Page 13 of The Love Simulation

I find the heavy chain on top of one of the desks. Instead of grabbing it and closing the doors right away, I take a moment to stand still and soak in the quiet of the library. I let the scent of books (and what I suspect might be a trace of mildew) wash over me. Accomplishment washes over me too. If everything goes according to plan, this will be the last time I see the library like this. Old, dreary, sad, and in desperate need of more love than Mrs. Yates can give it.

I start walking along the shelves, looking at the colorful spines, then can’t help myself and act like I’m a little kid in the library again. I close my eyes and run my finger along the book spines before stopping on a random one. The book I pull out dates itself with an illustration of a boywith messy brunette hair and crooked glasses, and despite the clear protective plastic, the hardcover is falling apart and about ten years past ready to be retired. When I open the book to the copyright page and see it was published in 1992, I shake my head. It doesn’t get any better when I randomly select six more.

There is no reason for me to have to pick up nearly ten books before finding one that has someone with a brown face on the cover. We’ve got too many books out in the world for that to be a reality for kids at this school.

“If books are supposed to bring joy, why do you look like you’re in physical pain?”

I start at the sound of Roman’s voice, but don’t turn to him. I slip the book I’m holding back in, ensuring it’s in the exact same spot I got it from.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say.

All I needed was to be able to get through the remaining school days, and then I would no longer need to worry about running into him for the whole summer. But now I look to my left and there’s no way for me to escape. The shelves are pushed together to make space for detention, and this particular row intersects into a T. Not only is it a fire hazard, it means the only way out of this aisle is through Roman.

My pulse quickens at the realization that he must have sought me out. There’d be no other reason for him to be in here. I don’t know why he would, though. I thought we said everything that needed to be said outside his dad’s office.

Realizing that he’s obviously content to stand there and not say anything, I finally turn and face him. It’s a mistake. His unwavering gaze is on me, saying a dozen little things at once. Like, he’s sorry and please forgive him and don’t write him off like all the other teachers have. But, God, doI want to write him off. Just barrel past him and escape like I did before.

But I also don’t want to be that vice principal who becomes unapproachable once someone makes one mistake.

“What can I help you with, Mr. Major?” I ask, once again not using his name so that the part of my brain controlling my attraction to him gets the hint that this man is off-limits and someone I need to keep at arm’s length. Though being alone with him in the library doesn’t help either of those goals.

Roman doesn’t answer right away. He stretches his arm in front of me, though not close enough to touch, and pulls out the book I was inspecting before. It feels like it’s been forever since I last got a whiff of him, and my senses feel the effect double time.

“The Body Book for Boys,” he reads, lifting his eyebrows.

My cheeks heat in physically painful embarrassment. I wasn’t paying attention to the titles of any of the books I picked up, only the condition they were in.

“Maybe I’ll make this a requirement in my class for next year,” Roman says, his joke easing some of my discomfort. “Having to suffer through three class periods after gym classes ain’t for the weak.”

“Only three? Lucky you. According to Angie, it’s bad all day.”

My lips begin pulling into a smile until I remember I’m not supposed to be on any kind of overly friendly terms with Roman. I let the smile fade before it can fully bloom. As my smile vanishes, so does the light in Roman’s eyes. He sighs and slides the book back on the shelf. Only he isn’t as meticulous as I was, and it ends up in the wrong spot. I try to leave it as is but eventually cave and right his wrong.

“Someone needs to learn to respect libraries,” I mumbleunder my breath while grabbingThe Body Book for Boysand placing it where it belongs, two slots to the left.

“Sorry,” Roman says.

“It’s fine. At least you kept it here in the reference section and not somewhere like, say, crafts.”

“Naw, I wasn’t talking about straying from the Dewey decimal system.”

I snap my head to him, eyebrows raised. We love a king who throws library terminology around as easily as discussing the temperature outside.

“I mean,” he continues, “I’m sorry for telling people you were moving.”

We’re back to that again. I just want to forget about that morning. “I know. You already apologized and I accepted, remember?”

“I remember. I just know that it bothered you, and I didn’t want us to end the year with this animosity between us.”

“There’s no animosity between us,” I lie. He quirks a dubious brow and I shrug. “Okay, fine. Maybe a little. I guess I’ve just been hurt since finding out your dad canceled all the plans for the library. It seems like something you could have told me anytime I saw you in the morning.”

“I didn’t know about the library,” he says, and this timeIraise a dubious eyebrow. “I’m serious. I know everyone thinks me and my dad have this super-tight relationship, but it’s not like that. He doesn’t tell me his plans. He just does what he wants and expects everyone to roll with him.” He shakes his head like it’s something he’s experienced a lot of from his dad. Honestly, it sounds exactly like something Principal Major would do. “If I had known, I would have told you. I respect what you’re trying to do here, Bri—Vice Principal Rogers. Everything you’ve donethis year for the students and teachers, and the way you’ve put up with my dad. And now that you’re about to give up your summer to make sure the library still comes through, it’s just…” He pauses, his eyes searching my own, and I get the feeling he’s seeingme. Not Vice Principal Brianna who battles with his dad every day, but the woman trying so hard to just make a mark in the world so she’ll feel a little less insignificant. “Amazing. I want you to know that I think you’re amazing.”

He stops talking, and I hold my breath, wanting—needing—him to say more. I need him to elaborate on all the ways he thinks I’m amazing so I can luxuriate in the way my insides are going all warm and tingly.

Maybe he reads it in my body, because he takes a step forward and goes on. “I don’t agree with how my dad has handled things this year. Especially where you’re concerned. You deserve so much more, Brianna. You deserve—”

“Miss Rogers!” comes a high-pitched voice.

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