The Mars Project by Julie Steimle (i can read with my eyes shut TXT) 📕

“She could be wired,” Zormna abruptly said to Jeff, shooting the woman a sharp look.

The counselor stared at Zormna, flushing red in absolute shock. “I…I….”

Jeff turned his eyes to the woman, tilted his head, and considered it. A decent spy could conceal wire taps in their clothing. And thinking about it, he may have seen an episode on TV at Brian’s house which listed a number of ways a person could wear a wire.

With a fixed but polite nod, he said to her, “You wouldn’t mind taking off your jacket and letting Zormna check, would you? Humor her?”

The woman’s face paled. She drew back.

“She’d trust you more,” Jeff added, leaning back in his chair. But after all her reactions, he no longer believe that she was a spy. Staring at her eyes. Her sincere reactions. She was too unprofessional. Either that or she was a great actress, though he doubted it.

It took several minutes for the woman to contemplate her options. Yet, with a sigh, heaved deep as she rose from her seat, the school counselor removed her coat, lifted her arms, and gazed down at Zormna. “Search me.”

Zormna smirked at her as she took the coat, pawing through it. She then glanced at the woman and shook her head dismissively. A peculiar grin spread across her face as she painfully murmured, “So, you’re not FBI…. You really want to help us, don’t you?”

The woman let her arms down with a mortified blush. “Yes. I really do.”

Zormna handed her coat back, still looking inclined to kick the desk. “I’m sorry I put you through that. It is just that last year I lost three days to the FBI, and I don’t remember any of it except in dreams and nightmares. And when I recall anything when I’m awake, it usually causes a migraine.”

Their school counselor returned to her seat, casting on them both an exhausted stare. She then looked at the files on her desk. Picking up written papers from them, she held them out to the both teenagers. Jeff and Zormna took their own. They both saw that it was the English assignment they had from that morning.

“I read them,” the woman said. “I was moved to call you here on these. But seeing you now, I am even more concerned for the both of you.”

Zormna lifted her head. “I’m not paranoid.”

The counselor lifted her eyebrows.

 “Look,” Zormna responded with a shade of sulk. “I’m not schizophrenic. I can point the FBI out on the street, and I can even make them cough up some ID when they are confronted. I’m not the only one who sees them.”

Closing her eyes in pain, the school counselor said, “I don’t doubt what you have said. It is already in your record. Your great aunt’s murder, and the FBI investigation are all there. An FBI agent even came to the school to talk with us….”

Jeff looked over to Zormna who cringed as her worst assumptions had been proven true.

“…My worry is what this is doing to you emotionally,” the counselor said.

“Emotionally?” Jeff repeated, glancing at Zormna.

The woman nodded, speaking with some gravity. “Yes. You both are holding onto repressed fears that come out in your dreams.”

Zormna rolled her eyes, though Jeff leaned on the chair’s armrest with a weary exhale.

Looking at Zormna, the woman said, “You fear that someone will come and kill you.” And then looking at Jeff, she said, “And you fear that if you don’t fight you’ll lose everyone you love.”

Jeff sat up straighter as a chill ran up his back. He blinked. “Guilty.”

Zormna gazed at him, feeling that same chill. She shot a dirty look at the school counselor. “So, what do you propose?”

Taking in a breath, the woman kept her voice calm as she spoke to the pair of them. She had this motherly manner that was more a practice than her real nature. Zormna could see it clearly, and that kept her at her guard—besides her other reasons.

“Most people just need to talk about it,” the counselor said. “You need to fight your irrational fears.”

Bursting into an abrupt laugh, Zormna flopped back in her chair. “My fears are not irrational,” she said. “They are real. I know I’m terrified that someone is going to kill me. It is not repressed.”

But the counselor glanced at Jeff.

He said nothing. His fist was pressed against his mouth as he was thinking intensely, looking into space as Zormna talked. Then he stood up. “Excuse me, Miss…?”

The woman sighed and said, “Ms. Harris.”

He nodded. “Yes, Ms. Harris. My social worker has already had me see a counselor on this. I understand I have these repressed fears, but I just don’t have the time—”

The counselor broke in. “A letter has already been sent to your homes. Mr. Humphries is genuinely concerned, and he has taken steps to make sure you get this help now before it blows up on you in the future.”

“What steps?” Jeff demanded in an abrupt threatening voice.

She sighed and said as calmly as possible, “A court order. If you do not attend counseling, you may be removed from your uncle’s home and placed in group home where they can attend to your psychological needs.”

Jeff went white.

Zormna huffed aloud in disgust. “He didn’t.”

Ms. Harris nodded, keeping her gaze fixed on Jeff.

“Either you must come in at least once a week for counseling,” she said, “and you can pick the day—or they will send one to you.”

Jeff blanked out and sat down, staring at the woman. “I can’t believe this.”

Ms. Harris leaned in. “You need help coping with your past to deal more effectively with the future.”

“They’ll probably send a spy,” Zormna growled, folding her arms.

Jeff nodded, clenching his fists.

Zormna glanced at Ms. Harris now and asked tersely, “If we have to get a counselor, will you be it?”

Ms. Harris nodded.

That made Zormna smile a little. “And what we say is confidential, right?”

The woman nodded again. A more relieved and kind expression slipped in the woman’s eyes.

“We get to search this room for bugs every time?” Zormna added. “And you would submit to a search yourself, each time?”

Ms. Harris closed her eyes, groaning. But she nodded. “If it will help.”

Zormna turned and peered at Jeff who looked uneasy. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

“I’m talking to my Uncle Orren before I make any decisions about this,” Jeff said plainly. Then he looked right at the counselor. “What we say better be confidential, because if I find out you are working for the FBI, you’ll be very sorry.”

He rose from his seat to go.

“And I will find out,” he said.

He could see the woman quiver from his looks, taking the threat seriously though she was trying to hide her fear. She leaned slowly back in her chair.

Zormna also stood up to go. “No doubt, you did not expect this when you called for us. It really is too bad you are being forced to waste your time with us.”

Ms. Harris shook her head nonetheless, creaking out her words from her suddenly dry throat. “I consider it no waste of time if I help someone.”

Jeff smirked with pain as he opened the door. He stepped out, and Zormna followed.

When they were clearly gone from the hall, Ms. Harris slumped back into her chair and let out an exhausted sigh. Sitting up, she drew out a blank form and started to fill it out, scratching in the words:

Jeff is hostile when the subject turns personal. He is an extremely private person. And though he maintains an easy-going, pleasant façade, he is actually intense when he feels threatened. Caution is urged with him. He might have deep-seated fear that someone might attack him. He also seemed personally protective of Zormna, who was much more cool once presented with the dilemma. Her fears are more real to her, and perhaps she has a hard time separating her imagination from reality. Both students seem to find comfort and protection in the other. Per Mr. Humphries’s request, we will continue with the joint sessions as it does seem the best way for both of them at this point. Possible schizophrenic paranoid cases—except there seems to be some truth to what they perceive. Withhold judgment and speak with their teachers individually before prescribing course of action.

She laid down her pencil and sighed.

*

“I don’t need this added frustration, Zormna,” Jeff growled as he tromped through the hall.

Zormna watched him as she followed their way back towards the cafeteria for lunch, which was already in full force. “I can’t blame you, Jafarr. I can’t either.”

He pursed his lips and looked to her. “I shouldn’t have told him that I saw someone die. Scrapes!” Jeff cursed. “I don’t have time for this.”

Watching him pensively, Zormna sighed. “This is going to ruin your reputation, isn’t it?”

“Reputation?” Jeff shook his head. “No. Who cares? This is going to tie up my hands when I could be using it on more important things, like watching out for you.”

Zormna glanced the other way. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll be stuck in the same room with you. It won’t be hard to keep an eye on me then.”

He glared at her with a huff.

“I don’t need to keep tabs on you.” He his expression eased when he saw her amused skepticism. “It may have seemed that way at first, but I really just wanted to make sure things were going right.”

She didn’t say anything.

He could feel her silence, and he glanced up at the ceiling.

“You really lost a lot of people, didn’t you?” Zormna asked in a subdued voice.

Jeff closed his eyes. Tears broke in the cracks. He fought them back as he looked down at her. “I saw more death in the rebellion than….” He turned his gaze to the floor. “My father tried to keep me from it, but I wouldn’t listen to him. I wanted to be involved so bad.” Jeff shook his head. “And now I’m immersed in involved.”

Zormna bit her lip and stepped closer, placing her hand on his shoulder.

“We’re in this together. Your own words to me. I wanted to be involved just like you. Now I am.” She then leaned closer. “Shouldn’t we do something?”

He looked down at her and recognized the intent and encouraging gaze on her pale, bright face. That look gave him strength. Jeff nodded.

“Yeah. I think we should. Which reminds me, we need to talk,” he said.

This made Zormna smile, knowing now that he wasn’t planning on lecturing her. “That we do.”

An embarrassed blush crossed his face. “My place then? Six o’clock?”

She nodded.

They both walked to the cafeteria.

Sam stepped out of the empty hall from the dark far stairwell, peering after them.

*

“I’m home, Uncle Orren,” Jeff said once coming in the door after work.

Uncle Orren was standing next to the door with a grim expression, holding a paper in his hand. His age was etched around his eyes. He seemed older and more sober than usual. That caused Jeff to feel like a trembling six-year-old again as he gazed at his pretended uncle.

“This was delivered here this afternoon,” Uncle Orren said, placing the paper in Jeff’s hand.

Jeff turned it around and looked at it. It was the court order.

“What have you been doing in your school to make them send this?” Uncle Orren asked, looking up at him.

Jeff took a breath and folded the paper up. “Being honest.”

Uncle Orren frowned.

Handing the paper back to him, Jeff said, “It’s not like that. Mr. Humphries played a word association game in class that took me off-guard. Things slipped out, and I had to make up an explanation.” He tried to make it sound reasonable. “It fits my alibi.”

His elder shook his head, not taking the paper. “You gave them enough evidence to warrant that you need a counselor.” Then he looked directly at Jeff. “You shouldn’t let your guard down.”

Jeff threw up his arms. “I’m sorry! I can’t help it sometimes, you know.” Then speaking more