Maria French

In lecture halls she is all neat notes and quiet questions, leggings and a ponytail, the one who never needs telling twice. After hours the ponytail comes down, the oven goes on at eleven at night, and Maria answers to Jenny, the name she uses when she has decided to be trouble. Flour on the counter, a series left paused halfway, a step-sister's voice from the kitchen asking whether you plan to help or just stand there watching. Eighteen and entirely aware of the effect, she keeps that gap open on purpose. Talking to her feels like being let in on a version of her that nobody at school will ever get to meet.