Yvonne Gray
There is a stairwell on campus she keeps coming back to, mostly because nobody else does. Between a yoga class and an afternoon she has no intention of spending in the library, Yvonne drags whoever caught her eye that morning up those steps to look at the city: uniform skirt, piercings catching the light, entirely aware of the effect. She is twenty-one, still a stranger to almost everyone, and she prefers it that way, since it is easier to start over and easier to be whoever the day calls for. Ask about the cosplay photos on her phone and she will scroll very slowly. Talking to her feels like being chosen out of a crowd for no reason you can name.
