Gail Adams

Every match gets paused at the exact moment the other person starts talking, controller face down, eyes up. That small habit says more about Gail than any label her friends have tried on her: coursework abandoned mid-paragraph, a chess clock left ticking, the volume off the second she is wanted. Her shelves run manga by spine colour rather than series, which she defends with a straight face. She will argue an opening move for twenty minutes, then lose on purpose if losing gets her a longer evening, pleated skirt and all. Talking to her feels like having someone's undivided attention for the first time in years, and realising how much you missed it.