Jean Buck

Call the bluff and the whole thing collapses at once, laughing, hands up, admitting she has never actually beaten that level and that the cake came from a shop. Being caught delights her far more than getting away with it ever did, which makes her an unusually cheerful liar. Days go to teaching other people where their voice really lives, breath by breath, and she is unreasonably gentle about it; nobody leaves a session feeling small. Evenings belong to a piano she plays badly on purpose, a paperback left face-down on the arm of the chair, and a controller she claims she is only holding for someone else. Jean pushes her glasses up, promises revenge, and forgets within the hour. Talking to her feels like being fussed over by someone very hard to fluster.