Fixer-Upper (Spinning Hills Romance 3) (7 page)

“Has your boyfriend got good moves?” Javier asked Marissa, while gesturing to a framed picture of Brian on Marissa’s desk.

Marissa nodded. “He’s a great dancer.”

It was the only crappy moment in an otherwise great morning. Johnny looked at the clock. It was time to vote on names for the rival dance crews.

“Strikers, Hackers, and Longboards,” Johnny read out loud.

“Only three names made the list?” Marissa looked around, eyes wide, mouth open.

The kids respected her enough at that point to look suitably chagrined. They quickly voted on Strikers and Hackers, and broke for lunch.

Johnny stayed behind a moment, helping Marissa straighten out the classroom. “Thanks for letting me participate,” he said. “That was a lot of fun.” And it had gotten their professional relationship off to a good start, he thought, feeling relieved. But Marissa’s brow was furrowed and she looked distracted. “Eightball didn’t make the cut?” she asked.

Johnny shook his head. “It’s an eighth of an ounce. Like of cocaine, heroin, or meth.”

“Oh. Right. I forgot. What about black mollies?”

“Amphetamines.”

Her eyes widened even more. “Surely stiletto was okay, though?”

“It’s a knife used specifically for thrusting or stabbing.”

“I know, but it’s more commonly known as a high heel. We have fashion-conscious girls in the class. Maybe that’s what they meant.”

“Isaac suggested it.” Johnny chuckled. “I hardly think he wanted his dance crew to be named after six-inch heels.” Isaac had been the kid to high-five Javier when he’d called Marissa hot.

“Okay, then.” She folded her arms, looking determined. “What did you think was wrong with Bones? It’s tough, like skull and bones. It would make a great gang name.” Johnny whispered the double entendre into her ear. Her face burst into flames. “I know
that!
But Veronica suggested that one. She’s only thirteen and barely knows English. I don’t think that’s what she meant.”

“You’re probably right.” Johnny said, though he knew she was wrong. He’d seen the look in Veronica’s eyes when she’d suggested it, but he wasn’t too worried about it. There was more of an innocent, mischievous gleam in her eye than a knowing one, as if she’d been trying to one-up the other kids. “I just thought it would be better if we kept anything that could be misinterpreted out.”

“Oh. Well. That’s true. Good call,” she said, before walking to her desk to gather her things. “I need to run the draft of this first scene over to Amy so her kids can get started on set design,” she mumbled. He could tell by her stilted movements that she was still worried about how much the kids knew about drugs, weapons, and sex. He found himself longing to kiss the little wrinkle between her eyebrows, hug her tight, and tell her not to fret. She was such a good teacher. Fun and caring.

“Hey,” he called and she looked up. “It’s day one, and you’re already making a difference in these kids’ lives, Marissa.”

Her eyes softened and she clutched the script to her chest. “You really think so?”

“I really do. Just try not to get so caught up in
trying
to make that difference that you forget to step back and see that it’s actually taking place, okay?”

“Okay.” Her smile was so pretty, he had to look away. “And I know you have your own things to attend to, but if you could take some time to help Amy record her class’s progress, too, that would be a huge help. The videos need to be edited and uploaded by Friday, voting will take place over the weekend, and by Monday we’ll know if we move on to the next round. But only if you have time. I don’t want you to neglect your duties for us!”

“I’ll make time,” he said, biting back a smile. Her constant transitions between anxiety and optimism were inexplicably endearing. “But only if you tell Brian I said you need a really good hug,” he said as he walked away, in part to remind himself she was taken, and in part to irk her enough to take her mind off her worries. He quickened his pace.

“He doesn’t need reminding!” she sputtered just as he rounded the door.

M
arissa stayed in her classroom during lunch to finish the grant application she had started the day before. Spending the morning with Johnny and the kids had been fun. So much fun, in fact, that the past that had been standing between them only that morning had seemingly disappeared for a while. They hadn’t been Marissa and Johnny. They’d been Miss Medina and Mr. A. But now, thoughts of Johnny kept invading a corner of her brain that she couldn’t seem to control. It was as if the neurons in that dark corner knew she was exerting unusual amounts of energy in keeping them clueless, so they kept trying to get neighboring neurons to join them in their quest to figure out how Marissa felt about the fact that Johnny Amador was Prince Charming, and that she’d now be working with him.

Focusing on something technical and absorbing would keep the pesky neurons occupied.

She looked down at her calculations. If they made it to the finals, they’d need a little over ten thousand dollars to cover bus transportation for the kids, a rental truck to carry their props, and lodging and meals for thirty-two kids. They had no choice but to move forward as if they were going to make it to the finals. This was their first time participating, and they had no way of knowing how everything would turn out, but they were giving it their all.

Hope swelled within her in a great tide, and she had to fight to push it down. Brian kept warning her about getting her hopes too high. He hated to see her crash hard on the ground—although Marissa felt she handled the crashes well. Still, staying neutral was best.

Fund-raising would be another great learning experience for the kids, but the competition was only three weeks away, they’d probably have to stay after school many days, and she didn’t want to add to their load. It would be better to apply for grants and fill any gaps with small fund-raisers. If they did make it, but were denied the grant . . . well, they’d have to come up with a
huge
fund-raiser. It was something they
had
to start thinking about if they made it past the first round.

Their best bet, by far, was a noncompetitive grant by the Marconi and McNeely Foundation, a nonprofit funded by the pharmaceutical company of the same name. They met once a month to award funds and would be meeting again next Wednesday, which meant she could submit it on Monday and still be in time for their next meeting if they made it past round one. Marissa had spoken to the foundation’s president, Don Stands, a few times, and he was very enthusiastic about their project.

She read it through again carefully, even though she’d already done so a few times during the past week.

They were a shoo-in. Between Don Stands’s enthusiasm and interest, and the Foundation’s own words . . . Marissa had a hard time holding back the great wave of enthusiasm that was making her dance in her seat.

 

Johnny took a moment at the end of the day to separate the Marissa he’d met in the elevator from the Marissa he’d met in the classroom, and the Marissa he’d known for years. If he kept thinking about her as a woman whom he’d become infatuated with (but who wanted nothing to do with him), or as his angry best friend’s sister, he’d second-guess his professional actions and decisions for the next six months. He couldn’t do that. He had to keep their work relationship and their personal relationship separate. But they had so much to discuss, on both fronts . . .

He tried to catch up to Marissa just as she was leaving her classroom, but she quickened her pace down the hall toward the double doors that led to the staff parking lot, pretending not to see him. She had seemed so approachable in the classroom. Accessible to everyone. Except the school psychologist when there was no one else to act as a buffer, apparently.

It strengthened his conviction. They needed to talk things through.

He matched her pace and got down to business straightaway, to set the tone now that they were alone. “Amy told me a bit about the Mosaic Marathon and I learned a lot by participating in both classrooms today, but I still have a few questions.”

“Did you get Amy’s e-mail?”

“Yes, and a meeting Thursday before school works for me, too, but it would be helpful if you told me more about it before then. Amy already left.”

Marissa cleared her throat but didn’t look at him. “Our classrooms will be putting together a thirty-minute musical. As you saw today, we’ll be using and adapting music from the public domain, choreographing short dance sequences, and writing a script, while Amy’s class will help by building sets and props. The theme of this year’s fair is diversity and inclusion. We have to videotape and timestamp our progress and upload the videos and our first act by this Friday, when voting begins. If we make it to the next round, we upload more videos documenting our process for our second act and the voting process starts again, fresh. If we pass that round, we post the entire script and upload videos of our rehearsals.”

She took a breath. “Ten winners will be chosen from around the country. If we’re one of them, we present our musical at the Mosaic Country Fair in Denver in six weeks. Basically, we’ll find out if we make it in three weeks. But I plan on keeping the pace, even if we don’t make it, and presenting the musical to the community by the end of summer. My hope is that the kids will become so engrossed and immersed in the process, they’ll learn English along the way. Amy’s class will also be working on acquiring solid math concepts by planning and drafting set design. We’ll be competing against honors and gifted classes, too. I don’t know if other ELL classes are planning on competing. It’s ambitious.” Her voice wavered.

He stopped. “It’s ambitious, but it’s also the most brilliant idea I’ve heard in a long while.”

Marissa stopped, too, and for the first time since they’d started walking together, she looked at him. She was blushing prettily. “Thank you. It’s Amy’s idea, too. She’d also love to hear that.”

But Johnny knew that wasn’t true. Amy herself had said Marissa had come up with it. It reminded him that Marissa had never been one to crave attention or compliments.

She began walking again. “How did you come up with it?” he asked, falling into pace beside her.

“Abuela Rosa always used to tell me how she mostly learned English by reading, watching soap operas, listening to music, and practicing with people who understood how difficult it was to put yourself out there and speak a new language. I told Amy about it, and we thought that putting a musical together could combine all of that in a fun way, and that entering a competition would really get their juices flowing. Every kid in my class signed up because they have an interest in acting, singing, or dancing. It doesn’t matter if they have any abilities or natural talent. They just need an interest.”

They had reached the entrance. Marissa was talking in an animated way, her hands gesturing all over the place, the way Rosa’s did. And he was smiling down at her. “I never knew Rosa learned English by watching soap operas, but I have to say, it explains a lot.”

Marissa laughed. “She does have a flair for the dramatic, doesn’t she?” she agreed, before giving her head a barely perceptible shake and breaking eye contact.

Johnny opened the door and Marissa swept through, while he looked back into the building. A feeling he’d always longed for filled him to the brim. The emptiness was fading. Yet some loneliness still lingered.

He shook it off and jogged up to Marissa just before she reached a yellow Ford Focus hatchback. She’d bought one of the most practical cars out there, but in the brightest color available. Even the seats were trimmed in yellow. Why did it make him like her even more? It was just a car. If she judged him on his junky pickup, she’d think he was a careless slob.

She beeped it open and Johnny cleared his thoughts. “Your project is going to work, Marissa, your students are going to learn, and the whole things is going to be special.” He looked into her eyes, unable to hide his enthusiasm and desire to help. “And I know you don’t need me or my approval to make it work, but part of my job and training is to promote student motivation and engagement, improve their communication and social skills, and teach them problem-solving, anger management, and conflict resolution. Your classroom today was a natural environment for that. I’d like to keep helping and supporting you both.” He winked. “And we both know I’m handy with a hammer.”

 

Marissa looked up. His words sank in. It was true. He was everything she could ask for in a support staff person, right down to the fact that he was handy with tools. If circumstances were different, she’d be jumping with joy at their luck.

But the man in front of her was also the dream-inducing stranger in the elevator. It had slowly dawned on her throughout the afternoon, during her few moments of peace and quiet, that the girl he’d been waxing on about for an entire year was
her
. It filled her with an anxiety that was one small part gratifying and one giant part strange.

She’d been actively avoiding him for years, and now here he was, back in her life. It would be impossible to ignore him now. She allowed herself to study him for a moment, in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to in years. He was taller and broader than he’d been at seventeen, the last time she’d allowed herself to study him, and his voice was slightly deeper. The glasses, his clean-cut hairstyle, and the classic lines of his face all made him look like an angel. But she knew that angel came wrapped in temptation. It was there in the full, wide asymmetrical lips she’d inadvertently sampled.

She looked away. As if reading her mind, he said, “If Rosa and Marty told you everything I’ve said this past year, then you know how I feel. But I’m not going to spend my days here second-guessing my professional decisions or wondering if you’re doubting my actions because you know I’m . . . infatuated with this memory of you. Of us.”

“Infatuated?” She risked another glance at him. He was so solemn. So serious. “Infatuation is good. It’s temporary. It goes away.”

His eyes held hers. “And it was only one evening and barely even that. It can’t be anything but infatuation. Right?”

Infatuated with a memory.
She raised her hand and showed him her ring, her eyes never leaving his. “Exactly. I’m engaged to Brian Golden.”

He looked at her ring and nodded once. His expression hardened. “So we agree. Within those walls”—he turned and pointed to the building—“during school hours and work meetings and such, you’re a coworker and a collaborator, and that’s that. I can’t have you doubting my intentions. I respect what you’re doing, and I need the chance to earn the same from you.”

Marissa studied his stony face. It wasn’t a look she remembered on him.
Infatuated with a memory.
Had she become infatuated with it, too? That was exactly it. Plenty of people in loving, committed relationships were infatuated with idealized notions, like when they crushed on celebrities and such. It made sense, and it was no big deal. Brian himself had a huge thing for Jessica Alba. And her own infatuation was with a memory and all the ideas she’d assigned to that memory, not a person. “Coworkers and collaborators it is.” Marissa pasted a smile on her face and stuck her hand out.

He shook it, but as he did so, something changed in his expression and he grinned, that slow, seductive grin that used to make girls act like idiots over him. He let go of her hand—a good thing because it was unusually warm outside and her palm had grown hot and sweaty. Had he noticed? “What do you mean by ‘inside those walls’ and ‘during school hours’?” she asked, her wandering brain suddenly rewinding and latching on to those seemingly important words.

“Outside those walls, and outside work hours, I can’t just snap my fingers and forget we share a past. We need to talk about it if we’re going to put it behind us.”

She didn’t want to talk or even think about their “shared past.” So she focused instead on his grin and wondered if it would have any effect on her students. It worried her. He was young and good-looking, after all. Thoughts of Ana Maria tumbled in and she tried to shake them off. He was a trained professional now. And she really had no choice but to try her best to trust that. That was what he was trying to tell her. Wasn’t it?

Again, it was as if he could read her expressions. He looked at her from underneath his thick, black lashes. “We’ve shared a lot, Marissa. Talking about some of the things we’ve been through together might help you trust me with the kids. It would help me, too.”

A commotion reached their ears, and they turned toward a group of students who’d gathered at the far end of the parking lot. They seemed to be alternating between arguing and cooing. When one girl shoved a boy, she and Johnny ran over to stop them.

Amazingly, the kids all stood up straight and formed a barrier when they reached them. What were they hiding? A whimpering noise on the other side of the human wall informed her it was some sort of wounded animal. “Hey, it’s okay. Let us take a look. We want to help,” Johnny said in soothing tones as he simultaneously tried to signal his intentions, in case some of them didn’t understand his words.

The kids parted and Marissa gasped. “
Puppies!
” she squealed. There were five of them, whimpering and stumbling blindly around a blue blanket.

“People threw,” Azra, the girl from Bosnia, tried to explain. Marissa beamed at her, proud she’d spoken up.

“Ma’ll kill me if I take one home,” Isaac said, while looking down. Marissa hid a smile, wondering if he knew how longingly he was staring at the pups.