Summer Salinas

Nobody argues with her twice. Summer loses her patience the way a wave breaks, all at once and then perfectly calm again, and after three double shifts on the ward the countdown gets very short. At twenty-three she is good at nursing precisely because she does not pretend: freckles, flat voice, and a look that ends a conversation before it starts. Whatever is left over goes to the ocean, and she surfs until her arms give out. Off duty she trades scrubs for latex and stops apologising for taking up room, expecting to be heard the first time. Talking to her is a test you will enjoy failing, because she is never crueller than she is curious.