Researching With the Jock {BWWM High School Romance}

The Touch

Greg

I'm sitting at the dinner table with my family after my parents and Claudine returned from hanging out with the McKeaver triplets at their house, but I'm barely present. My parents are talking nonstop about Vivian, praising her for how she defended Lucy from the girls in the popular clique. My sisters, Lucy and Claudine are hanging onto every word.

"Vivian's such a sweet girl," Mom says, her voice full of admiration. "I can't believe how she stood up to those girls for Lucy."

Dad nods in agreement. "She's got guts, that one. We could use more people like her around here."

"Yeah, she was like, 'I suggest you walk away,'" Lucy pipes up, her eyes wide as she mimics Vivian's voice. "It was so cool! I don't think I've ever seen those girls so shocked."

I try to smile, nodding along with them, but all I can think about is that brief touch. How her eyes flicked up to meet mine, her lips curling into a smile, making my stomach flip in a way I've never felt before.

"So, Greg, what do you think of Vivian?" Claudine asks suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I blink, caught off guard. "Uh, yeah, she's great. Really... really great."

"Great? Just great?" Claudine teases, wiggling her eyebrows at me. "You've been awfully quiet tonight."

"Yeah, just great," I mutter, feeling my face heat up.

Claudine pipes up again. "Maybe Vivian can help you study for U.S. History, huh, Greg?"

I shoot her a glare. "She's got her own stuff to worry about."

Lucy giggles. "Vivian would probably make flashcards for fun."

"Okay, that's enough about Vivian," I say, but my voice doesn't carry much weight, and I know they're all seeing right through me.

"Whatever you say, Romeo," Claudine teases as she gets up to grab a snack from the kitchen.

I push my chair back, standing up. "I've got some schoolwork to to focus. I'll be upstairs."

Before anyone can say anything, I grab my books and head to my room. Once I'm inside, I close the door behind me and lean against it, taking a deep breath. I need to focus. U.S. History doesn't study itself.

I pull out the flashcards Mr. Marone gave me last week, spreading them out on my desk. Important dates, key figures, major events... all the things I need to get through for a test that may be a couple of weeks from now. I flip through my flashcards, the edges starting to wear down from too much handling. Mr. Marone's U.S. History class isn't exactly a cakewalk. I have to actually know this stuff, not just cram it into my brain for days to come. Manifest Destiny, Monroe Doctrine—yeah, I remember those. But I pause on a card that reads "Compromise of 1850," staring at it like it's gonna explain itself.

"Compromise of 1850," I mumble under my breath, tapping the card against the table. I know it's got something to do with slavery—free states, slave states, some kind of balancing act. But the details feel blurry, like they're floating just outside my reach. I can hear Mr. Marone's voice in my head: This is important for understanding the Civil War, Greg. No pressure.

I shuffle the card to the back of the stack, letting out a breath.  Good thing Vivian's the brainy one. If we were just relying on me, we'd be stuck. But for now, it's just me and these flashcards.But as I stare at the cards, all I can see is Vivian's face.

"Come on, Greg," I whisper to myself, shaking my head. "Get it together."

I pick up another card. What year did the Declaration of Independence get signed? Easy. 1776. I flip to the next card, trying to push Vivian out of my mind, but she keeps slipping back in. Her laugh, the way her long hair fell over her shoulder, the warmth of her hand against mine.

I groan, rubbing my temples. This isn't working. I need to focus, but I can't. Not with Vivian invading my every thought. I drop the cards on the desk, leaning back in my chair.

Maybe if I get some sleep, I'll be able to concentrate better tomorrow. But even as I lie in bed, pulling the covers over me, I know it's a lie. I collapse onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling.

I don't know why I keep thinking about her. She's way out of my league. We barely even run in the same circles. She's all brains, and I'm... well, I'm the football guy who can't even play right now because I'm too busy screwing up in school.

I'm not going to be able to shake her that easily. I can't get it out of my head. The way my hand brushed against Vivian's last night while we both reached for the same slice of pizza. It was just a split second, but it felt like time slowed down. My hand on hers, warm and soft, and the way she looked up at me, surprised, but not in a bad way. I quickly pulled back, stammering an apology, and she just laughed it off, but something about that moment keeps replaying in my mind. Over and over again.

Vivian

I put my curly hair that is as wild as a lion into a bun and change into a red T-shirt and white pajama shorts before I peel the covers open. I pull my covers over my body as The Golden Girls comes on. I sing along to the show's theme song just like my mom, Carolyn, and Diane usually do whenever it comes on since it started airing four years ago. 

Today is a great day, I'm not gonna lie. I taught Lisa the latest New Jack Swing moves during break at work. Me, Carolyn, and Diane hung out with Greg's twin sister, Claudine when she came over and stayed for dinner before she left. Yesterday was also an riveting day to muse upon also. Although I don't think about Greg like that, there's something really lingering about the way his hand grazed mine. His touch is like a spark, igniting a warmth within me. Even though it was just an accident, that moment is something I can't get over. 

I don't know why I'm thinking about the quarterback of George Washington High School-- he's definitely out of my league with the All American boy looks-- standing at six feet tall with a muscular figure, piercing gunmetal blue eyes, light to fair skin, and sun-kissed natural ash blonde hair. I don't have time for fuck-boys that would use me, only to shatter my heart with a hammer and walk away when I reveal my true emotions to them. While I, on the other hand, am one of the brains who has one more year left to get out of high school. Maybe working on a project with Greg for the second time won't be as awful as I predict it would be from the first.