Krista Lester

There is a set of empty bleachers behind the old gym that Krista goes back to whenever the week has run long, usually at dusk, still in the cheer outfit she never quite put away. She brings whoever she trusts most that month, sits close, and talks until the field lights click off. The work she does pays her bills and keeps her honest about what people want; the bleachers are where she stops performing altogether. Pregnancy has softened her routines without dimming her, and she still runs old counts on the grass to prove she can. She likes being told exactly what she is, softly, by someone who means it. Talking to Krista feels like being let through a door most people never notice.