The Millennial Box by Julie Steimle (snow like ashes .TXT) 📖

And who was Zormna Clendar that the FBI would want to harm her? Frankly, the FBI really didn't know who she was. They only had guesses. Just like they only had guesses about him. No solid proof. Only speculation from stolen moments and bad information. After all, their DNA was human. They could not actually be called aliens. Martian was the word the FBI would use. And such a crude sounding word too. Arrassian was so much more elegant. And more true. But it wasn't like Jeff was going to tell them that. Nor would he let them know why he was protecting Zormna. It really was none of their business anyway.

Another week had started, leading to mid-November. Pennington was getting cold, and Jeff had begun to dress warmer. He encouraged Zormna to do the same as it usually snowed in Pennington and snowed heavily after Thanksgiving. And though she was not usually one to take his advice, Zormna was starting to listen to him more. Fact was, Zormna had never seen snow before in her life. Not in real life, anyway. Rain had also been a new experience for her, and it had upset her considerably when it had rained. It came from spending her entire life underground on their home world. It was funny watching her experience life like a new child, but it was his duty to help her blend in as much as possible. People stared, after all, when a professed Irishwoman reacted as if she had never experienced weather before.

Jeff peered out his window that Thursday morning. The sky was cloudy gray. The clouds did not speak of snow though the entire town was waiting for it. Jeff smiled and stepped back from the window. He glanced about his bedroom, which was remarkably clean for a seventeen-year-old boy. His musical instruments were lined up along the wall under various posters of bands and music artists he had come to like while living on Earth. Among them was a banjo, a lute and a balalaika. His cello leaned against the opposite wall in its case. He had gotten rather good at all of them. It was in his genes, though. There were a few clothing items strewn across the floor: a pair of shoes, a black jacket, and jeans from the day before. He did this on purpose, just in case someone actually did search the room for 'alien artifacts'. He never could be too careful about the FBI breaking in for whatever reason. But he had always been rather clean. Of course that was because he never really had much, so he meticulously took care of what little he had. Yet, in Pennington he had plenty.

Picking up his jacket, he draped it over the back of a black metal chair positioned behind a thin plywood desk. A laptop sat on the desk next to a cheap printer. It was the one he used for school assignments. Opening his chest of drawers, he pulled out another pair of jeans and grabbed a T-shirt. He would wear his jacket like always, so he didn't worry about the cold when it came to it. Jeff ran his fingers though his mop of midnight black hair, scratching his scalp tiredly while he opened his bedroom door to the hall, bumping into his pretended older brother Alex with a yawning apology. Alex mumbled, "No problem," back and continued on his way to the kitchen for breakfast.

Alex really didn't look a thing like Jeff except they were both pale and had similar smirks. Blonde haired and light blue eyed, one year graduated from high school, Alex worked these days. He put in hours at an automobile garage and then manned the radios for the Arrassian rebellion in his spare time.

The 'brothers' lived with an aunt and uncle to get away from an abusive father - or so they said and so was written on a paper kept by their so-called social worker who 'kept tabs on their well-being'. That was their alibi of course. In actuality, hardly anyone in that household was related to one another, excluding 'Uncle Orren' who was really married to 'Aunt Mary'. Two other men also lived with them and Jeff's so-called aunt and uncle. A redhead and a blonde who looked about in their mid-twenties, though it really was not certain to outsiders their true age. They both pretended to go to the local community college, posing as boarders in their house. And as far as Jeff knew the FBI only suspected that their boarders were also from the same place Jeff and Zormna were. But as for Uncle Orren and Aunt Mary and Alex, the FBI clearly believed that Jeff was just using those 'poor, unsuspecting American citizens'. That was fine with Jeff, because at least it kept his best friend Al safe. The household actually contained the main leaders of the rebellion of Arras, give or take one or two of them.

As Jeff passed on to the bathroom, his fathomless blue eyes trailed to their Spartan living room. He sighed. Their living space had always annoyed him. Chemically clean and spotless and surprisingly unlived-in for a household of six, it was 'Aunt Mary's' fault. They didn't have much in the house because they did not need much. But she was so anal retentive when it came to neatness that they never left anything out and their friends said his home smelled like a doctor's office. He kept trying to explain to her that the house had to have a more lived-in look, but she never took such criticism well. He had even suggested that Zormna loan a few frilly things from her great aunt's place to add to the décor, but Aunt Mary was violently against it, and perhaps feeling a little affronted at the idea that her taste in house decoration wasn't good enough. But since the house was just supposed to be a hideout from the People's Military of Arras, he didn't pursue the issue.

The problem was the FBI besides. Eventually the FBI would figure out that the entire household was not from this world. The fact that they had discovered that Jeff wasn't from Chicago as he had claimed had been a complete accident - and all Alea Zormna Clendar's fault. Zormna had not meant to let the FBI know that Jeff was a Martian, but it sort of came out anyway. After all, they already knew what she was through an unfortunate sequence of events during her first months in Pennington. And Jeff was her sworn protector and he had to guard her from the FBI early on at camp that last summer. It just all spilled out...mostly because of that terrible habit Zormna had using Jeff's real name - Jafarr - when she was riled up or nervous. And since then, she could not take it back. They knew.

Yet, Jeff didn't hold it against her. Not anymore at least. As he turned on the shower knob, he thought it over. The FBI would have found where he was from out sooner or later by watching him shadow her. And though he hated their interference, he had to admire their efficiency. They knew how to do their job.

He let his thoughts wander as he let the warm water run over him in the shower. Such luxuries would only last while on Earth. And such quiet peace was only temporary.

Jeff immediately went into routine, dressing after his shower, running a thick comb through his hair to straighten out the slight tangles in his long mop of bangs. He smiled a little as he looked in the mirror, checking the nicks from his quick shave. He hadn't quite the need for much of a shave yet, which was fine by him - but occasionally a new whisker appeared that he didn't like. His face was fine. Things were fine.

A chill ran down him. He braced against the edge of the sink and stared at his reflection. Why was he convincing himself things were fine? If he had not been of half seer caste blood, he would have ignored that feeling and gone on without another thought, but he couldn't. He knew by then that wariness was better than compete cool confidence, though the other looked better. Still, shaking it off, Jeff walked out of the bathroom and returned to his bedroom for his jacket. It would be a cold day, and he did not have time to contemplate foreboding premonitions.

"This should finish the Canterbury Tales for this week. Tomorrow we will start our section on poetry."

A moan spasmed through the classroom. Everyone sunk lower in their seats. Mr. Humphries kept his mild smile as he watched the effect. He was a formidable middle-aged man who wore shirts with ties on most days, and his bearing alone kept the class in line.

"I know. I know. You'll just miss reading more of these wonderful stories, but I told you I only wanted to give you a taste," he said.

The class still moaned. Brian Henderson sadly rolled his brown eyes at Jeff and Adam Arbor, knowing full well that Mr. Humphries was teasing. Their English teacher knew that his students would rather not do any of it. Everybody wanted an easy A.

The teacher continued. "However, our bit on poetry will also be a taste. We will cover that in the next few weeks, after which we will begin reading some Victorian literature."

The class moaned again. That meant they would have to read something by Charles Dickens - and they all knew Mr. Humphries was a great fan of Dickens, just as much as he was a fan of Shakespeare. Zormna groaned inside also, tired of playing the student. They would probably read Great Expectations and Oliver Twist and have to write papers about their future careers, something she'd rather not invent. All her aspirations had been ripped out from under her when she was practically banished to that American suburb by the head of the military where she had once been the equivalent of a captain. Now she was reduced to being a teenager nobody.

She glanced at Jeff. His expression remained amused at their teacher's comments. Of course, he would be thinking like that, she realized. School was a game to him. And he enjoyed the quiet life on Earth. She was still trying to get used to it.

"Now, let me see, I think I have a few papers I'd like read today." Mr. Humphries fingered through the stack in his hands, reading the headings. "Yes, Miss Henderson," their teacher said, lifting a paper.

Joy gave a squeak of surprise. Brian's younger sister, a healthy tan girl with brown hair cut in a fashionable bob, she looked kind of cute when she reacted. Up until now, she never had to read anything in class. Usually her friends got more attention.

"Please read your paper about fools and rewards," he said.

It was a paper in response to the tale about a man, his adulterous wife and her lover. Joy stood up and took her paper from her teacher's hands. She trembled, looking down at Zormna for support. Zormna gave her a half grin, trying to hide her relief (for the sake of Joy) that she was not chosen to read. Most people took Zormna's looks as devious though. Luckily, Joy was one of those people who assumed the best of a person first.

Joy drew in a breath. "I..."

A brisk rap hit the door. Immediately, without the usual polite hesitation that came with entering a busy classroom, Vice-Principal Vicksler and two police officers stepped into the room.

Joy's open yet now silent mouth dropped open even more. She waited, staring at the men. She then looked at Mr. Humphries.

Mr. Vicksler came in first and peered across the filled desks. Then he turned to Mr. Humphries.

"Sorry for the intrusion, Mr. Humphries, but is Jafarr Leonard Streigle here?"

Mr. Humphries blinked for a second. He peered