. And those that hadn’t soon learned. Adam and Sam both got a quick rundown from those sitting around them about the year before and her missing three days. They all knew her headache was real.

 

Chapter Seven: Extenuating Circumstances

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You probably would not worry about what people think of you if you knew how seldom they did.

—anon—

 

 

The weekend passed and Saturday’s yard sale was a bust. The McLenna’s neighborhood was too quiet to attract strangers and too new to interest people in old junk. That is, not their old junk which was actually rather boring and useless. It was just as well since the parents only really wanted to give Zormna some labor to do to keep her busy, if she already wasn’t.

That Sunday night, Jeff showed up at the front door.

Mr. McLenna had opened it, shirt untucked and waiting for dinner. Everyone else was either setting up or in their rooms. The TV was on. He stared at Jeff, wondering what Todd’s former wrestling buddy was doing on their stoop—especially the creepy one whom it was rumored had once been in a Chicago gang. Jeff’s scars and dark stare had disturbed them then and still disturbed them now.

“Hi,” Jeff said. “Can I speak to Zormna, please?”

It almost seemed fitting that he had become friends with Zormna, the father thought. Mr. McLenna’s jaw clenched. But he called up toward the second floor, “Zormna! Someone is here for you.”

He then let Jeff in, as the people in the FBI car took an interest and that was even more disturbing.

Jeff waited politely, standing in the hall under the stairs in the black leather jacket he wore the last time they saw him. He seemed to still be of the same nature—trouble.

Zormna crept down the hall from her bedroom and peered over the banister. When she saw him, her mouth involuntarily gaped. She almost said something, but clammed up once she caught Jeff’s warning eye. Walking down the stairs, Zormna shook her head. “What are you doing here?”

Jeff shrugged. “I need to talk to you.”

Mr. McLenna glared at her then peeked at him, clearly thinking it was fitting that she ended up making friends with the troublemaker of Todd’s group.

She also gazed at him, wondering. 

Mr. McLenna said, “You can go into the front room. We’re about to have dinner.”

Zormna nodded then pointed the way back. Jeff followed. They stepped to the side where all the furniture reminded Jeff of some fancy museum. The front room was all for show, including the flower arrangements and pictures.  

“What did you come here for that couldn’t wait until Monday?” she asked him, feeling rather perturbed.

Jeff shrugged again. “I just wanted to check them out. I watched the yard sale yesterday and the way they were bossing you around. Zormna, you are not going to have time for