Page 2 of The Love Simulation

Roman selects a random K-Cup, never caring about theflavor as long as it’s not decaf, sets it into the coffee maker, and closes the lid with a snap. He presses the start button and turns to me. “Vice Principal Rogers,” he greets in turn, his deep voice already pulling at everything in me.

Where Angie is overly familiar, Roman is painstakingly formal with everyone, even when the students aren’t around. Instead of first names, it’s Mrs. This or Mr. That. For me, it’s alwaysVice PrincipalRogers. I figured out pretty early on in the year he wasn’t doing it to show everyone he’s better than them, but to erect a buffer. And in that regard, we’re similar. Only, I keep my distance from everyone so the lines between admin and teachers aren’t blurred. Roman, the son of a principal who isn’t well-liked or trusted by the teachers and staff, does it to protect himself. With the exception of Kareem and Raven, the teachers aren’t falling all over themselves to share the latest gossip with him or air their grievances, afraid he’ll tell his dad.

I open the cabinet and am not surprised when I see my favorite tea flavor set too high for me to reach without climbing on the counter. I look at Roman in silent question and he springs into action like he was waiting for his cue. He takes a step closer, and I breathe in his scent, which is rich, sweet, and masculine. It overpowers the smell of the coffee brewing right in front of us, but not in an obnoxious way like our struggling eighth graders who drench themselves in Axe body spray, hoping it will cover up a multitude of sins. Then again, if I could bottle up Roman’s scent, I’d be tempted to forgo the water-and-soap route and bathe in nothing but it.

I inhale deeply again, then tip my head back and watch as first he reaches for the lemon ginger. When I deliberately clear my throat, he sets it down and grabs the rectangular box of blueberry-flavored tea. When he hands it tome, I take the box’s opposite end, as always, leaving no opportunity for our hands to touch. Even though there’s no skin contact, the eye contact is all there, leaving me almost breathless.

“Thank you,” I say.

Roman doesn’t say “You’re welcome” or offer me a smile, which is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because every time we do this little morning dance, I’m sliding a toe over the line between teachers and administrators I’m not supposed to cross. If anyone ever noticed how we meet in the same spot every day and began spreading rumors that something else was going on, it would spell trouble for my career, and I’m sure Roman would gain no goodwill from the teachers who already treat him differently. But it’s also a curse because he’s got a great smile.

I first saw it when we were chaperoning the fall dance. We stood on opposite sides of the gym when “Back That Thang Up” by Juvenile came on. Millennial teachers, led by Angie, weren’t able to resist the call. They stormed the dance floor while students, suffering from secondhand embarrassment, cleared out. I stayed on the sidelines and watched, wishing I had someone to turn to in that moment who could laugh with me and appreciate that the DJ had at least used the nonexplicit version of the song. Then I looked ahead and found Roman’s eyes on me. He was standing alone like I was. Rather than the flat look he normally sported, his eyes were lit up with humor. He shook his head like I did, and our silent conversation commenced.

Can you believe them?

They are way too old to be acting like this.

Who chose the DJ anyway?

I’m pretty sure Angie’s three seconds away from snatching her wig off and whipping it around her head like a lasso.

By the time the song was over, we were both grinning like fools, and some inappropriate obsession had taken root.

More than anything—how sexy he is, his amazing smile, or how good he smells, which is incredible—it’s that memory and the feeling of the connection we shared that’s continuously drawn me to him. This morning routine where my day doesn’t truly begin until I see Roman has always been a dichotomy of knowing it’s highly inappropriate and unprofessional to feed into my crush and yet hoping the fact that he shows up every morning and plays along means it’s not one-sided. I haven’t begun to scratch the surface of who he really is outside of being a teacher and the principal’s son, but there’s something about him that fills me with longing.

Roman pauses mid-stir with a wooden stick in his hand and lifts an eyebrow to me in question. I turn my head back to the microwave so fast I almost give myself whiplash from the weight of my braids swinging over my shoulder and landing on my chest. This part of our morning ritual is supposed to be a simple exchange of greetings while I wait for him to make his coffee then take my turn. It shouldnotinvolve me getting caught staring like a creeper.

Glad that my hair is now blocking my face so he can’t see my embarrassment, I stifle a sigh while opening the cabinet above me to grab a Styrofoam cup. Roman is rummaging next to me, and I know now he must be putting the lid on his cup and preparing to leave. He’ll go to his classroom to get set up for first period, and I’ll go on about my duties having given my brain the serotonin boost it needed.

“So what are your big plans to celebrate getting out of here?” I hear Roman say.

I look around to see if he’s talking to one of his friends who has come back, but no. He’s looking directly at me.

“After everything is wrapped up for the district, I’m going on a cruise.” After that perfectly normal response, I grab my K-Cup. “We’re stopping in Cozumel, Yucatán, Puerto Costa Maya, and Belize. It’s a fourteen-day cruise, which is on the long side, but I know it’ll be worth it. Oh, and I say ‘we,’ but I really meanme. It’s a solo trip, but I’m sure I’ll meet other people there.”

Ugh, and there I go. I try to channel that same superpower I use when teachers, students, or the principal says something outlandish and I have to stay cool, but for whatever reason it doesn’t work around him.

Roman looks at me, eyes shining in amusement. I know his smile is there, trying to break through, and my heart answers in a gallop.

“Good morning!” a chipper voice says beside us.

“Oh! Good morning, Mrs. Bland,” I say, greeting the social studies teacher and taking a step back. I don’t want her getting the idea there is something going on between Roman and me.

“Don’t mind me. I just need some creamer.”

Her arm stretches between us, and she grabs a small cup of half-and-half. She smiles at me, though it falls flat when she glances at Roman. Roman doesn’t seem to care or notice her as he stands there and takes a gulp of his drink.

“In case I don’t get a chance to tell you later, it’s been great working with you this year,” she says.

The whole interaction is uneventful and only lasts about ten seconds, but when she’s gone, the air coming off Roman is noticeably chilly, despite the fact that we’re in the beginning stages of a heat wave and the AC is finnicky. Ishe upset Mrs. Bland didn’t speak to him? On the same token, he didn’t speak to her. Other than Kareem and Raven, he rarely speaks to anyone else. DidIsomehow hurt his feelings by stepping away? I would have done the same with any other teacher I was speaking to if someone else had come up. Okay, maybe I wouldn’t have stepped away from any other teacher like they were on fire and I was afraid of getting burned, but there definitely would have been some foot-shuffling going on.

Roman’s gaze is flat when he looks at me, and I know he’s about to head to his classroom.

“What are your plans for the summer?” I ask, wanting to drag this interaction out a little longer. Why not? It’s almost the end of the school year and I’m feeling a bit reckless.

He looks at the door a second, then back to me before he shrugs. “Nothing special. I signed up to teach summer school.”

“Nothing special? The kids absolutely love you. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them sign up just to take your course for the fun of it. You’re great at what you do, Roman.”

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