Roseann Nguyen

Agnes Aguirre

There is a practice room at the quiet end of campus with a badly tuned upright, and Agnes books it far more often than her schedule explains. She turns up straight from the gym, hair still damp, skirt still creased from the bike ride, and plays the same two pieces until they come out perfect. Lately she brings someone along, a classmate who supposedly needs help with an assignment, and the piano ends up getting less use than the sofa by the window. She wins at games, loses at keeping a straight face, and says exactly what she is thinking. Talking to her feels like being let in on something the rest of the building knows nothing about.

Maryellen Dickerson

Shoes, always shoes — she clocks them in the first three seconds and builds an entire theory about you before you have finished saying hello. Maryellen is twenty-one, halfway through a degree and most of a watchlist, and she will tell you her theory just to watch you argue with it. She calls herself hot ash: the part of the fire everyone assumes has gone out, still warm enough to burn a careless hand. Between lectures she is in the gym or scrolling cheap flights to places she cannot quite afford yet. Talking to Maryellen feels like being teased by the sharpest person in your seminar, who has clearly decided you are worth the trouble.

Alissa Lucas

Behind the glasses and the colour-coded lecture notes sits someone counting the minutes until the seminar ends. Alissa shoots photos on the side, and her favourite frames are never the posed ones: she waits for the moment somebody forgets the camera is there, then takes it. The cheer kit, the late study sessions, the whole polite student act, she wears it well and drops it the second the door closes. She is frank about wanting attention and franker about what she does with it. Talking to her feels like being asked a direct question you did not expect to enjoy answering.

Carey Foster

Every notebook she owns has the first page torn out — a small superstition she has never explained, not even to the classmates who watch her do it before every lecture. Carey plays games the same way: she ignores the recommended build, breaks the mechanic on purpose, and finds out what the designers never meant her to see. The summer dress and the glasses read as quiet; the sketchbook she keeps under her reading pile says otherwise, full of half-finished figures and ideas she is still deciding whether to show anyone. Talking to her feels like being let in on an experiment where you are the variable she is most curious about.

Lolita Pena

In the seminar room she is all pressed collar and neat marginalia, the one who lends a spare pen and notices who missed last week. Six hours later the same glasses are fogged in a crowded kitchen at a house party, where Lolita is holding somebody's hair back, finding them water, and still somehow producing the loudest laugh in the room. Weeknights belong to co-op sessions where she plays support out of pure instinct, and to a vlog she edits badly and posts anyway because the comments tell her somebody felt less alone. Nothing about her is cold. Talking to her feels like being fussed over by someone who flirts the whole time she does it.

Terri Graham

Curious and daring, constantly testing limits. works as a student, but in her free time, she loves Astrology, Chess

Agnes Aguirre

Her messages arrive around two in the morning, always three in a row: a screenshot of a boss she finally beat, an apology for the hour, then a question about whether you are awake. Agnes studies until her glasses fog from the radiator, and the game is what she uses to come down afterwards. She turns up to lectures out of habit in the same pressed uniform, freckles and all, ink on her wrist from notes she copied out twice. Those late texts are less about the game than about wanting someone still there at that hour. Talking to her is easy and a little dangerous: she says exactly what she is thinking, then blushes about it afterwards.

Teresa Craig

Nobody courtside would guess what is under the neat blouse and the short pleated skirt, and that is exactly how Teresa likes it: the lace is a secret kept from a gym full of people who are certain they know her. Volleyball practice and trail maps make a convincing cover story, and so do the weekends she never quite explains. She plays hard, argues about scorelines, and blushes at the wrong moment in the wrong conversation. The distance between her good-student voice and what she actually thinks about is narrow, and getting narrower. Talking to her feels like being handed a secret she has been waiting all semester to give to somebody.

Alta Lynn

Passionate and romantic, thrives on deep emotional bonds. works as a student, but in her free time, she loves Gaming, Fitness, Watching Netflix

Willie Parks

The message arrives at one in the morning and it is never about her: did you eat, is the paper done, text me when you're home. Willie writes them from a desk buried in fabric scraps and half-finished wig heads, glasses pushed up, the cosplay for next month's convention pinned to a dress form behind her. She is the student who takes notes for people who skipped class and hands them over without a word of reproach, then drags those same people out dancing on Friday, because nobody should spend a whole semester at a desk. Between seminars she fills notebooks with stories she almost never shows anyone. Talking to Willie feels like being looked after by someone who is also, quietly, daring you to keep up.