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

agreement, to help him out. Brian and Jonathan watched them, wondering what the pair were up to.

The cook’s helper frantically chased after them. “No! Get back to work! This is no time for games!”

More heads turned, now following the cook’s helper. Jonathan and Brian’s gaze turned from their pals to the cook’s helper, their eyes widening as the man practically shoved Mark away from something with a chastening glare. But Mark and Jeff whirled around him like little boys on a treasure hunt. They stopped at another table, feeling over it, then cheered. “Another one!”

 Jeff gazed up at the agent, whose identity both boys had already guessed, his grin transforming into an expression of disbelief.

Brian walked up to them. The bug in their possession was small and very similar to the first one. Peering at it, Brian’s face went white. He turned to look at the cook’s helper whom they had clearly identified as an FBI agent. “This is our table.”

The cook’s helper’s face stiffened grimly. He closed his hand into a fist.

Mark stared up, no longer laughing but incredibly mystified over what he was seeing.

Jonathan joined them at the table, crouching down to examine the bug also. All four boys peered narrowly at the cook’s helper with increased suspicion, while the rest of the wrestling team maneuvered around them wondering what was going on.

“Why in the world are you spying on us?” Mark rose to his full height, approaching the cook’s helper in an uncomfortable but determined manner, his hands balling tightly into fists.

Angling his head in thought, Jeff then tossed up his hands like he at last understood. “I know. It’s me.” The entire act was convincing enough for both the cook and his friends.

Turning back to Jeff, Mark blinked at him. “You? Why would they—?”

“Because of Zormna,” Jeff replied with a comprehending nod. “The first day, remember. Zormna got this whopping headache and called for me. Two FBI agents were in Mr. Hardt’s office at that time. I should have told you. I bet the Feds must think something is up between her and me because of that.” 

Jeff watched the cook’s helper’s expression lighten as the man sighed.

Mark laughed harder than before. He even dropped against the wall, clenching his stomach as tears rolled down his eyes. “The FBI were here and they think… Oh, ho, ho…you and Zormna are…planning…ah, ha, ha…huuuu,” —taking a breath— “plotting something?” 

Mark burst into even louder laughter and pounded against the wall.

Brian and Jonathan both smirked and set down the table. The idea did sound absurd. But with the secret out that they were being listened to by this man put a serious slant on the situation, and they were less apt to laugh. Especially considering what they knew about Zormna. Irish immigrant. Murdered relatives. Her own kidnapping. Neither boy could look at that man as a harmless part of the camp anymore.

Frowning, Jeff said as he looked likely to slap Mark on the head, “Jeez, Mark, I don’t hate her that much. We’ve actually made peace. Don’t laugh so hard.”

Wiping away the tears, Mark said, “Oh no, I think she’s a babe, and you’re smart enough to know that but…you and her?” Mark continued to laugh. Yet he wiped his eyes and said, “Let me guess. They think you two are both Martians like Zormna’s crazy aunt, and you are going to take over the world as soon as you pass your Trig test?” 

Mark busted up again.

Jeff smirked, shaking his head at the thought. He glanced up at the agent who had the look of someone who had realized he was the brunt of an incredibly rude joke.

“Get back to work,” the man snapped with a grumble. “Breakfast is in a half hour.”

Tipping his head as if he were wearing a top hat, Jeff smirked and saluted the man with a flick of his wrist. Operation annoy the FBI was successful. Having Mark make the discovery was the clincher. He had bought himself and Zormna some more time.

Turning on his heel, the cook’s helper stomped into the kitchen.

Once the man was gone Jeff bent over to help his friend stand and sober up. Mark wiped his eyes while snickering himself as he got to his feet. And he continued to chuckle as he went with his teammates to get the benches next, though Jonathan jabbed Mark in the side, telling him it wasn’t that funny.

“You ought to think about Zormna and the problems she’s having,” Jonathan snapped. “It’s kind of creepy.”

Brian nudged Jeff in the side then pointed to the doorway.

Zormna stood there looking in. Her eyes glanced towards the kitchen as she folded her arms. Her lips pressed together in a thin line. Then she turned her eyes on to Jeff. A smirk broke out of the corner of her mouth while she gave a tight nod before turning away. Jeff drew in a breath and glanced at Brian.

“You know, sometimes….” But Brian just shook his head and exhaled.

“Don’t worry about it.” Jeff patted him on the shoulder and turned to go back to setting things up with the others. “At least she’s not crazy.”

Brian gave him a side look, wondering what Jeff meant by that.

Once they set up all the tables and benches, the Pennington wresting team collected the food that the cook and his helpers had made, helping out also with some of the cooking where needed. As people gathered for the flag, the wrestling team made sure the warmers were on and the coolers were also, hefting the stainless steel bins and cans inside them.

Then everyone came.

The Pennington wrestling team severed everyone in style. Jeff and his friends had started to sing songs in boisterously loud voices, dumping the contents of their pans onto each plate and tray. Alternating between “Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam….” And “Oh, I’m a lumberjack and I’m ok! I work all night and I sleep all day!”

They rocked back and forth with each line of song as the other campers grinned at them, though some even joined in the songs as they moved down the line. 

“…I wish I was a girlie, just like my dear papa!” they sang.

“You are a girlie, Jeffey boy,” Damon said, sneering as he passed through the line.

Dumping the scrambled eggs onto the rival wrestler’s plate, speaking in a silly lisp, Jeff said with an effeminate toss of his wrist, “Here you go. Just for you. I poured some arsenic for finishing touch. You’ll just love the flavor.”

Damon glared at him, watching Jeff bat his eyes in his direction, making the Monroe wrestler turn away in disgust.

The Pennington wrestling team continued to serve breakfast to the students and the camp counselors that came through the line, holding their trays hungrily.

“Hello, Coach Harr. Fine morning!” Jonathan brightly said, serving the waffles with a pair of metal tongs.

“Morning,” the coach returned, nodding as he passed.

“Good morning, Coach Murphy!” Jonathan received the man handing him his waffles.

“Baker,” the coach said, taking his waffles. 

The man moved down the line followed by his assistant, Mr. Cameron Brown, Maya’s husband.

“Good morning, Coach Brown.” Jonathan smiled dropping the waffles on the man’s plate.

“Morning,” the coach responded. He proceeded down the line where he collected his juice and grapefruit then continued until he reached Jeff’s station.

“Good morning, Streigle,” he said, greeting the boy.

Jeff smiled as he dumped the spoonful of scrambled eggs onto the coach’s plate. “Good morning, Coach.”

Stopping for a moment, Coach Brown said, “You know, Streigle…can I talk to you after breakfast?”

Jeff shrugged. “Sure.”

“Just stick around the lodge, at the fireplace,” the coach said then walked from the queue.

Jeff nodded, following the coach with his eyes, dumping eggs systematically on plates. During the rain they still had wrestling, and typically he had stayed out of trouble. Yet, Jeff knew Director Hardt had set this coach on him to keep an eye on him—either for his own protection or to keep Jeff out of trouble. On occasions, Jeff had watched the director chatting with the assistant coach as if discussing matters that troubled him, but so far the man had not yet shown that he was really spying on either him or Zormna. Not that Jeff didn’t doubt he was.

“Hey! Watch where you’re dumping that!”

Looking up, then at the tray, Jeff then peered down at the floor where a pile of eggs splattered a Billsburg tennis player’s feet.

“Sorry.” Jeff took another scoop and dumped it onto the boy’s tray.

Zormna slipped into the line as soon as her Pennington teammates arrived at the lodge. They had squeezed in after the Harvest football team with giggles, loving the sunny weather, including Joy who pretended that she had not been purposely obnoxious during the rain. Zormna took her tray then greeted the happy welcome of Jonathan.

“Good Morning, Zormna. Rrrow!” Jonathan said. “You are looking hot today.” He flashed an encouraging smile, flirting with his eyebrows.

Snickering, Zormna laughed and shook her head. “Good morning.” 

She continued through the line until she reached Mark and Jeff. Both boys laughed when they saw her.

Jeff nudged Mark. “Tell her what we found this morning.”

Mark grinned slyly. Leaning in, he said, “I found a bug.”

Zormna’s face scrunched in distaste. “I hope you killed it.”

 “No. I mean a bug, as in FBI, CIA, KGB kind of bug,” Mark said, shaking his head. “And the cook’s helper was listening in with it.”

Zormna leaned back a little with one eye on Jeff. “Cook’s helper?”

Jeff nodded, and then so did Brian and Jonathan, all in synch.

“It was crazy,” Jonathan said. “They were yelling in to that little machine and the next thing you know this guy’s screaming and grabbing his head. We all saw it.”

With a choke to keep from laughing Zormna shook her head with a slight glance at Jeff.

“Were the FBI really here on the first day of camp?” Brian asked, leaning over the serving trays.

“Hey! Give me my eggs! Who’s holding up the line?” A person farther down the queue yelled.

Zormna flushed as she nodded to Brian, ignoring the rest, “I…well…yeah.”

The three friends placed down their serving spoons and gasped.

Jeff scratched his head and lifted his scoop of eggs, reaching under the splash guard and dumping them into a passing student’s plate. People were going around her.

“Hurry up, Zormna,” Jennifer snapped, shoving her tray at her. “You’re holding up the line.”

Zormna nodded to the boys. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

The boys shrugged, going back to dishing out their food, though Jeff pressed his lips together to stop a laugh. 

Mark gave him a side look then glanced at Zormna as she walked off. Rubbing his chin a moment, he said, “Well, perhaps you two are in something together.”

*

The hall had cleared of students when the last morsel was eaten. The Pennington track team had clean-up duty, working hard at washing the pots and pans.

Jeff waited by the fireplace as promised. Coach Brown had finished breakfast long before Jeff even started to eat, so when he had returned to the lodge, it was with several documents in his hand stuffed in a manila folder.

“Coach,” Jeff said, approaching tall black man.

Coach Brown smiled as he motioned for them to sit next to the serving window. Jeff followed him, dragging over a cheap metal stool where he promptly seated himself. He waited patiently as the counselor drew out a sheet of paper from the folder. Jeff peeked at it. It was his private record from his social worker’s file—or, at least a photocopy of it. He recognized the handwriting with a frown.

Hoping ‘Mrs. Guise’ was ok, Jeff leaned back and flung his hand towards the form. “What’s this?”

Coach Brown stared into Jeff’s dark blue eyes with practiced sympathy. But his stare was too probing for comfort, and he peered deeper at Jeff than anyone had ever looked at him in a long time. It made Jeff nervous.

Clearing his throat, the coach said, “Streigle, I need to talk to you about the fight you had.”

Jeff rolled his eyes, moaning. “Mr. Hardt and I already went over this.” He leaned