Page 68 of The Love Simulation

Roman strokes my hair with his big, gloved hand. “As soon as I get back in, you need to go lie down.”

“Yes, Mr. Major,” I say before helping him with the helmet.

He turns around so I can attach the oxygen. In the second it takes me to reach up and secure the tank, the intrusive thoughts hit me at full force. I think of my boyfriendfrom college and how he made different plans that left me and my heart in the dust. I think about Principal Major changing the plans for the library and trying to pit Roman against me. I’m still not positive if Roman’s actions throughout our time here have worked to help or hinder the outcome. And ultimately, I think I can’t take the risk of him not being one hundred percent in this.

I bring my arm back down before completely attaching his oxygen tank and step back. “Okay, good to go.”

Roman walks out of the Hab, going through the tunnel to open the hatch, then steps outside. As soon as he’s far enough, I hit a button that allows me to control the hatch’s lock, knowing Roman won’t be able to unlock it from outside.

As he approaches the solar panels, an alert plays over the comms as well as his headpiece, alerting us that his oxygen is depleting quickly from a leak. He turns back to the Hab and tries to open the hatch. “What the—? Bri, can you open the door?”

My heart pumps wildly in my chest as I watch him through the screen.

“Brianna?” He pulls at the hatch again, but it doesn’t budge.

Think of the kids. Think of the kids.I ball my fists, battling with myself not to let him in.

Roman must finally catch on that the predicament he’s in is my doing. He shakes his head and hangs it low. Before I can act on my second thoughts, he removes his helmet.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers through the microphone, looking up into the camera above the door. He takes in a deep breath. “Ugh, it smells like rotten eggs.” He lets out a sad chuckle. It’s a sadness I feel in every ounce of my soul.

Within seconds, the alert switches from warning aboutRoman’s oxygen leak to blaring his imminent demise. It feels like the least I can do is stay and watch as my deception fully unfolds, but I don’t have it in me. I turn away and head back to the bedroom. I slip into my bed and close the screen even though no one is here that I would need the extra privacy from.

Eventually, the alerts over the speakers become silent. And my heart is broken. Or rather, I’m broken. I know it because there are no tears. Just me and the empty stillness as I sit with what I’ve done.

It’s quiet when I getup the next morning. Quiet and lonely. Quiet, lonely, andwrong. I wasn’t supposed to be the only one left standing. Simone, Angie, Jordan—we came in as a team. Roman…I’m still not sure about his motives. But it felt like he was part of our team as well. And now it’s just me.

I lie in the bed I was sharing with Roman just days ago. Not just sharing, but smiling, laughing, loving. If I knew the kiss we shared yesterday morning was going to be our last, I’d have made it count.

But with so many kids counting on me, with their futures on the line, I couldn’t take the risk Roman wasn’t one hundred percent on board. And now that probably means there’s no future forus.

As I roll out of bed and stand in the empty room, I wonder what it says about me that even after all this, my feelings have not dissipated in the least. I still want a future with him. My heart felt like it was torn into a million pieces and scattered among the dust when I finally got the courage to check the cameras last night before going to bed and saw that he was well and truly gone. And I’m the one who sent him away.

There is a comfort to be found in following a routine. I guess it’s why experts push the practice so much for kids. I do what I’ve done the past five weeks. I eat breakfast, clean my bowl, dust the furniture and comms, check on the cameras and Miles, and look over the rock samples. It’s tough getting into my space suit with no one to help, but I manage it and go clean the solar panels. Finally, I get to checking in on the greenhouse.

Today I’m ready to finally switch out the soil and plant new seeds. I’m hoping something will sprout in the time I have left. I might even pray over them.

I walk in, expecting everything to be just as I left it yesterday, but as I approach the dandelion plot, I think my eyes are playing tricks on me. I get close, so close my nose touches the soil, and I realize I’m not seeing things. There are sprouts—multiple!

I cover my mouth with my hands so I don’t scream but realize no one is here anyway. I can absolutely scream, so that’s just what I do. We did it. We completed all the tasks. We’re going to get the money for the school, Superintendent Watts is going to approve the library remodel, and Principal Major is going to have to deal with my intolerable happiness for the next year.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath as Roman’s handsome face crosses my mind, and his look of acceptance after removing his helmet pierces my heart. He really didn’t try to sabotage the dandelions.

Why couldn’t these have sprouted one day sooner?

Chapter Twenty-Four

Leaving the Hab and riding back home should be enough to bring me to tears.

I’m breathing in clean, fresh air. The stench of rotten eggs and sulfur is no longer embedded in my pores. I’m surrounded by colors. From the black tires of the shuttle to the greens and browns of the trees we drive by to the beautiful blue sky marking my homecoming. It’s so bright today that when I first left the Hab I had to cover my eyes and put on the sunglasses the facilitator handed me.

Speaking of—the facilitator. It’s the same woman who dropped our group off on the first day. Only today, she’s way less chatty and a whole lot more awkward. I wish she would just come out and ask me what’s clearly on her mind—why did you lock your teammate out? The more I think of my actions that day, the more I’m sure that’s what I’ll be remembered for. Not for helping the school get the new library, but for being the reason there was only one person to complete the challenge instead of two.

At least I’m no longer the forgotten Rogers sibling.

I sigh and stare out the window at the passing Texas landscape of green pastures with roaming cattle and horses. We pass a silver minivan on the right and come up on adusty eighteen-wheeler with the words “Wash Me” written in the dirt across its back.

“So,” I begin. I need some assurance I haven’t turned myself into some sort of social pariah. “I bet that’s the first time someone has intentionally locked one of their teammates out during one of these simulations, huh?”

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