Chapter Seven
The next two weeks are a whirlwind. I’m so busy filling out end-of-year forms and other business to officially close the school year, there’s little time to second-guess my decision to join the simulation. I was initially set to take my cruise before returning for summer school; however, now that I won’t be coming back until August, Principal Major will have to handle hiring new teachers and onboarding them, overseeing summer school, and dealing with any issues that arise as construction for the new football field begins all by himself. Or, more likely, he’ll have Roman step in for a few weeks and take over the vice principal role. Whatever they decide to do for those six weeks has nothing to do with me, and I’m honestly glad for the break, even if there’s going to be less wind in my hair than I anticipated.
I take a deep breath as I pull into a parking lot located at the Johnson Space Center to meet with the team. Today, we’ll get fitted for our space suits and sit through orientation. Tomorrow we’ll get shuttled to our new home, or habitat, for the summer. Just me and four of Juanita Craft’s finest getting cozy for six weeks.
I pull the visor down and check my reflection in the small mirror. Even though I’m no longer going on the cruise, I kept the hair appointment I’d scheduled and got my braids redone early this morning. It’s left my head a little tender, so I gingerly sweep the honey-brown braids behind my back and get out of my car.
“Good afternoon,” I say to a man sitting at a front desk when I walk into the unmarked brick building. “I’m here for the Mars simulation orientation.”
After I show my ID, the man points me down the hall to where a set of double doors are open.
I walk into a large conference room. There are five treadmills, two rows of desks facing a large screen on the wall, and two portable changing rooms, where my team is gathered. I set my purse and keys down on the nearest table and walk toward everyone.
Jordan is the first to see me. “Hey, you made it!” he greets. He looks as ecstatic as a kid at Christmas who just got the video game system their momma swore up and down they wouldn’t be receiving as he does some movements in his suit. According to the preliminary paperwork I read through, they’ll supply the outfits we’ll be wearing. Basic long-sleeve coveralls for inside the habitat, as well as a space suit, with helmet and oxygen tank included, for any work we do outside. Jordan has on the blue coveralls.
“I made it,” I say.
Simone is next to Jordan, doing some high-knee marches to test the fit of her coveralls. Like me, she’s in her early thirties. She has light tan skin with a pink undertone and the most gorgeous spiral curls. “Hey, Miss Rogers,” she says, slightly breathless when she sees me. “Glad you could make it.”
“Thanks,” I say. “And just Brianna. If we’re all going to be cooped up together for close to two months, I think we can use first names.”
“Hey, Brianna,” Angie says as she steps out from one of the changing rooms. “Ooh. Or should I say Miss Body-ody-ody?”
“Brianna,” I plead as my body flushes. We were instructed to show up in formfitting exercise clothes the coveralls and space suit would go over, so I came in navy leggings and an athletic shirt. It’s another outfit I was influenced to buy off social media. Unlike my pajamas for spirit day, this outfit does everything it’s meant to. It snatches, lifts, and yes, gives me body . I didn’t think it’d be a big deal since no students are around, but leave it to Angie to point out that my goodies are out for all to see. “Just…call me Brianna.”
She shrugs as if to say suit yourself , then turns to Jordan. “When should we expect the football players to show up?”
Football players? That’s random. Considering the whole reason we’re here is because of an unneeded football field, if any players show up, I’m going to riot. I turn to Jordan as well. He cringes, looking decidedly guilty as he moves by the other changing stall, and says, “How’s everything fitting?” He’s deflecting. I try catching his eye to get some idea of what is going on, but he dodges me.
“It’s pretty good. A little tight in the biceps though,” a deep voice from behind the other changing screen says. A voice completely lacking the high pitch of what I know Renee should sound like.
I stop caring about whatever it is that Jordan’s obviously hiding as my stomach begins to knot up. I have to be hearing things. This room looks like the ordinary, run-of-the-mill conference room turned training space, but there’s something wacky about the acoustics in here. Or maybe my braider did my hair too tight, and instead of giving me a headache, it’s affecting my stereocilia. Or…or…I’m trying to think of any other explanation, but at this point I’m only denying what I know to be true.
Roman steps out of the other changing room.
Hell to the mother-loving no.
Scratch that—hell yes . It’s like my heart flatlines then surges again when I get a good look at Roman. He has on the same long-sleeve coveralls as the others, but my God . The fit is indeed tight on his biceps. And abs and thighs. Even though Roman’s physique is more on the slim side, like a runner’s as opposed to a bodybuilder’s, the coveralls highlight how toned he is. How utterly and completely divine.
Maybe one day I’ll look back over my life and realize that when it comes to Roman, I’m no better than the men who openly leer at women just trying to walk around and live their lives. But today is not that day.
“Yeah, I think I need the next size up,” Roman says, moving his arms across his chest in such a way that it’s obvious how wrong I was. NASA isn’t providing us with simple, everyday coveralls. No siree. These things must be made from superior fabric. The kind that by all accounts should have ripped into shreds the moment Roman closed the zipper, let alone flexed. The kind of fabric you’d see on some infomercial claiming how indestructible it is, followed by a tank rolling over it or a cat using it as a scratching post, only for someone to then hold it up and find it perfect and perfectly clean. The kind of fabric that…Okay, I’m done. Even I know I’m doing too much.
Roman does the same high-knee march Simone did.
Seriously, who sourced the fabric? Can I get it on Amazon?
“Maybe two sizes up,” Roman says. “It feels like I’m about to bust a seam or…” Whatever else he was going to say is cut off when he turns and spots me.
He stares, looking so surprised to see me that for a second, I wonder if I’m even supposed to be here. Because one of us is surely out of place.
Then he blinks, and his eyes move away from my face to travel the length of my body. Awareness zings my skin like little prickles of electricity, mirroring the path his gaze takes, and I’m suddenly very cognizant of the fact that he’s never seen me in anything tighter than slacks. And with the coveralls so snug on him, I can see the moment he inhales, then swallows. Then licks his lips. It’s the exact same moment my insides turn to literal goo.
If we were on school grounds, the look he’s giving me would be highly inappropriate. But here, in this room and in different clothes, it’s like we’re seeing each other in a new light. I don’t know about him, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel like I’m looking at a science teacher right now. I’m looking at a man whose attention sets my body aflame and who I want to give many babies to.
“Brianna,” Roman says. He schools his features and makes a point of not straying from my eyes. “You made it.”
For all the gawking and big talk going on in my head before, no response comes out. Evidently, I don’t recover as smoothly as him. All my thoughts have up and poofed. Simply peaced out to leave me standing here speechless and wanting.
Roman clears his throat and begins to look increasingly uncomfortable with my silence. “We just started trying on the clothes, so you haven’t missed anything important.”
I shake my head to get rid of the tunnel vision that’s only allowed me to focus on him. With my eyes open to the other people in this room and the fact that seeing Roman today is the last thing I expected or wanted, I ask him, “What are you doing here?” My heart is racing full speed at the impact of what his presence means.
“I heard y’all were down a man,” he says, like it’s the simplest of explanations.
“Yeah,” Jordan confirms. “Something came up and Renee couldn’t commit after all. I tried calling every teacher I knew. I even went to the school to see if I could talk one of the teachers getting ready for summer school into changing their plans. Then I ran into Principal Major, and he suggested Roman.”
While Jordan explains, the gears in my head begin turning, clicking right into place when he says “Principal Major,” and I can’t believe he doesn’t see it.
Oh Jordan, you sweet, sweet summer child.
I’m not going to lie, Roman had me good with his little performance at school. With his talk of me being “amazing” and not liking how his dad treated me, I thought he was being genuine, but it was all a ploy to get me to let my guard down. Well, I’ve learned my lesson—playing with Roman is playing with fire. I won’t be burned again.
I look at him, allowing myself one more moment of appreciation. One moment is all it can be. He can claim he’s here to be our last man, but I know once the simulation starts, we’ll be working on different teams.
“You can’t go,” Camille says. So easily too. Like it’s the final word on the matter just because she wills it.
I sigh. “You’ve already said that. Repeatedly. And I already told you that yes , I can. I have to.”
Camille leans against her quartz kitchen countertop. She’s wearing a pair of crisp white scrubs while getting some morning snuggles in with Zara before work. Camille isn’t even wearing a burp cloth in case she gets drool or spit-up on her, like she knows her perfect baby wouldn’t dare mess up her momma’s outfit.
“Brianna Odette,” Camille says in that grating tone she uses when she’s about to tell me how to live my life. She’s been using it all morning, now bringing my middle name into it, and I have just about had it. “I’m serious. Going through with this simulation after finding out the teacher you’ve been crushing on all year is joining is just asking for trouble. Do you honestly think this is a good idea?”
Honestly? No, I don’t think it’s a good idea, if for no other reason than that I’m not sure what I’ll do to Roman if I have to be near him for weeks on end. The more I think about him joining the simulation, the angrier I get. Angry, hurt, and humiliated. One thing is certain: that crush I had on him is gone. Gone. Even if thinking about the hungry way he looked at me with my exercise clothes on makes me shiver, his unexpected and unwelcome appearance ensured all other soft feelings I had toward him dried up.
How could he seek me out in the library and act like he was on my side, only to throw it all in my face? Like I didn’t see his dad talking to Renee at school, where he most likely said something to get her to drop out. This is all clearly a calculated move on Principal Major’s part, and Roman, for whatever reason, is playing right along. “Having or not having a crush on Roman is irrelevant. I have to go and make sure he doesn’t sabotage everything.” What better way to derail my plans than for Principal Major to get a man on the inside to do his dirty work, hoping once again to try to break my spirit? “Without that money, the library really will be a lost cause. Don’t you see that I just can’t walk away from that?”
“No, I really don’t. Why put yourself through all this nonsense?” Camille asks.
Brown eyes, the same shade and shape as mine, study me. Tenacious, dependable superwoman Camille doesn’t understand that I need to see at least one thing through, and getting the library built is it. Roman notwithstanding, if I can help get our team through six weeks of tasks and isolation to win the money for the library, then I can do anything. Then I won’t be the young, flighty Rogers child still trying to get her life together while her siblings conquer the world. I’ll be that rising star Superintendent Watts spoke of.
But I don’t say any of that because, again, Camille won’t understand.
We both turn at the sound of footsteps as my brother-in-law, Lance, strides into the kitchen.
“Hey, sis,” he says to me.
Lance is about five feet nine, with dark brown skin and wire-rim glasses. He’s been part of our family ever since I can remember. Growing up in the same small town as us, he and my brothers were best friends. When my oldest brother, Tay, passed away and then Vincent distanced himself from the family, Lance was still there for us. Most especially there for Camille when she decided keeping everyone from falling apart even further rested solely on her shoulders. They made it through the hardest of times and are now living their happily ever after.
Lance walks up to Camille, kisses her forehead, and massages her shoulders, then takes Zara out of her arms. As he holds her at arm’s length, making funny faces, Zara’s eyes widen. No baby giggles yet, but the recognition is certainly there as she scans her dad’s face and smiles.
“Ready for your meetings today?” Camille asks Lance.
She steps close and embraces him, wrapping her arms around his waist. As he smiles down at her, she slides her hands under the hem of his blue button-down and grabs the waistband of his Golden State Warriors pajama pants.
“Woman!” he yelps with a grimace when she lets the band hit his back with a pop.
Lance uses one arm to secure Zara to his chest and the other to tickle Camille, and I slide off my stool to give the happy family their privacy.
I try to tell myself not to be jealous and that one day the time will come when I’m expressing my love language to a partner through fun and games. But I can’t help but wonder, when ? When will it be my turn? I force back the image of standing beside Roman and looking up as he went to town on his turkey leg. It wasn’t adorable, and he’s not the man for me.
I look out the back door window and see Sheba standing there patiently, her brown eyes barely visible through her golden fur. Camille agreed to watch her while I’m gone. When I open the door, she politely walks in and comes to me for some cuddles.
“Who needs a partner when they have the best girl in the world anyway?” I whisper as I bend down and scratch behind her ears.
Sheba and I have come a long way since she was a curious puppy I had no idea what to do about. If anyone saw her, they’d never guess the same well-behaved dog once attacked someone. Well, attack is a strong word. More like mauled with love . I’ll never forget the day a year ago when we went hiking with my family and my brother’s now-fiancée, Amerie, jogged away from the group to catch up with Vincent, who’d taken off like the Lone Ranger. Sheba managed to slip free from me and ran after Amerie, causing her to fall and sprain her ankle. Amerie held no grudges, realizing Sheba only wanted to give her kisses, but I felt horrible.
After the trip I spent two thousand—yes, thousand , as in the cardinal number that is the product of ten and one hundred—for a personal behavior specialist and trainer. As it turns out, I was the one who needed training in how to deliver consistent and confident commands. The difference is night and day.
I didn’t think I’d ever be one of those people harping on about their dogs being their babies, their dog being the one to rescue them , or how petting their dog helped them relax after a long day, but…yeah. Sheba has been all that and more. Especially this year as I’ve adjusted to a life more isolated from coworkers and friends. I can’t always show up on Camille’s doorstep since she’s got her family to take care of, but I can always count on coming home to someone happy to see me.
“Don’t forget about me while I’m gone,” I tell Sheba before standing up.
It seems Lance has taken Zara upstairs and is probably getting ready to conduct some meetings from his home office. Camille is alone in the kitchen, back to making me uncomfortable as she studies me with her arms folded over her chest.
She pushes off the counter and walks over to me, then reaches out to smooth my braids and sighs. “If you’re determined to see this through, just be careful. You’re smart and capable of anything you set your mind to. Including kicking ass in the simulation. But you’re also sweet and gentle and led by your heart. I’m worried that with Roman around, it’s going to lead you right into heartbreak. Then I’ll have to get involved because he hurt my little sister.”
“I’m not a little girl who needs her big sister watching out all the time.” I shrug my shoulders high up to my ears, and Camille gets the hint to stop messing with my hair. Before she can take a step back and call me a brat, I grab one of her hands and squeeze. “But I appreciate your concern. Even if I don’t show it, I always have and always will. I am going into this with every single one of my guards up, focused on nothing but making it through the next six weeks. And don’t worry about my heart, because I haven’t, nor will I ever, give it to Roman to break.”