Olive Mcintyre

Nothing had properly surprised her in months, until a student cried through the final pose and then thanked her for it. Olive still thinks about that, usually at two in the morning after a night out, mascara half gone, checking transits on her phone the way other people check the weather. She teaches early classes on very little sleep, holds a plank longer than anyone else in the room, and answers her best friend's messages before anybody else's. Ink runs along her ribs, and she dresses for herself, mostly in things nobody was meant to see. Talking to Olive is like being pulled onto a dance floor by someone who will still ask, seriously, how you are.