Page 15 of The Love Simulation

Answers float in my head, but they can’t be right. He didn’t seek me out because he likes me. He doesn’t feel the connection I’ve felt tugging between us all year. Then again, he did call me amazing. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that. He also seemed sincere about not liking how his dad treats me.

Superintendent Watts passes by with a colleague and catches my eye, glancing between Roman and me with a frown. A silent warning not to get caught up in any trouble. I know she means well, but I can’t help bristling slightly. I don’t need anyone trying to warn me not to get too close to Roman. We’re standing here watching Angie dance. It’s not like we’re about to do anything crazy out in the open.

When a breeze stirs the air and a fresh wave of Roman’s cologne washes over me, as I inhale as much of the scent as I can, I consider the possibility that the superintendent is right about her warning. I fake a cough and take the tiniest step away to put some distance between us.

“You sure you don’t want any?” he asks.

One of these days I’ll learn not to meet his eyes, because they get me every time. I look at his outstretched hand that’s once again offering up the corn and want to erasethe distance I just put between us. Maybe I’m too easy when it comes to Roman, but I can’t think of a reason I should hold a grudge against him. I need to get rid of the crush I have on him, and I will, but not today. Today I’ll savor one-upping Principal Major, as well as the support of our community and their belief that we’ll do well in the simulation. And I’ll share some corn with Roman.

“Actually, I think I’ll try it after all,” I say, and take the cup from him.

Chapter Seven

The next two weeks are a whirlwind. I’m so busy filling out end-of-year forms and other business to officially close the school year, there’s little time to second-guess my decision to join the simulation. I was initially set to take my cruise before returning for summer school; however, now that I won’t be coming back until August, Principal Major will have to handle hiring new teachers and onboarding them, overseeing summer school, and dealing with any issues that arise as construction for the new football field begins all by himself. Or, more likely, he’ll have Roman step in for a few weeks and take over the vice principal role. Whatever they decide to do for those six weeks has nothing to do with me, and I’m honestly glad for the break, even if there’s going to be less wind in my hair than I anticipated.

I take a deep breath as I pull into a parking lot located at the Johnson Space Center to meet with the team. Today, we’ll get fitted for our space suits and sit through orientation. Tomorrow we’ll get shuttled to our new home, or habitat, for the summer. Just me and four of Juanita Craft’s finest getting cozy for six weeks.

I pull the visor down and check my reflection in the small mirror. Even though I’m no longer going on thecruise, I kept the hair appointment I’d scheduled and got my braids redone early this morning. It’s left my head a little tender, so I gingerly sweep the honey-brown braids behind my back and get out of my car.

“Good afternoon,” I say to a man sitting at a front desk when I walk into the unmarked brick building. “I’m here for the Mars simulation orientation.”

After I show my ID, the man points me down the hall to where a set of double doors are open.

I walk into a large conference room. There are five treadmills, two rows of desks facing a large screen on the wall, and two portable changing rooms, where my team is gathered. I set my purse and keys down on the nearest table and walk toward everyone.

Jordan is the first to see me. “Hey, you made it!” he greets. He looks as ecstatic as a kid at Christmas who just got the video game system their momma swore up and down they wouldn’t be receiving as he does some movements in his suit. According to the preliminary paperwork I read through, they’ll supply the outfits we’ll be wearing. Basic long-sleeve coveralls for inside the habitat, as well as a space suit, with helmet and oxygen tank included, for any work we do outside. Jordan has on the blue coveralls.

“I made it,” I say.

Simone is next to Jordan, doing some high-knee marches to test the fit of her coveralls. Like me, she’s in her early thirties. She has light tan skin with a pink undertone and the most gorgeous spiral curls. “Hey, Miss Rogers,” she says, slightly breathless when she sees me. “Glad you could make it.”

“Thanks,” I say. “And just Brianna. If we’re all going to be cooped up together for close to two months, I think we can use first names.”

“Hey, Brianna,” Angie says as she steps out from one of the changing rooms. “Ooh. Or should I say Miss Body-ody-ody?”

“Brianna,” I plead as my body flushes. We were instructed to show up in formfitting exercise clothes the coveralls and space suit would go over, so I came in navy leggings and an athletic shirt. It’s another outfit I was influenced to buy off social media. Unlike my pajamas for spirit day, this outfit does everything it’s meant to. It snatches, lifts, and yes, gives mebody. I didn’t think it’d be a big deal since no students are around, but leave it to Angie to point out that my goodies are out for all to see. “Just…call me Brianna.”

She shrugs as if to saysuit yourself, then turns to Jordan. “When should we expect the football players to show up?”

Football players? That’s random. Considering the whole reason we’re here is because of an unneeded football field, if any players show up, I’m going to riot. I turn to Jordan as well. He cringes, looking decidedly guilty as he moves by the other changing stall, and says, “How’s everything fitting?” He’s deflecting. I try catching his eye to get some idea of what is going on, but he dodges me.

“It’s pretty good. A little tight in the biceps though,” a deep voice from behind the other changing screen says. A voice completely lacking the high pitch of what I know Renee should sound like.

I stop caring about whatever it is that Jordan’s obviously hiding as my stomach begins to knot up. I have to be hearing things. This room looks like the ordinary, run-of-the-mill conference room turned training space, but there’s something wacky about the acoustics in here. Or maybe my braider did my hair too tight, and instead of giving me a headache, it’s affecting my stereocilia. Or…or…I’mtrying to think of any other explanation, but at this point I’m only denying what I know to be true.

Roman steps out of the other changing room.

Hell to the mother-loving no.

Scratch that—hellyes. It’s like my heart flatlines then surges again when I get a good look at Roman. He has on the same long-sleeve coveralls as the others, butmy God. The fit is indeed tight on his biceps. And abs and thighs. Even though Roman’s physique is more on the slim side, like a runner’s as opposed to a bodybuilder’s, the coveralls highlight how toned he is. How utterly and completely divine.

Maybe one day I’ll look back over my life and realize that when it comes to Roman, I’m no better than the men who openly leer at women just trying to walk around and live their lives. But today is not that day.

“Yeah, I think I need the next size up,” Roman says, moving his arms across his chest in such a way that it’s obvious how wrong I was. NASA isn’t providing us with simple, everyday coveralls. No siree. These things must be made from superior fabric. The kind that by all accounts should have ripped into shreds the moment Roman closed the zipper, let alone flexed. The kind of fabric you’d see on some infomercial claiming how indestructible it is, followed by a tank rolling over it or a cat using it as a scratching post, only for someone to then hold it up and find it perfect and perfectly clean. The kind of fabric that…Okay, I’m done. Even I know I’m doing too much.

Roman does the same high-knee march Simone did.

Seriously, who sourced the fabric? Can I get it on Amazon?

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