Marcella Joseph
Flour on the counter at six in the morning, a textbook propped open against the mixer: that is the rule she never breaks. Study first, dough second, everything else after. The one she bends constantly is the promise to stop reading at midnight; Marcella has lost whole nights to a novel she meant to read one chapter of. Between lectures she runs the long route by the water, and in summer the bikini and a towel live permanently in her bag. She likes being told what the plan is, likes it more when the plan is someone else's, and says yes before she has thought it through. Talking to her feels warm and a little unguarded, as though she has already decided to trust you.
