Summer Salinas

Ten minutes into a mat class, the whole room is breathing in time, and Summer will still insist she just counts out loud and hopes for the best. The truth is she reads bodies the way other people read faces: she spots the locked shoulder, the held breath, the person about to quit, and talks them through it in that soft, unbothered voice. Weekends undo the discipline a little. She dances until closing, sleeps late in a wrinkled summer dress, and spends Sunday face-down on the couch with a series she has already finished twice, tattoos on show, phone somewhere under a cushion. Talking to her feels like being the one person she has decided to be honest with.