Page 29 of The Roommate Experiment

Tyler is easy to find. He’s leaning against the bar, arms crossed over his chest, looking every bit the fitness junkie from his photos. I can’t tell his hair color since it’s shaved in a short buzz cut. His snug black T-shirt shows off his lean, muscular frame. If I had to assign him a vibe, I’d say ex-military. I try to remember what his bio said, but can’t.

We grab a table in the corner, and small talk rears its awkward head. Tyler asks me about work, hobbies, and we joke about our mutual dislike for people who think the entire subway car needs to hear their call.

I’m still laughing when Tyler freezes, eyes fixed on something over my shoulder. “Did you see that?”

I turn, following his gaze. “What?” I ask, scanning the bar for anything unusual.

Tyler nods toward the ceiling, where a small security camera sits tucked into the corner. “The camera,” he hisses. “They’re watching us. All of us, all the time.”

I laugh, thinking he’s joking, but he leans in, lowering his voice. “They’ve been hiding things from us for decades. Take the moon landing, for instance…” His eyes widen with a sort of feverish excitement.

I blink as a nervous laugh escapes my lips. “The w—what?”

Turns out, Tyler’s dead serious. He explains in great detail how the government staged the first man walking on the moon. That NASA is part of a global conspiracy. And how the media have brainwashed everyone. His hands wave as he describes hidden truths and shadow organizations.

I take a big bite of my burger, chewing slowly to buy myself time. I don’t know how to reply. “Um, that’s… an interesting perspective. But I’m pretty sure Neil Armstrong walked on the moon.”

Tyler’s eyes narrow. “That’s what they want you to think.” He’s not having any of my “facts.” He’s too deep into his rant now, explaining how he’s been researching “the truth” for years and how I need to wake up.

His burger sits untouched, while he launches into a full-on tirade about how everything we’ve ever been told is a lie. I discreetly check my phone under the table, wondering how fast I can get out of Dodge as Tyler’s blue eyes dart around like he’s worried someone might overhear.

When he tells me vaccines are a cover for injecting tracking devices, I lean in, lowering my voice to match his intensity. “Is the guy in the blue cap watching us?”

Tyler’s head snaps toward the man, who’s just eating his burger in peace. He tenses, scanning the bar with practiced paranoia, his eyes narrowing on every person who glances our way.

“This place is crawling with them,” Tyler whispers, as though sharing state secrets.

I nod, throwing a cautious glance over my shoulder. “We should split up, throw them off.”

Tyler shoots me a look of admiration. “You’re right.”

I sit back on my stool, keeping quiet. There’s only so much bullshit I can spin before I laugh.

He slips two twenties onto the table. “I don’t use cards. Not safe. Too easy to track.”

“Wait.” I frown. “How come you’re on a dating app, then?”

“Tyler’s not my real name. I would’ve told you, eventually.”

Note to self: switch to an app with verified identities.

Not-Tyler gives me a regretful stare. “Sorry this didn’t work out. But I can’t be with you. You’re on their radar.”

“No, I understand.”

“I knew you would.” He stands up and adds, “Don’t follow me out for ten minutes.”

He gives me one last look, then slips out, disappearing into the night. I wait a bit before raising my beer bottle in a silent toast. Cheers to all the sane people who decided not to match with me and to the dating-app algorithm that thinks I deserve this.

* * *

By the time Friday evening rolls around, I’m dreading my last date. But it’s also the start of the weekend, which means the odds of Dylan and Olivia spending time together are high. Especially since Dylan, Tristan, Nina, and I are all having dinner at Adrian’s place tomorrow to meet Rowena’s fake fiancé. If Dylan can’t be with his girlfriend on Saturday night, he’ll want to see her tonight. Here or at her place, I don’t know. But I’m not taking the chance of being a third wheel again if they’re staying here. I’d rather be out meeting another weirdo than watching them get cozy on my couch.

I leave the house before Dylan is back—extra points for avoiding another mortification. A short walk later, I venture inside a fancy French bistro that has opened a couple of blocks away. I suggested this place to my date since I’ve been hearing great things about it and I was curious to try it out. Once, I would’ve come with Nina and Rowena for a girls’ night out. Sadly, those days are gone.

As the warm, inviting scent of fancy cheese and warm baguette wraps around me, a small pang of mourning for my youth tugs at my chest. Nina is living with her boyfriend and they’ll probably get engaged soon. Rowena is having a baby and getting married—okay, that situation isn’t by the book, but it’s still a big step. And me, I’m getting older but just never wiser.

My friends are moving on with their lives while I’m stuck meeting internet weirdos, hoping to overcome a teenage crush. Everyone else is boarding a train to somewhere exciting but I’m alone on the platform, clutching a ticket to nowhere. For years, I’ve pinned too much on the idea of Dylan. He’s been my “will happen one day”—the excuse I used to avoid taking risks or trying to build something real with anyone else. He was an imaginary safety net. But safety nets don’t catch you when you’re standing still. They’re for people brave enough to leap, and I’ve been too scared to jump.

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