Page 65 of The Love Simulation

Two days later, I’m washingour two bowls clean from breakfast while humming “Cater 2 U” by Destiny’s Child. It was fun imagining waiting for Roman to come home after a long day at work while I wait in bed for him, but around the twentieth iteration of my daydream, I started to feel a little selfish. In a relationship there needs to be both give and take to make it work. I shifted my imagination to thoughts of me welcoming him home with a nice smooch on the mouth before I help him take off his jacket and shoes and lead him to the bedroom I’ve so painstakingly prepared for a peaceful homecoming. Where I then proceed to lay it down.

What does it say that my daydreams don’t have me working, and certainly not being vice principal?

Nothing, I decide. Just because I daydream of not being vice principal doesn’t mean that’s what I really want. Daydreams are fun, but in the end, they’re just for fun. And of course, I can’t help but daydream about spending every waking moment I’m able to getting my fill of Roman.MyRoman.

“What are you smiling over there for?” Roman asks.

I blink away images of him losing control in our future shared bed and look at the real-life version of Roman dusting the comms station. “Oh, nothing,” I answer, grateful my skin is too dark to show any blushing.

As I dry the bowls, a notification sound comes from thecomms system. As has become habit born of PTSD from our first few weeks of calamity, my heart jolts at the sound. Roman’s quick “It’s just an incoming message” puts me at ease.

“Anything we need to be worried about?” I ask, hoping it’s a simple, friendly check-in from Mission Control.

“Nah,” Roman says, and I breathe easier until he continues. “It’s another round of video messages from our families and friends.”

Well, that is almost worse. Not that I don’t want to hear from my family. But since being here, I’ve gone against every single warning Camille gave me. Hell, I stopped avoiding touching Roman in sight of the cameras after our night together. We haven’t been doing any obvious PDA like kissing when we’re out in the open, but there have been some lingering touches on my end, presses of his hand against the small of my back that I’ve leaned into, and the way we sat together on the couch when we finally decided to turn on the TV because Roman agreed to watchHamiltonwith me.

While I’m ready to move forward in my relationship with Roman, I’m not ready to face Camille or anyone else commenting on how cozy the two of us are together.

I make my voice sound nonchalant. “I’m glad it’s only the messages. I’ll check on mine later. I want to see how the dandelions are doing first. Are you going to check your messages?”

Roman is silent for a beat before answering. “I don’t have any. I’ll keep cleaning.”

Something about his tone seems off. Could it be that he’s disappointed his dad still hasn’t sent a message? I know their relationship isn’t what I thought it was, and maybe Roman is upset. Before I go to the greenhouse, Iwalk by Roman and squeeze his bicep. “Okay. Maybe after we’re both done with the morning chores, we can hang out in the greenhouse by the rock pond.”

Roman bends down and kisses my cheek. It’s my most reckless move by far, but it’s not like I’ll be his vice principal for long anyway. “It’s a date,” he says.

I interlock my fingers so I won’t look totally whipped by covering my heart with my hand as I walk away.

It’s those damned dandelions again. There is something wrong with the pipes. No matter what kind of adjustments we make, the soil remains wet. I mentioned to Roman that I thought we should dump the soil and start fresh, but he said we should give it a couple more days to see if he could fix it. As much as he’s read the manuals and has been able to fix everything else that had broken down, it must have been a matter of pride that he can’t nail down what the issue with the pipes is.

I feel the soil, and my finger comes away with bits of moist dirt stuck to it. We’re running out of time. Roman may want to avoid the hassle of switching everything out, but it’s the only way if we’re going to complete this task in time. It’s the last big one we need.

Decided on the best course of action, I test the heavy planter to see if I can empty it myself. I grunt as I try to heft it up, but it doesn’t budge. Time to bring in the muscles.

I open the door to get Roman and stop when I hear a voice that isn’t Roman’s; I immediately recognize Principal Major’s voice. Odd. I thought he didn’t send Roman anything. Or maybe it’s a message with the teachers and superintendent included again. I walk forward to see who all is in the message, but the words playing halt me in my steps.

“You’ve been doing a good job getting close to her andgaining her trust. I know this isn’t something you wanted to do, but it’s best for the school…”

I don’t hear anything else. I can’t. For the last few weeks, I’ve been flying in the clouds, and gravity has finally caught up. I’m falling back to reality, and I see everything so clearly. Roman didn’t come here with the intent to help us win and get the library remodeled. The exact opposite, actually. And everything we’ve shared, the feelings he proclaims to have for me, are as fake as this simulation.

I don’t know how long I stand there putting all the pieces together until Roman is standing in front of me. Eyebrows pinched as he gazes at me, he looks worried. More, he looks guilty. And I hope, above all other emotions he may portray, that the guilt is real. That he feels it in his soul. Here I was, thinking we had something special and making plans for the future, and all the while, Roman had his own set of plans.

“You heard everything?” he asks.

I sniff, becauseof coursemy emotions wouldn’t miss their time to shine, and swallow the knot of heartache down. “I heard enough.”

“I can explain.”

Do I want to hear his explanation? I was at the top of my graduating class. I’ve pretty much got it figured out. Got him and his motivations figured out.

But I’ve also got a soft heart. Too soft for my own good where Roman is concerned. And part of me wants him to prove me wrong. Maybe Principal Major wants to turn Roman as heartless and cutthroat as he is, but Roman isn’t his dad. The red haze is fading, no doubt aided by the release of tears, and I nod. “I’m waiting.” I won’t make this easy.

“Can we go somewhere private?” He gestures to the bedroom, and I stride ahead without a word.

If I open my mouth, I’m not sure if what comes out will be a simple acquiescence to hear him out or if I’ll act out of character and end up cussing out Romanandhis daddy.

We make it to the room and I sit on the bed, leaving no space for Roman. I fold my arms across my chest and raise my eyebrows. I’m pretty sure Roman’s got the hint—let me hear what you have to say, and it better be good.

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