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

that meant she would be living with others who could watch her back, Zormna daily dreaded facing Jennifer’s parents. After all, it was their people…their caste that had murdered her parents and all her ancestors.

It made her limbs shake at the thought that one day Jennifer’s parents might give in to their hatred towards her family. And that thought was not one she liked to entertain often.

“I…I think I’ll just go to my house,” Zormna said, taking a step back.

Jennifer stopped, now at the side door which led into the kitchen, pulling it open. “Are you sure that’s wise? Mom gets awfully cranky when she doesn’t know exactly where you are.”

Zormna swallowed. Jennifer was right. She marched up the driveway and joined Jennifer at the side door, setting her books on the steps. “Alright, but I’m not leaving my books here.”

Jennifer nodded and opened the door. They walked into the kitchen together.

The kitchen was clean and rather typical for their neighborhood. The walls and drapes were in the Americana color scheme with farm houses, chickens, ducks and cows. It was Mrs. McLenna’s way of acclimatizing to American culture. Jennifer’s mom wasn’t in sight, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t in the house.

Tearing out a piece of paper from her spiral notebook, Zormna went directly to the counter and started to write. “I think I’ll just leave her a note.”

But Zormna did not even get halfway through writing the note when Mrs. McLenna walk down the carpeted stairs and step into the room. Her eyes took in the pair of them.

“You’re home,” Mrs. McLenna said, looking darkly at Zormna though more brightly at her eldest daughter. “How was school? Do you have any homework?”

“School was fine,” Jennifer said. “And I have no homework today.”

Zormna had halted in her writing. She kept her face expressionless to avoid any accusation of contempt or any other imagined sass. It was too late. She had to give up her futile attempt to run off to her the house she had inherited from her great aunt. Not that she ever had much success in sneaking off anyway. The parents were remarkably vigilant. And not just towards her, but towards everyone. Jennifer often said they were naturally paranoid and their kids could get away with nothing.

Mrs. McLenna smiled at her daughter.

“Good. You,” pointing to Zormna, “can start mowing the back lawn. It needs trimming.” Mrs. McLenna then attempted to shoo off Jennifer to do something else. She started to pull out dishes to make dinner.

But Jennifer didn’t budge. “Mom, you can’t just make her do all the work. Besides, she actually does have homework.”

Glared past her daughter at Zormna, Jennifer’s mother replied, “She has to earn her keep.”

Zormna nodded and moved to do the chore, as she really didn’t want to be the topic of yet another argument between mother and daughter.

“She has her own house!” Jennifer retorted in exasperation, watching Zormna move. “For pity’s sake! Let her move out!”

“Well, the law makes us her guardian,” her mother argued back, urging Zormna with a sharp glare and a push to go do what she had told her.

Zormna stiffened. She did not like being pushed.

“You made yourselves her guardian. You went completely around the law!” Jennifer’s voice rose critically. “I saw that forged passport.”

Zormna put her hand on Jennifer’s shoulder to calm her. She shook her head. “I’ll mow the lawn. It won’t be any trouble.”

Yet with every feeling, Jennifer shook her head. “No. Someone has got to speak up for you. Because you…” Staring at Zormna’s pleading eyes, begging her to stop, Jennifer shook her head. It was exasperating, knowing Zormna, who was usually fierce when she handled everyone else but was was such a frightened child with her parents. “You have cheer practice, and then you have work. And gymnastics. You don’t have time to do all those chores and study too.”

But her mother maintained her icy glare on Zormna as if daring her to argue back. Besides the usual damning, prejudicial hate, in her gaze she also blamed Zormna for her daughter’s open defiance. They were mostly upset that Jennifer had taken sides on an issue that they had kept secret for almost all of Jennifer’s life—especially because she had not chosen the side they believed in. And they could not change her mind.    

“I’ll manage,” Zormna said with a smirk of bravado.

Mrs. McLenna didn’t like the cocky tone to Zormna’s voice and glared harder after her. “After you are done with the lawn, you have to go through the garbage to fish out the recyclables.”

“That’s it!” Jennifer stamped her foot, flushing wrathfully. “I’m calling Todd.”

She tromped over to their wall phone and picked up the receiver (they didn’t believe in cell phones for their kids, among other things). Calling her older brother Todd was what she had threatened all summer—to bring in an ally who would join her side in the fight. Since Todd had gone off to college, their treatment of the girl had gone downhill despite the promise they had made to him, and there was little Jennifer could do about it.

Her mother marched to the phone to stop her.

But Zormna didn’t stay to watch the argument. She strode over to the kitchen trashcan and picked up the garbage bag inside, pulling it out.

Jennifer stared after her. She placed down the receiver, still glaring at her mother. She knew Zormna was trying to keep the peace, but she didn’t like how her parents were acting like the wicked stepmother in Cinderella. Besides, she knew Zormna was not the one at fault. And more, that Zormna was important to many other people.

Truthfully, it still amazed her that Zormna was a remaining ancestor of a royal family—long dethroned. An endangered species, so to speak, teetering toward extinction.

But the girl really didn’t act like a princess. Zormna grabbed a pair of gloves and pulled both the trash bag and herself through the door back to the carport. Jennifer huffed and stormed up to her room, knowing if she tried to help Zormna her mother would invent another job to put on the girl.

 

The carport was void of cars, so there was plenty of space to work. Todd had taken the old Cadillac to college, and their father had the sedan. Only oil splotches, or stains of them anyway since last week the McLennas had her scrubbing them off, covered the concrete. All the hoses were wound up neatly in the back, and all the garden tools were racked up. Since she had ended up doing the yard work everything was in military order. Yet, a spiteful impulse ran through Zormna as she stared at the clean floor.

Zormna smirked.

She mowed the lawn. She sorted the trash.

When the hour was done, Zormna gathered her books from off the step where she had left them. The back lawn looked beautiful and the trash had been taken to the curb. When she departed the McLenna’s home to go to her sanctuary—the house she had inherited—she didn’t look back at the piles she had left in the middle of the driveway: neatly laid out cans, plastics, and paper—all forming the word Done.

 

 

Chapter Three: Shakespeare and Spies

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“A classic—something that everyone wants to have read and nobody wants to read.”—Mark Twain—

 

“Act one: scene one. Verona. A public place,” Mr. Humphries read.

Everyone in the room stared up expectantly at the teacher with the booming voice and unassuming manner as he paused. He smiled at the class as he waited for those few words to sink in.

“Can you see it? It just says, ‘A public place.’ What kind of public place? Can you picture this place?” He waited as if he wanted someone to speak. But no one ventured, partly because no one wanted to stand up and look like a fool in front of everyone else, especially since the day before. Also, Jeff had had his share of embarrassment, and Zormna was trying to stay awake. The clean up job and lecture she had the night before for ‘deliberately spreading garbage’ on the driveway had her up until two o’clock in the morning, so she was mustering what energy she had to focus.

“I know what you are thinking,” Mr. Humphries said with a pause.

Zormna doubted it.

“You’re thinking this story is about a bunch of men in ruffled cuffs and pansy tights, am I right?”

Murmurs and giggles spread through the room. The idea hadn’t even crossed Zormna’s mind at all but apparently it was exactly what many were thinking.

“You are thinking—‘What does this have to do with me?’” Mr. Humphries said.

Zormna sat up. Maybe he wasn’t so naïve. She tried to listen.

“This story is about feuds. It is about hate. It is about fighting without probable cause. You could even say it is about discrimination or gangs.” Their teacher paced in the front of the room like Sherlock Holmes would in front of his fireplace while figuring out details to a mystery. “What I want us to do is to picture this in our time. If the script says a public place you need to picture a public place you would hang out at.”

“Like the mall,” one boy across the room said.

“Stand up when you say that,” Mr. Humphries said.

The boy stood up. It was Adam Arbor, the blond haired guy Zormna had seen around who had also been in her History class the day before. “I was just saying that the mall is a public place most of us hang out at.”

Mr. Humphries nodded and Adam sat down. “I’m not familiar with your name. Are you new?”

Adam nodded, about to respond, but he saw the teacher’s warning looks.

He stood again. “I just moved from Billsburg. My folks got a better house just last month in Pennington.”

The teacher pursed his lips and nodded again. “Sorry to hear that.”

Immediately the rest of the class gasped at his reply.

“Mr. Humphries,” Brian Henderson said, standing up. “Don’t you think that is harsh? Pennington happens to be a great town.”

Smiling, Mr. Humphries waved his hand to calm the protesting students. “Of course that is not what I meant. I was merely expressing how unfortunate it is for Mr. Arbor to transfer to a rival high school his senior year. Especially since his old school is in our district. Moving itself can be very taxing.” His smiling eyes scanned the roster. It stopped on a familiar name. His grin broadened. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Streigle?”

Jeff’s thoughts popped into the present conversation, and he looked up at the teacher. “What?”

Mr. Humphries frowned. “Not paying attention again, Mr. Streigle?”

He shook his head, “No sir. Just, will you repeat the question?”

Brian mouthed to him, “Moving. You.”

Jeff nodded. “Oh…oh, wait.” Standing, he said, “Yeah, I moved a lot, why?”

The teacher chuckled. “Apparently moving so much has affected your attention span.”

The boy blushed but didn’t sit down. Jeff cleared his confused expression and said, “I’m sorry I was just thinking about the setting—you know, where I’d put it. I’d have the public place be at a parking lot somewhere.”

The teacher smiled approvingly with a nod. “And why is that?”

Jeff shrugged. “Lots of people get jumped in parking lots.”

A murmur ran through the class. Everyone still remembered when the Monroe wrestling team two years ago had jumped Jeff in a