The Secret of Zormna Clendar, Julie Steimle [e novels to read online .TXT] 📗

it, right?” her teacher asked.

Stiffening, Zormna shrugged. “I’ve read of Olympus. It is a mountain in Greece where the people used to believe that—”

Someone burst out laughing. But he immediately clammed up when no one joined in.

Instead, there were more whispers, though the boy’s snickers came through his muffling fingers. Then others chuckled. Their laughs bubbled up once more as more whispers rose.

Zormna sank deeper into her seat, her face feeling even hotter.

It took a moment for Mrs. Ryant to react, too stunned, maybe. But then she straightened up. “Ok. Though I don’t get how, I see this is all new to you. All the history of the Olympics aside, the school Olympics is a day when the homeroom classes compete athletically and academically with the rest of the school.”

Sparky interrupted immediately. “We usually kick butt in the academic part, but we lose miserably at all the rest.” 

He was smug about it for some reason. Her classmates chimed in with murmurs and nods.

“One day of athletics, huh?” Zormna found the idea amusing. A school-wide sports competition. With academics. And homerooms competing? That did give some classes a decided advantage in the overall outcome. Yet—looking at her classmates—it was a tempting challenge.

Yet their teacher closed her mouth, watching the class nod miserably. Dropping her paper on the desk, Mrs. Ryant threw up her hands.

However, Zormna smiled dreamily at the open space before her. “We can do it.”

Everyone froze, including the teacher whose eyes lit up with hope.

But the class moaned together. A clamor of exclamations erupted from them, just as whiny as the first.

“Didn’t you hear us? We don’t do sports.” “Are you stupid?” “How thick can you get?” “They’ll cream us.” “I hate this time of year.” “Mortification central.”

Zormna pressed her hands over her ears to block out the ranting.

“You are as crazy as that aunt of yours!”

Rising, Zormna made fists.

Everyone quickly leaned back. Several glared at the idiot who had just said that last thing. But Zormna only shook her head at them. She had that typical are-you-stupid look on her face.

“That is defeatist talk!” she said. “What is the matter with all of you?”

And since she wasn’t going to kill them, Sparky answered, “We always lose.”

Rolling her eyes, Zormna looked to the ceiling and moaned. “Quitting before you start is losing. Putting forth your best and failing at a few things is still success. Besides, I am athletically inclined, and I know I am not the only one here who is.”

Which was true. There were those silent ones on the slow track who had remained silent during the argument. Right now they were listening intently. Most of these kids sat in the back and at the booths.

She looked directly to Sparky whom all their classmates turned to for support. He was the one to convince if she wanted to get anything done. “Besides, what all you guys really need is training. I have seen soldiers in worse shape than you become some of the best fighters. You just have to know how to play your strengths.”

But the class groaned again. They just did not get it.

“We’re not soldiers, Zormna,” Sparky said for them all.

Several agreed, murmuring and nodding.

“Well, at least we will win in the academic part,” Becky Hales said off-hand to the girl sitting next to her.

“And the chess competition,” added the president of the chess club, that Michael Peterson whom Zormna had been avoiding since the second week of school after he had invited her to be the chess club’s ‘mascot’. He had been so condescending, and he had kept staring at her chest when he talked to her.

Feeling more like an exhausted parent than a classmate, Zormna let out a tired sigh. These kids really needed help.

“No. We can do better than that.” She pointed straight at Michael who was still staring at her chest. “You. You claim to be the best chess player in your club. That is a game of war strategy, right? It is where and when you place the pieces that matters. That is how you win.”

Michael’s eyes lifted to her face, perhaps for the first time. They widened. His mouth opened into a thinking gape.

“We may not have the brute strength that other classes may have,” Zormna said. “But if you all claim to be the intellectuals that you are, then you ought to be able to outwit the more thuggish elements of this school.” Zormna turned to face Mrs. Ryant. “What are the challenges in the school Olympics? Do you have a list?”

Mrs. Ryant nodded. She handed Zormna the paper. “Here.”

Zormna’s small fingers deftly plucked the list from her hand, turning it around. “Ok, let’s see….” Her eyes perused words she had not been able to read weeks before—a fact that marveled just about everyone in the room. They leaned in to hear what she had to say. Unfortunately, none of the list made sense. “Ok, Horseshoes, what is that?”

Her classmates laughed, reality smacking them backward in their seats.

Zormna lifted her eyes in a glare at them. And they returned it, their former judgments returning.  

“It is a shoe on a horse.” Becky glanced at Sparky with a smirk.

Shooting Becky a caustic look, Zormna asked, “What does a shoe on a horse have to do with athletics?”

But they were still snickering.

Even Mrs. Ryant struggled to smother a chuckle as she explained, “You toss them at a pole. If they catch on the pole, you win.”

Ignoring the judgmental looks, Zormna continued, “Then it is a throwing game of accuracy. Scrapes, I could do that.”

They all nodded, yet most were losing interest. If this was to work, she had get them all involved. What she had to do was build confidence and enthusiasm.

“But one person isn’t supposed to do everything,” she said. “Is there anyone here willing to admit he is skilled at this game?”

Her classmates quieted down. They squirmed, glancing to one another.

Propping her hands on her hips, Zormna asked again, “Come on. Who has decent eye-hand coordination? Don’t be shy.”

Somewhere in the back of the room a petite, brown-haired girl quietly raised her hand.

Zormna nodded to her then plucked up a pencil, spinning it in her fingers.

Everyone turned around to look.

The girl sank deeper in her chair, but her hand was still up. “I…I’m good at horseshoes. We play it at my grandma’s farm.”  

Setting the pencil tip to the paper, Zormna asked, “And your name is?”

“Ann, Ann Cramer,” the girl replied in half a whisper.

While writing it down, a grin dug dimples into Zormna’s cheeks. “Brave Ann. Good. You are our official horseshoe-thrower. Next game.” Examining the list, she read, “Discus throwing.” She blinked then flushed as she realized most of these were foreign games. “What is that?”

The entire class moaned.

But that was how the list reading went. It was an exercise in humility, really. There was still so much that she did not know about American culture. Not that she had been an avid student of the culture when she was back home, but that she had thought she had known sufficient enough to get by if necessary. This was proving to be a painful, yet useful lesson… especially since she had to ask about nearly every event on the list, from group games like Doctor Doctor, Leap Frog, and Tug of War, to the specifics on the relay races such as how many were needed and what would be expected. It forced her to take detailed notes. They were done after fifteen minutes.

Zormna handed the paper back to Mrs. Ryant and tried to sit down.

Yet Mrs. Ryant gently pulled on Zormna’s arm to keep her at the front of the room.

“Excellent,” the teacher said. “That was great planning. Now all we need is a team captain.”

Zormna could feel where this was going and closed her eyes with a cringe. Before that hour, it would have been Sparky, hands down. He was the most outspoken, and everyone listened to him. But now everyone was staring at her.

“Oh, no. I was just doing this because—”

“Now, don’t you think you ought to finish the job you started?” Mrs. Ryant grinned in that ‘Eureka! I’ve found a solution!’ way of hers. “You clearly know what you are doing. Zormna, would you please lead our class?”

Looking towards the faces of the others that were all waiting expectantly, Zormna frowned. Her plan had been to support from underneath. The FBI were watching. Al and ‘Jeff’ were…ugh!

“Scrapes,” Zormna muttered. But their hopes were on her. She had built them up with it. It was now on her shoulders. With a weighty sigh, she nodded. “Ok. But I warn you, I was raised military. That means I expect orders to be obeyed.”

Already some of them cringed with regret.

Yet Sparky said, “What kind of orders?”

Looking to him, Zormna answered, knowing they were all listening intently to his reaction, “Promptness in coming to practice.”

“Practice?” someone yelped.

“No one else is going to practice,” Becky said, already whining. Zormna wished she’d stop.

“I doubt that. If you are all as serious about avoiding embarrassment then I have no doubts others feel the same…and they will practice. Besides, real athletes train.”

“We aren’t real athletes,” Michael retorted, straightening the glasses on his face. His eyes drifted towards her chest again, if only a little. She would have to give him a talking-to about that—or maybe just a good hard slap.

“I can see that,” Zormna glared at him. She turned her gaze to the others. “But I want all of you to think about what you all just told me. You said every year you are humiliated. If you keep approaching this event the same way you do every year, you will continue to be humiliated. I promise you that if we get together regularly and practice what we have to do for the Olympics, we will not be humiliated. In fact, I can picture us coming into the events, everyone else expecting our class to fail—calling us, what? Nerds? Geeks? Well, when they call us that, we can blow their minds by—what do they say? ‘whipping their butts’ at all the events. Imagine us coming away with awards. Imagine us tromping on all those lazy, unpracticed lay-a-bouts that think they can easily beat us. And then, one right after another, we vanquish them.

“I know we cannot win everything, but can you imagine the look on their faces of those we do beat?” She clenched her fist, lifting it triumphantly. “Beat them where we can. Surprise them often. And where we cannot win, go down fighting.”

Her eyes shining, Zormna gaze down at the class. All of them stared at her breathlessly. They all felt chills.

Sparky glanced to the others then shrugged. “Ok.”

Zormna lowered her fist, straightening up. “Alright then. First order as captain—we need to create a sense of unity. That means we need a uniform of some kind.”

Half the class groaned. The chills faded and the foreboding of doom traveled back to their stomachs.

Yet a boy sitting in the back of the room, a Jerry Smith who usually spent his time doodling on his folder, nudged his classmate Jeremy Backslaughter and called out, “Skip the uniform. We should all get tee shirts for this. Jeremy and I can design it, and the flag.”

His classmates patted Jerry on the back with cheers of relief.

Zormna nodded. “Good. Then you two have a picture done by Friday. And we’ll see if we can find an institution that will construct the shirts. Any other ideas?”

That opened up a tumbling-out of suggestions, as everyone feared the military regulations Zormna might impose on them if they didn’t. She could see it in their eyes. Yet Zormna merely led the discussion, occasionally giving an ‘order’ which was more like a proposition if they looked at it without panicking. Her orders were mostly for them to choose a site where they would practice without being watched, then set up deadlines for certain details leading up to the event. Several of them volunteered meeting at their houses for practice. Some