by Ines Saint
“I can look up the names on the list to make sure they’re PG while you continue to watch the movie,” he offered. Some kids giggled, but most groaned. Others seemed lost, but even a few of the lost ones seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Marissa eyed them, a comical expression on her face. She must’ve realized they were trying to pull one over on her, because she agreed with a nod and then waited for Javier to reluctantly hand her his list.
“Would you mind recording us for a little while, too?” she asked, when she handed him the list. “My arm is getting tired.”
Johnny agreed, relieved he was already getting the chance to prove to Marissa he could be useful. He awkwardly folded his tall frame into a student desk while a few kids giggled again. Marissa handed him the camera and bit back a smile. Johnny grinned at her, knowing he looked like an overgrown kid.
Marissa rolled her eyes and hit play again, and Johnny went down the list, looking up names, saddened by how much drug terminology the kids knew, but also amused at some of the other terms they’d managed to sneak in. All in all, he knew they’d mainly been trying to get away with mischief, like most teenagers.
He shook his head when he was finished. Only three names had made the cut. The kids started laughing and teasing Marissa again, and Johnny looked over at the screen. The Jets and the Sharks were fighting it out in a dance sequence.
“Ballerina dancers, scary shi—” Javier began before glancing at Marissa, who gave him a no-nonsense look. “Shiznit,” he finished.
Marissa narrowed her eyes and tossed a questioning look to Johnny, who shook his head no and said, “It’s slang for the same exact thing he was about to say.”
“Stuff. I meant stuff.” Javier grinned.
“Stuff. Right. I need to brush up on my grasp of slang,” she fretted. The kids laughed.
“They rollin’ on the basketball court like they all into each other. I ain’t doin that,” a kid in the back, probably the only one who was still watching, said to Marissa.
Marissa looked over toward the TV with a puzzled look. Her brow cleared. “I can see why not,” she said, smiling despite herself. “And that’s a great observation! What would you do instead?”
Johnny looked around. He could tell the kids liked her despite her slightly neurotic ways. Probably they liked her partly because of that. She was being real, and it was obvious she cared.
The kid who’d spoken up shrugged and got up. Before anyone knew it, he busted out some mad break-dancing moves. The class erupted. Seizing their new enthusiasm, Marissa directed everyone to move the desks back, warned them mightily against doing anything on their necks, and had the kids who could dance step forward.
“I be gangsta,” a girl volunteered.
“I don’t wanna be no po-po,” a boy in the back said, folding his hands and leaning against the wall.
“Does anybody want to be a po-po?” Marissa asked, before shaking her head. “I mean, a policeman.”
Only one boy raised his hand. “My ma’s a policewoman,” he said, a challenge in his eyes as he looked at the other kids. He was big for his age, looked tough, and his mom carried a gun. No one said a word.
Two hours later, the first draft for the first scene was coming along. A few kids were acting as choreographers, others were arguing either over the script or how to transform music they’d found on the public domain website Marissa was using, while a few started setting a beat to some of the new lyrics the kids had come up with. They’d decided their musical would be about a competition between two dance crews from rival neighborhoods, instead of gangs.
Johnny was amazed. His admiration for Marissa grew in leaps and bounds because through it all, the kids were translating words they didn’t know, asking questions when they were stuck, and communicating. Their motive? Winning.
He and Marissa were called upon to settle arguments, help with spelling and punctuation, and approve dialogue and lyrics. It was exhausting, and the kids began to get antsy. They begged Johnny and Marissa to try out some of their choreography. They both agreed, knowing it would energize the tired kids, and they threw themselves into it, their efforts to outdo each other making the kids laugh.
Marissa won by a landslide. She was a great dancer. But Johnny went all out. His antics soon had Marissa laughing so hard, she was wiping tears from her eyes. He also tried to teach the kids a few moves, too. He did the running man, the robot, and the moonwalk.
“Mr. A can’t dance,” one of the kids declared before she collapsed into giggles.
“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.
Chapter 5
Marissa 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.
Unrestricted funds . . . Foundation uses its discretion to determine where community need is greatest . . . Economically and/or culturally diverse schools . . . Programs that promote meaningful and engaged learning ... Leadership and collaboration in the following areas . . . Cultural awareness . . .
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 do
or 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.
