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

gunshot holes across it, was Zormna. Admittedly, Jennifer had expected them to come dressed in white shirts and ties with glasses taped at the nose with a more intellectual banner—like Ryant’s Researchers or something of that ilk. Of course, with Zormna at the lead there was no doubt who had instigated the change.

Zormna lifted her eyes towards the explosion of laughter catapulted from Jeff’s remark, though it died down the moment their schoolmates really looked. An army brat gone rebel, a camouflage bandana covered Zormna’s fiery curls. Black-and-green grease paint smeared over her white skin masked any semblance of her usual brilliance. Likewise, her classmates marched behind her with the hardened façade of a task force. They were going to war.

A good portion of the school stared in shock, eying the well-known geeks as they marched to their seats. Yet gossip erupted all around them, heaped with speculation. Of course, Zormna had set eyes on Jeff Streigle the second she heard his voice. She peered hard at his cluster of classmates also, assessing the competition.

Jennifer glanced over his way. She saw Jeff narrow his eyes at Zormna with a shudder. Zormna had not removed her watch on him until she sat down in the stands and turned with a remark to one of her teammates. Then Mrs. Ryant arrived, dressed like a cross between military general and a gal on safari. The teacher trotted over to her class carrying reams of candy leis in her arms. She lifted them up to show the class what they would get when they made their first win.

“Oh, I want that.” Penny yearned, licking her lips.

“Why won’t Mrs. Guyver do that?” Lucy complained.

Tommy snorted. “Because Guyver isn’t cool like Mrs. Ryant. Look. Our teacher is sitting with the others over there.”

But Jennifer did not look to where he was pointing. Her eyes were still on Jeff who exhaled, looking away from Zormna finally. It gave her chills.

And she wondered.

Glancing about the stadium, Jennifer’s mind turned to the FBI agents who would be watching Zormna. Were they there also? It would not make sense for the janitor to be there. He’d get fired for being a pervert. So other agents would have been dispatched. Where would they be? There were a lot of people supporting the Olympics outside the school staff on location.

But more classes came in and the time was nearing to start, so she quit looking. Todd’s class jogged in late. Jennifer noticed Kevin’s class—Shafer’s Sheiks—dressed like characters from Arabian Nights. The girls (lucky) wore these cute genie pants and tank tops.

“They’ll sunburn,” Lucy remarked.

The opening ceremonies started exactly at seven-thirty.

The Associate Student Body President walked to the podium on the stand and signaled with a wave for the ROTC to begin the flag-raising. The three students in military uniform marched across the field with a flag in each of their hands. Everyone rose to their feet. Jennifer noticed Zormna blinking in confusion (as usual) as she also rose. It took her moment, yet Zormna mimicked her classmates when they placed their hands on their hearts. Shorter than the rest, unable to see what was going on down below even on tiptoe, Zormna hopped onto the bench.

Then the band played the national anthem. The ROTC stepped back from the three flags they had hoisted—the stars and stripes, the state flag, and the Olympic flag—and saluted.

It was almost impossible for Jennifer to take her eyes off the Irish blonde as the girl impatiently squirmed during the pledge of allegiance. Zormna kept biting her lip uncomfortably, glancing at her seat then the back of the person in front of her, shifting her feet back and forth in an ADHD shuffle, even during the lighting of the Olympic torch. Jennifer wondered, with a chuckle, if Zormna needed to run off to the bathroom.

Then they sat…through a long boring lecture from the principal. Something about the virtues of healthy competition and the spirit of the Olympics. A load of baloney since everyone was eyeing the other classes meanly, wishing in their heart of hearts to crush and dominate in all the games. The winner of the Olympic games, the one class with the most medals, got an extra special class trophy and a free trip to Magic Mountain during a school day. And those that lost—Jennifer peeked at Mrs. Ryant’s class—would be teased endlessly in the years to come. That’s what happened last year. Jennifer leaned forward with the others, waiting painfully for the lecture end.

The moment the principal said: “Let the games begin!” the entire student body burst in to cheers.

 “Ryant’s Renegades! Blow ‘em up with hand grenades! Chew ‘em up and spit ‘em out! Beat ‘em! Fight ‘em! Shout, shout, shout!” Burst out from Zormna’s class.

Jennifer noticed Zormna was sticking a finger in her ear, leaning away from Sparky Jones.

Jennifer’s class also rose, breaking into chants—though they were not as organized as some of the others. Ingrid took charge, immediately waving for all of them to pay attention so they could claim their spot on the lawn—which was what every other class was doing.

Jennifer overheard Zormna’s voice, doing the same.

“Hold on! Don’t go yet!” Her shrill Irish pitch had a sharpness that grabbed attention. Jennifer peeked back.

Mrs. Ryant’s class halted, some cringing with a groan. But Zormna had their attention.

“Remember the game plan,” Zormna said. “You know your duties. Claim our space. Protect it, and play hard. But don’t forget, it is not a life-or-death war out there. We’re just here to have fun—while rubbing their noses in it. Now let’s go.”

Her class let out a whoop, cheering with an even more determined march to the field.

“Hey!” Ingrid snapped her fingers in front of Jennifer’s nose.

Blinking Jennifer turned back towards her group. “Huh? What?”

“You’re on our team,” Ingrid reminded her, hands on hips. “Focus. We start at the long jump in the round-robin rotation, where we’ll be doing the outer-ring competitions then we go to the inner field. You were chosen to be in the relay race with Stephanie and Lucy. Are you ready for it?”

Jennifer nodded. She had done one practice with Stephanie on the hand-offs, though Lucy had ditched. But Jennifer’s eyes trailed after Zormna’s class, thinking now about how much preparation they really put into practicing. She murmured, “Maybe we’d better practice handing the baton again…just in case.”

“We got it,” Stephanie said, marching down the steps to the track. Most of them had already migrated down to the grassy field, claiming their patch of lawn.

“Easy-peasy,” Lucy said.

Shrugging, Jennifer peeked at Zormna’s class once more. They marched with confidence to their own piece of lawn—way on the other side of the stadium, and (consequently) far from Jeff’s class. Jennifer had a feeling it was Zormna’s single criterion.

With the round-robin rotation, several events went on at once. Around the outside of the track were the long jump, high jump, shot-put and javelin competitions. Discus and horseshoes were held inside the baseball diamond. A pavilion had been erected in the near parking lot where the school ran the academic competitions, though they also had puzzle assembly races and a first aid station there with water coolers and cots. On the actual football field inside the track, more of the silly games took place in which entire classes had to coordinate together to win, including one wacky obstacle course. Besides all these, the track was constantly in use, running races. Most group activities rotated on the half-hour, and some on the hour. It kept them busy.

But Jennifer found her eyes drifting to Mrs. Ryant’s class in between tasks. Many eyes did. Because, marching out from their little patch of grass, Ryant’s Renegades practically slaughtered in the games—with Zormna leading them like a triumphant Napoleon. They killed in most of the group games. Where most classes were chaotic and indecisive, Mrs. Ryant’s class executed things as if they were flying in formation. Though, they finally had their Waterloo during the tug-of-war against the freshmen wrestling team, and they got tangled up during the group twister game. But instead of crumbling with embarrassment like the simpering geeks everyone had taken them for, the class fell over with tears of laughter. It was obvious that they had never had so much fun in their lives—including Zormna. Most of the morning the blonde’s face was split open with the broadest smile. Radiant, like the sun.

Jennifer lost her breath, just staring.

Then she looked to the bleachers to see if any FBI agents were watching the events. She couldn’t tell. No one wore dark suits in the stands. But then Jennifer never expected the agents to dress in a way that would agitate the teachers. The janitor also wasn’t in sight. Smart man.

But the day kept Jennifer busy. She had to ultimately rely on the score board where the judges’ assistants were hanging the progress of each team. Her relay race had come and gone. They lost—badly. So badly she didn’t want to think about it because it made her angry. But there was still a lot for everyone to do.

Looking at it now, Jennifer could see her own class had scored average. Not the best, but not the worst. And they were disqualified in the Dizzy-Lizzy race when one of the boys used his cane to trip his competition. Those props had been promptly confiscated. Below her class on the score board, she saw Mrs. Ryant’s class ranking a little higher. 

Eoin Haim stomped back to their camp cross the grass, grumbling under his breath, from the Academic Decathlon tent. With him, Ingrid and Stephanie were scowling.

“What happened?” Jennifer followed, wide-eyed as they reached their marked out area.

Ingrid scowled at Jennifer. “Nothing. Just that stupid Ryant’s class just dominated the competition. Of course. They’re all geeks.”

“They beat us at chess too,” Eoin muttered. “But I swear it is cheating to have the president of the chess club be the one representing a class.”

Jennifer shrugged. They all knew Mrs. Ryant’s class would dominate that portion of the Olympics. And Jennifer was about to say so when Stephanie shook her head, saying, “It’s not fair to have so many smart kids in a homeroom.”

“There are athletic homerooms,” Jennifer suggested.

They all moaned, nodding. It was an ugly fact of their unfair life. There was no way their class would win. And they had to accept it.

But Mrs. Ryant cheered and bragged alongside her class the entire time, draping candy leis around her students’ necks. Mrs. Guyver did nothing. In fact, she just sat, delivering indifferent commentary to the other teachers apathetically watching the games. Ugh. Teachers with tenure. A nasty breed. Jennifer jealousy watched Mrs. Ryant gleefully burden Becky Henderson with a candy gold-medallion lei, clapping Becky on the back with hearty congratulations.

“Lucky,” Lucy murmured.

Jennifer nodded.

Some of Mrs. Ryant’s students had three or four leis weighing them down. Zormna had five. And her eyes were shining. She looked just so disgustingly happy.

“I wonder how they are doing athletically,” Ingrid murmured.

“That’s a lot of leis,” Lucy said.

Jennifer looked up at the score board, her brow wrinkling at their marks. She read out loud, “Second in the Frisbee toss. First in Horseshoes. First in the upperclassmen relay races. And fourth in the school-wide relay race.”

“What?” Ingrid’s eyes widened.

Jennifer pointed up at the scoreboard. “See for yourself.”

Their class had not even placed in the school-wide race. Lucy had tripped on her loose shoelaces, and had dropped the baton. Jennifer knew they should have practiced before. “Easy-peasy,” Lucy had said. Hah!

“I bet Zormna had selected the order they ran in so that the participants were paced just right,” Jennifer muttered.

Lucy ground her teeth. She sent a scathing look Zormna’s way. Even Eoin frowned.

Guyver’s Guys and Gals had a group competition next. It was near the Dizzy-Lizzy relay area where Zormna’s class was competing with Coach Morris’s athletic homeroom—the ‘Mongol’ soccer team. Currently the Mongols were gloating in their ‘furry’ hats. Guyver’s class overheard it all.

“Losers!” Greg Pattenson thumbed his nose at Michael Peterson, raising his fur-trimmed spear in the