The Mars Project by Julie Steimle (english readers TXT) 📖

she sampled one of Maria’s éclairs.

“Isn’t it great?” Tammy stepped to the side to show off the booth covered in French items with a black, white, and red theme. “What about your booth?” implying in her tone that it couldn’t possibly be as good as theirs.

“It’s all right,” Zormna replied, ignoring Tammy as she gazed at the pictures of the vineyards Maria’s cousins owned. Taking it all in, she murmured, “Wow.”

Maria grinned and nodded. “It is pretty cool. We go visit every year for the harvest. We have this big party, and we camp in the field just behind the house.”

Tammy rolled her eyes and said, “My parents take us every year to Napa for the wine tasting, and sometimes we get to take some with us for Christmas.”

Maria smiled painfully.

Zormna nodded with a grin then winked at Maria. Peering at the food, Zormna hunched her shoulders and meekly asked, “Can I have another one? It was like eating heaven.”

Maria happily lifted the tray so she could take one.

“Maria!” Stephanie and Tammy protested, especially when Maria gave Zormna another one on top of that.

“Maybe she’ll get fat on them,” muttered Stephanie when Zormna trotted off with the two eclairs.

Munching on one, especially enjoying the filling which reminded Zormna of this pudding she used to eat at Home, Zormna perused more of the booths. She passed the Norway booth which was run by the boys who had tried to steal their table. They had covered their table with quilt batting and draped the batting over chairs behind them, making them look like snow covered mountains. They had ski equipment, and they were giving away packets of cocoa. Their white Christmas icicle lights twinkled over the top of them, hung up by lashed together skis and ski poles. Apparently they had managed to find another outlet and an extension cord.

She continued her journey around the gym, making a turn up the middle aisle and passing a 3-D puzzle of Big Ben and two boys playing with old redcoat soldier toys. They were serving cucumber sandwiches. Once she made it to the end of the aisle back to the front, Zormna stopped. The loudspeaker had turned on, and all heads turned when they heard the young tenor speak.

“Our entertainment will start at ten o’clock with the Jackson Band. Then at ten-thirty we’ll be blessed with the vocals of Amelia and the African Savanna Chorus. At eleven we’ll listen to the folk band Clan Celt. At eleven-thirty we’ll have a small break and have some karaoke until twelve….”

Zormna looked up from the Egypt booth that had a huge sugar cube pyramid. She spotted Adam up front dressed in a white button-down shirt and tie, standing at a microphone.  

“…Then we’ll have a repeat with the Jackson Band, twelve-thirty the Pennington Dance team will perform.” At this cheers erupted from the audience. Waiting until they calmed down, he continued, “At one again we’ll hear from Clan Celt and at one-thirty Miss Bianchi and Mr. Heinz will do their own performance and hand out the awards. The fair closes at two.”

He stepped down from the stage where he directed the first band up to the front. The Jackson Band turned out to be a local band that worked out from the local community college. They played ska music mostly, though occasionally they leaned towards Reggae—two music trends Jeff was attempting to make Zormna familiar with during the summer so she would not be so clueless in conversations at school. If there was one thing Jeff took more seriously than she did, it was music. Zormna glanced at the Jackson Band a moment then glanced back at her booth. Sam was there, sitting with Jennifer, talking, laughing, and handing out the tarts to the now heavier flow of people that passed by. Zormna nearly turned to finish her journey around the room but Jennifer caught sight of her before she could make it around the corner.

“Zormna!” Jennifer’s voice echoed across the way.

Zormna looked up and walked back to her booth. “Jennifer, what?”

Jennifer’s facial expression switched to scolding. “Where’d you go? I asked you to watch the booth.”

Shrugging, Zormna replied, “Sam came. I figured I could get in a look before things started.”

Shaking her head, Jennifer said, “Well, don’t do that. We need you here to explain your map and help with the food.”

Huffing, but knowing Jennifer was right, Zormna rolled her eyes and returned with her.

They served their many tarts and several cups of stew, reminding people that they only had enough for a taste for everyone. By the time the African Savanna Chorus was on the stage singing, they had gone through two trays of tarts. Jennifer started to get nervous that their supplies wouldn’t last until Miss Bianchi came around.

“You could always go to my house and make more. They didn’t take that long to make,” Zormna said.

Jennifer shook her head. “I can’t leave the booth. If Miss Bianchi comes by and I’m not here, she’ll flunk me for sure.”

Sighing Zormna looked at the remaining three trays under the table. “Alright. Then we’ll just serve the stew for the next half hour, and we’ll serve only half a tray of tarts per half hour. After that, first come first serve. And we’ll save a tart specifically for Miss Bianchi and Mr. Heinz.” Glancing at her, she said, “It is not a problem.”

Jennifer nodded, relaxing as she knew Zormna would stick to her plan like any soldier.

Miss Bianchi and Mr. Heinz came around in the middle of Alissa’s solo, inspecting the nearby booths. When they arrived at the Ireland booth, Miss Bianchi smiled broadly. Her face would have split open if she went any wider. Zormna found it annoying rather than pleasing.

“Ah, and my second hour class students, Mr. Heinz. What have we here?” she said proudly.

Drawing in a breath for strength, Jennifer rose. Zormna stood by and glanced at both teachers. Mr. Heinz was wearing a troubadour’s outfit he had acquired in Spain. It made her smirk, looking at his hat and the small coat. The teacher, however, grinned at their green outfits, though his eyes especially rested on the fair pale figure of their token leprechaun.

“Would you like a taste of our corned beef and cabbage stew?” Jennifer asked, offering them a small cup.

“I was rather looking for one of those strawberry tarts I hear you have?” Mr. Heinz said, smiling down over the table.

Jennifer pulled up at tray from underneath and nervously lifted it so both teachers could take a bite.

“Who baked them?” Miss Bianchi asked.

“I did,” Jennifer replied. “I also made the stew.”

Her teacher smiled. Her eyes then flickered to the pictures. “Are these yours?” she asked, glancing at Zormna.

Zormna shook her head.

“They’re mine,” Sam replied quickly, standing up.

“Then you made the outfits?” their teacher asked Zormna.

Zormna shook her head again.

Her teacher frowned.

“I made those too,” Jennifer leaned in.

Turning toward Zormna who waited patiently, though her green eyes were staring with fused intensity, Miss Bianchi asked with annoyance, “Well then, what did you make?”

Leaning over and pointing to the map, Zormna said, “I made this, the sign, and I made the booth. I also supplied the materials for everything.”

Her teacher nearly sneered. “You think you can buy yourself a grade? Where are your pictures? Don’t you have anything personal to contribute?”

Zormna’s ears were turning red, but she refused to let her temper get the better of her. “I don’t have any pictures of home. It was forbidden, as I was a soldier at a private military academy.” Then taking a breath, she said, “As for something personal, I put in the hours and I’m here.”

Her teacher laughed with a cough. “Do you think that deserves an A?”

Looking around Zormna gazed at Mr. Heinz and then at Miss Bianchi. She sat on the corner of the table, folding her arms. “I am an authentic Irishman. Isn’t that enough?”

Her teacher narrowed her eyes. “That takes no effort. I wanted to see effort.”

Zormna’s mouth dropped. “Did you even look at the map?”

“I’m sure you bought that at a nice electronics store. Nice try,” Miss Bianchi said. She started to walk away.

“I made it myself! From scratch!” Zormna protested. Her mouth gaped open as she hopped off the table.

Her teacher merely simpered at her and continued walking. “Sing us a ballad of woe then, and I might raise your grade.”

Zormna’s eyed narrowed into a glare. Her teacher strolled on to the next booth, not being half as critical with the others, she noticed.

“That spiteful roach,” Zormna grumbled through her teeth. “She’s cheating us out of our well-earned grade on purpose.”

Jennifer leaned over Zormna’s shoulder to look at the teacher, though she whispered. “Maybe you should sing a ballad?”

Zormna shook Jennifer off with a growl to herself. “She’s a vindictive rat. I ought to cripple her.”

A laugh erupted behind them in the aisle. “If you keep making that face, Zormna, it might stick that way.”

Zormna turned around, her eyes fixing on Jeff who wore his usual jacket over his T-shirt and jeans. He was with Brian and the rest who were perusing the booths. Walking not far behind them came Joy and Jennifer McCabe.

“I heard you have some tarts,” Jeff said, peering over at them with a hungry smile.

Brian and Mark turned quickly when they heard Jeff mention the tarts. So did the girls.

“We’re saving them for the next half hour, come back then,” Zormna grumbled at him, slumping against the table.

Shaking her head while delivering Zormna a reproving glare, Jennifer lifted up the tray for all. “Here, just take one. We’re running short.”

Jeff smiled, plucking up the small circular treat, holding it carefully in his hand. Brian and Mark also grabbed one, joined now by Jonathan who was suddenly at their elbows. Joy and Jennifer McCabe peered in to see if they could get one too.

“Mmmm. These are pretty good,” Mark said, licking his lips.

“We also have some stew if you want,” Jennifer offered, smiling with more ease now that the tough part was over.

Jeff took a cup of that too, tasting that instead of saving it. He smiled as he tossed the empty paper cup in the can they had next to their table. “Not bad.”

Zormna rolled her eyes with another huff.

Glancing at her as he passed to the next aisle, Jeff remarked, “Don’t be so grumpy. It’s bad for business.”

Joy and Jennifer McCabe shared whispers, walking by but not saying hi as they used to. Jennifer McLenna noticed it, frowning. Around then Ammon and Moroni ran by and quickly snatched tarts from the tray before any from the booth could stop them. They were off again before their brother Brian could snap at them.

Zormna turned away, mostly from Jeff. However, she did stop pouting once he rounded the corner. By then she took another breath to regain her strength. They still had quite a time to go before the fair was done.

 

The African Savannah Chorus concluded and bowed to the audience. Everyone watching clapped, including Zormna and all at her booth. Their sound was amazing. Zormna was honestly looking forward to hearing them when they came on again.

The next act that came onto the stage wore funny folksy outfits containing plaid. Some carried on flat drums and others held string instruments and flutes. They took a few minutes to set up, more than enough time to lose Zormna’s interest. But when they finally finished setting up, the percussionist had begun to drum out a beat that made Zormna’s head turn and her ears perk.

The fiddler started to play. Then the flutes came in, repeating the same folksy melody. It jumped and bounced and repeated. It was a fun tune and very medieval to all those listening—except for two Martians who found it oddly nostalgic. Jeff halted his procession through the booths, and Zormna stopped serving to the visitors at her booth. Both turned to look at where the sound came from. It sent chills through their bodies. The sound was achingly familiar to both