Page 5 of The Love Simulation

Two summers ago, a Category 4 hurricane caused significant damage to the school. Most notably, part of the library flooded and a good percentage of the books were destroyed. I don’t know why the insurance money wasn’t used to fix and recoup what was lost. What I do know is that when I took my position here, they were using part of the library for detention and in-school suspension. Theywere using the library as a place for punishment.Punishment.I knew right then and there that if I didn’t do anything, I’d never see the library functioning fully and whole. I thought it was a miracle when Principal Major agreed that changes would be done with the bond money. Obviously, I thought wrong.

“I did agree,” he concedes. “But I saw the plans for the new school and had to make the tough decision to pivot. Without kids filling our classrooms, without themwantingto fill our classrooms, we lose funding. If we lose funding, do you know what else we lose? Don’t answer, that’s a rhetorical question.” I glare at him, and his stupid rhetorical question bull. Everything he’s saying is a load of bull. “We lose the ability to pay what teachers we have left; we lose the ability to buy the books and computers that you want to fill a new library with. This is how I’m securing my school’s future.” He offers what I assume must be his attempt at an empathetic smile, but it misses the mark by the length of a football field. “Look, I know the library and the books and all the other artsy stuff is important to you. That’s why I think it’s best you put in for the other vice principal position,” he says with a raise of his barely there eyebrow. Just like his barely there soul. “I believe you’ll find it much more to your liking. But I know you’re stubborn and think you can still get what you want. That’s not going to happen, Miss Rogers. Just so you’re aware, I had a meeting with Superintendent Watts. The football upgrade is a done deal. The contractors have been chosen and paid, and they’ll start working on the field as soon as the kids break for summer. Your energy would be better spent elsewhere, like on, say, interview prep.”

Not only did he go back on his word, but he kept plans for the new football field hidden long enough to finalizeeverything. And it’s all been so calculated. From the way he dangled the library upgrade in front of my nose like the most delicious piece of cake, only to snatch it away, to his whole shtick about me being a better fit at Angelou School of Arts.

As much as I want to rage and yell and threaten to grab a folding chair from outside, I know I won’t be able to get one word out without my voice shaking from the pressure to cry. And no matter how much my eyes burn and my body locks up, I’d rather walk across hot coals than shed a single tear in front of this man. He is the exact type who would see it as a weakness rather than the most natural bodily response to extreme emotions. And right now, I am extremely full of rage.

Instead, I stalk back to the door and slam it on my way out.

“Heyyy, Miss Rogers,” a studentyells when I step out through the glass doors of the administrative offices. “I like your pajamas!”

I let my head fall as I smooth down my outfit with still-shaking hands and do my best to hide any traces of anger and disappointment. The hall is full of students, and right now I need to be present in welcoming them.

“Thank you, I got it from…” I trail off when I realize the student speaking to me is wearing the same one-piece pajama set as I am.

I blame social media for this. I’d planned on coming in some simple plaid pants and a white shirt. But after searching for “Pajama Days Ideas for Teachers,” I kept getting bombarded by ads of the footed pajamas. In the ads, the lady wearing them always looked comfortable and stylish.I couldn’t help but be influenced. To keep it VP-appropriate, I ordered a size up and paid extra for overnight delivery. Unfortunately, I don’t think it gives “grown, comfy, and stylish” so much as it gives “kid whose mom ordered a larger size so they can grow into it.” I would have stuck with my original outfit, but I was running late after dealing with my dog, Sheba’s, morning shenanigans.

“Oop! Not you twinnin’ with the vice principal, Jaz,” a student in red-and-white-polka-dot pants with a white top and a black bonnet says to my “twin” with a snicker. She looks at me then ducks her head to hide a smile as she hurries away.

Considering how brutal these kids can get with their jokes, I’m counting it a win she went light on us.

“Good morning, Trenton,” I say to one of our quieter sixth graders passing by. His Miles Morales pajamas match his black-and-red Jordans. “Nice shoes.”

He smiles shyly, though his shoulders straighten. At the little boost to his ego, my spirits lift as well.

I continue greeting the students coming in. Smiling to let them know that even though the year is almost over, I haven’t checked out and we’re glad they’re here. That they’re more than simply bodies we need to show up and fill quotas for funding.

I notice Monique, a seventh grader who loves spending time in the library (the part not used for detention), standing in front of her open locker. She seems lost, with a confused scowl reflecting from her small locker mirror, so after a few seconds I walk over to her. “What’s going on, sweetie? Do you need help?”

She shakes her head as if coming out of a daze before turning her bright brown eyes to me. “Miss Rogers! I’m glad you’re here, because I have quite the quandary.”

I love everything about this girl. From her juicy twists to her vocabulary.

“I was the only one who did the extra credit in English,” she says. “So I get to take home a book from Ms. Pierce’s library. I already know I’m going with Angie Thomas, but which one should I get? My brother saidThe Hate U Giveis too grown for me, but I’m not a kid,” she says indignantly, stomping her sparkly unicorn slippers. “Then again,Nic Blake and the Remarkableshas dragons…Ugh, what should I do? This will be my first read of the summer. It’s a very important decision.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Not that I would be laughing atherbut at how seriously she’s taking the matter. Then again, what am I talking about? Booksarea serious matter, and Monique reminds me of how excited I was when it came time to decide what books to read as a young girl. Back before I had full control of my own funds and my TBR pile wasn’t high enough to reach the moon. But back then, I went to a school with a sizable library, so whatever books I couldn’t get my parents or older siblings to buy, I could check out.

“Well?” Monique prompts, as clearly I’m taking too long.

“That’s a hard one.The Hate U Giveis a classic, but on the other hand…dragons.” I move my hands like two sides of a scale. “You really can’t go wrong with either of the two.”

She lets out the biggest huff she can while attached to a backpack that’s at least 20 percent of her weight. “Thanks, but that doesn’t help me.” I snap my head back as she slams her locker shut and sets off, her twists bouncing with each step. These young teens. I swear.

At the same time as Monique turns right to go around the corner, Roman comes from the opposite direction and turns down the same hall I’m standing in. He wearspajamas like everyone else, but his unmistakable male form is clearly distinguishable in the sea of still-growing boys.

“Hey! Save the moves for the court,” he yells to a student so busy bouncing an invisible ball and crossing over anyone in his path that he almost runs into Roman. But Roman’s got that deep stern tone that seems to reach kids on a primal level, so at his words, the student immediately falls in line.

Once the student is out of sight, Roman’s head swivels to me. We lock eyes, but the rush of butterflies I usually get when seeing him is missing in action. It will be a long time before I get over the hurt and humiliation from thinking our morning meetings were something special, and imagining that if we were in different roles, there would be a chance to explore just how deep our connection could grow.

Roman’s eyes stay fastened to me as he moves down the hall with purpose. All I know is I don’t want to face him right now.

“I need you to make sure the announcements are on my desk by the time I get back,” I hear Principal Major say to one of the secretaries. He’s about to head out to where I am.

Stuck between the possibility of another showdown with the principal or facing off with his son, I do something a leader should never do. I hightail it out of there.

Rather than go down the hallway in the direction of my office (because of course Principal Major made a point of sequestering me away from the other administrative personnel), I go right out the front doors. I hear Roman’s, “Principal Major, a word,” which sounds no less foreboding than when he told the student to quit messing around, as my feet hit the concrete. I don’t know what Roman wanted to say to me, or if it had even been his intention to talk to me.But now he and his dad can talk all about how their scheme to get my hopes up for the library worked.

It takes another twenty minutes to get to my office. After greeting students getting off their buses and encouraging them to get to class on time, I continue my walk around the campus, going past the band hall and gym, finally making it to my door. It smells like blueberry muffins, and my stomach rumbles even though I already had breakfast. The perks of being located right next to the cafeteria.

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