Read Online Fixer-Upper (Spinning Hills Romance 3) by Inés Saint - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Inés Saint
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Contemporary, Adult, Romantic Comedy, Dreams, best friends, small town, Bachelor, Surrender, Mistaken Identity, Community, Ohio, quirky, little sister, Forever Love, Single Woman, Captivated, Challenges, Family Tradition, Spinning Hills, Town History, Amador Brothers, Hammer & Nails, Renovating Houses, Line Streets, Old-Fashion Town, Settling Down, Houseful Of Love, Fixer-Upper, Masquerade Parties, Mystery Woman, Sexy Charmer
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the headlights. Johnny gave her a look. The two of them really needed to talk.
“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?
“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?
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