Researching With the Jock {BWWM High School Romance}

Working Out the Kinks

Vivian

I'm sitting cross-legged on Greg's bed, surrounded by crumpled note cards, our Sex Ed project folders, and a million distractions. I'm pretty sure half of those crumpled note cards are more doodles than actual notes. Greg is pacing the room, one hand ruffling his already messy hair, the other holding a half-eaten bag of Ruffles chips.

"You know," I say, eyeing him as he pops another chip into his mouth. "Most people sit still when they study."

"Most people aren't trying to pass U.S. History and tackle this relationship project at the same time," he shoots back, slumping into the desk chair across from me.

"Yeah, well, most people also don't wait until the last minute to do either of those things." I smirk, flipping through the pages of our textbook. "How was after-school help today? Did you finally figure out what to say besides 'something like that?'"

He rolls his eyes, his grin widening. "Very funny, Vivian. You know, I don't need to be reminded. Just enough to pass the test."

"Well, I hate to break it to you, but Mrs. Cruz actually expects us to know things for this project."

He groans and tosses the bag of chips onto his desk. "Right. Right. Okay. So, where were we?"

"You tell me," I say, raising an eyebrow. "The last thing I remember is you suggesting that football counts as a form of healthy communication."

He winks. "It kind of is. I mean, I'm communicating when I throw the ball."

"You're impossible," I mutter, shaking my head. I grab a fresh note card and scribble down a few ideas for our presentation. "Okay, let's focus. Mrs. Cruz wants us to talk about conflict resolution, right? So how would you resolve a conflict in a relationship?"

Greg leans back in his chair, arms behind his head, that usual confident smirk on his face. "Easy. I'd say, 'Hey, let's talk this out.' Then we'd, you know... talk it out."

I stare at him. "That's it? That's your grand strategy? 'Talk it out?'"

"What? Isn't that what we're supposed to do?"

"Wow," I can't help but laugh. "Greg, there's a little more to it than just saying 'talk it out.' You have to actually listen and understand what the other person's feeling."

He looks genuinely confused. "Isn't that what talking's for? I mean, if I'm talking, I'm listening."

"Yeah, except you're not listening. You're just... talking."

"Talking and listening are two sides of the same coin," he says, waving his hand like he's explaining something profound.

"Uh-huh." I give him a skeptical look. "Okay, let's test that theory. Let's say I'm mad at you because you bailed on me for the third time to go to a football game. What do you do?"

Greg grins, as if he's got this whole relationship thing figured out. "Easy. I'd say, 'Babe, I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was that big of a deal. Let's hang out after the game.'"

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "You do realize that would make it worse, right?"

He shrugs. "At least I apologized."

I toss my notebook onto the bed and lie back dramatically, staring at the ceiling. "This is hopeless."

Greg laughs and pulls his chair closer to the bed, leaning over me. "Come on, Vivian, don't give up on me now. I'm getting the hang of this. Slowly."

"You're about as good at conflict resolution as you are at keeping your room clean." I glance around his room, noting the piles of clothes on the floor and the collection of empty water bottles on his nightstand.