Page 22 of The Love Simulation

“Well, something is better than nothing,” Angie says. “Nice going, Roman.”

Roman nods in acknowledgment but doesn’t smile at Angie like he did at me, which I find interesting. Evidently Angie doesn’t. She narrows her eyes at Roman and walks to where Jordan is still cooking.

“Are you done yet?” Angie asks him.

“I’m getting the plates ready right now,” he says. “I hope y’all are hungry, because dinner is served.”

We all gather around the high table with backless stools.

“Bam!” Jordan says each time he sets a plate in front of us. “Enjoy your early Thanksgiving meal.”

I study the food piled on my metal plate. The turkey slices are a little suspect. The color is slightly off, and there is no seasoning, but the veggies and mashed potatoes look like any other meal. And while I wouldn’t exactly call it aThanksgiving mealsince it’s missing the sweet potatoes, macaroni, and cranberry sauce, it looks filling enough. At least it’s not baby food.

“Wait!” Jordan says before anyone can take a bite. “We need to commemorate this occasion with a toast or blessing or something.” He looks around at all of us with so much joy, I feel like I might burst. Jordan is living his dream out here. “I’m really glad to be with you all. Um. Enjoy this food for the nourishment of our bodies. May it keep us going and going.” He finishes with a forkful of mashed potatoes.

“Nope,” Angie says after taking one bite of the meat. She pushes her plate away, slides off her stool, and goes back to our room.

I pick up the meat and take a tentative bite. The taste isn’t bad. The texture is off though. Like, way off. Chewy, but tough against my teeth and hard to get down. It probably has more to do with Jordan’s cooking method than the actual food itself. A little less time in the pan and it should be closer to what fresh meat would taste like.

“Our first meal on Mars,” Jordan says, simply awed by everything as he chomps on a large piece of meat.

Simone is eating the vegetables and seems satisfied.Roman’s expression is blank, so I can’t tell if he hates the food or if this is his idea of five-star dining.

It occurs to me that I don’t know what kind of food he likes to eat. He doesn’t get hyped about enchilada day like everyone else. He never takes his lunch in the teachers’ lounge, preferring instead to stay in his classroom during his lunch hour. Is he a steak guy or all about burgers? He’s clearly not a vegetarian since his turkey is halfway gone, and he hasn’t touched the veggies yet.

Roman digs his fork into the mashed potatoes. Before taking a bite, he glances up at me, and this time I don’t look away. I can tell myself I’m curious as to what he thinks of the food, but as he swallows without so much as a grimace, I know the real reason. I like looking at him. I like how there’s chatter about horrible techniques that lead to overcooked but under-seasoned meat, but neither of us engage. But I don’t like this feeling of guilt spreading in my chest that tells me as much as it feels like I’m glowing under his attention, I can’t trust him. So when Roman raises his eyebrows as if to say, “Mars, huh?” instead of answering, it kills me a little to drop my gaze back to my plate and ignore him.

Angie walks back in with one of her protein bars right in time for us to discuss our game plan.

Jordan wipes his mouth and clears his throat. “As you all know, we have daily and weekly duties.” Those duties are simple enough. Exercise daily, keep our habitat clear of dust, and keep the solar panels clean. “If we do those and last the full six weeks, we get—”

“Twenty thousand dollars!” Angie shouts like she’s about to compete on the Fast Money round ofFamily Feud.

Simone claps, and even Roman’s face lights up.

“Yes, twenty thousand dollars,” Jordan says. “And if we complete the four main objectives, we get the money for the school.”

“Whoo, let’s go!” I say, pumping a fist in the air. Everyone stares at me blankly, as if I’m the weird one and Angie didn’t just have a similar outburst. Roman lets out a small huff, but I don’t trust it. He’s probably trying to get me to let my guard down again. I put my arm down and slump in my chair.

“Continuing on,” Jordan says. “To win the money for the school, we’ll have to find the rover that got lost in a previous sandstorm, gather samples at a predetermined site for our experiments, grow dandelions in the greenhouse, and fix the antenna.”

We begin discussing which of the big objectives to tackle first. I think it should be the antenna so our communications with Mission Control come through as quickly as possible and say so. Jordan really wants to find the missing rover, however, and since he’s our mission commander and I don’t want to start our mission off with an argument, I bite my tongue and agree to follow his orders.

Jordan rubs his hands together like a fly about to grub down on some food. “Great. I’m glad we have that settled. Everything seems straightforward, but we need to be prepared for anything to go wrong at any time. These simulations are as much about how people respond to emergencies as they are about completing the objectives. Remember, we’re all a team, and everyone’s role is important.”

“Whatiseveryone’s role?” Simone asks.

Jordan blinks like he hasn’t considered the question. I know he had certain positions in mind when he recruited (begged) us to join. Simone is our medic, I’m supposed tohelp keep morale high, Angie is our techie, and Jordan, our mission commander, is supposed to be an all-around specialist and decision-maker. Roman? I guess he’s simply here to look pretty, which again makes me positive he’s here to do Principal Major’s dirty work.

“We’ll all work together when it comes to keeping the Hab clean, finding the rover, and fixing the antenna,” Jordan says after a while. “Most of these can be done in shifts, like taking care of the greenhouse. We will need a team of two to gather the rocks. If I remember the map correctly, the site is over a few hills. Just going off sheer physical capabilities, and no shade to anyone here”—Jordan directs to me and the other ladies—“Roman, I think you’re best to head up that task.”

Roman nods once in agreement, and I impulsively shout, “I’ll be his wingman!” before Jordan can volunteer himself. “I mean, wingwoman. I grew up hiking all the time, so the physicality is no big deal.” And this way, I can make sure Roman doesn’t mess up collecting the samples on purpose. Jordan seems way too happy to be here, so I’m not sure if he’d keep an eye on Roman or get distracted by the fascinating hills or tracks in the sand. Jordan may be the commander, but I’m going to have to be insistent on this point.

“Are you sure, Brianna?” Jordan asks, and I nod. “Well, okay then.”

I sit back in my seat, satisfied, as they move on to discuss cleaning shifts. When I look over at Roman, wondering if it’s begun clicking that I’m onto him and not willing to sit aside while he ruins the simulation, I come up short. Roman doesn’t seem nervous. He’s not sweating bullets or so much as grinding his jaw. He’s sitting there with thatsame half grin he wore when he invited me out to Big Lou’s. Like it did then, it sets my pulse soaring and my cheeks flushing.

For some inexplicable, possibly demented reason, he looks satisfied.

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