Chapter Text
The horse’s name was Beans, and he was actively trying to ruin her life.
Tina stood in the stable, clutching a saddle that felt heavier than her dignity. Beans snapped at her hand again, teeth flashing, eyes wild.
“Okay,” she muttered, voice shaky. “We’re doing this. We’re gonna… connect.”
She’d been at Pawbridge for a week, and every day felt like someone else’s dream. Everyone else seemed confident — earthy and loud, like they were raised in barns and could charm snakes. Tina still got lost trying to find the cafeteria. Her roommate didn’t talk. Her hoagie was leaking sauce onto her arm.
She tried again, lifting the bit, trying to coax Beans into a moment of grace. He jerked his head and nearly headbutted her.
Tina froze. Her eyes burned. She was not going to cry in front of a mean horse.
"Beans are tough."
A voice behind her. Low. Calm. Like a warm breeze through a cracked barn window.
She turned.
A guy in worn jeans and a gray work shirt stepped forward, easy and quiet. He didn’t ask — just moved. He whispered something to Beans, something low and soft, and the horse actually listened. In under a minute, he had the bit in, saddle secured, reins looped.
Tina just stood there, holding her sad sandwich.
"How did you do that?" she asked, half in awe, half in disbelief.
The guy looked at her. His face changed — slowly, like a cloud passing the sun. His mouth twitched. His eyes narrowed just a little.
"...Belcher?"
She blinked. "Uh. What?"
“Tina Belcher?”
Her chest tightened. The name twisted something in her gut. He looked older. Taller. Still a little crooked in the smile.
“I—” She hesitated. “Do I know you?”
“It’s Zeke.”
Everything paused. Her breath. Her brain.
Zeke.
The beach.
That firepit.
That one weird, warm night.
That kiss she never brought up again.
That moment she told herself didn’t mean anything.
That moment she still sometimes thought about.
“…Oh.” Her voice cracked on the word. “Zeke. Wow. I didn’t recognize you.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, half-smiling. “Yeah. Dropped out after sophomore year. Took a bunch of jobs. I found my way here. I work at the stables. I’m not, like… enrolled.”
“Oh.” She said it again, quieter. Like it explained anything.
Beans let out a wet snort. Zeke stepped back, giving the horse a pat.
“Thanks for… doing that,” Tina said, finally.
“No problem.”
She felt fourteen again. All knees and nerves.
Tina tightened her grip on the reins. Beans tossed his head and stomped again, but this time, she held firm.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s not kill each other.”
With a grunt and a half-slide off the mounting block, she got herself up onto the saddle. It wasn’t graceful, but it wasn’t a total disaster either. Beans shifted under her, snorting, clearly not thrilled — but not bucking her off, either.
Zeke walked beside them, his hands shoved in his pockets, eyes on the trail ahead.
He gave Beans a gentle pat on the side. “He just acts mean. He’s mostly bluffing.”
Tina nodded, clutching the reins too tight. Her mind was spinning. Should she ask about the horse? About Zeke’s job? Should she bring up—
“So,” he said, casually, like he hadn’t just reappeared in her life after years. “How’d you wind up here?”
“Oh. Uh.” She tried to swallow around the dryness in her mouth. “Animal behavior. I, um… like animals. Not that I behave like them. I mean, sometimes I do, but not in a weird way. I mean, not always. Not anymore.”
He smiled, eyes squinting a little. “Still got the ramble, huh?”
She let out a breath. “Yeah.”
“I wound up here too,” he said. “Odd jobs. This and that. I did roofing for a while. Landscaping. I worked at a car wash. Didn’t last long.”
Tina nodded, her throat tight. “Okay. Cool. Yeah.”
The silence dragged. Beans swished his tail and tried to nip Zeke’s shirt. He dodged without looking.
“So,” Zeke said, his voice low, almost offhand, “you and Jimmy Jr. still keeping it up?”
She froze — just a little — a tiny lift of her shoulders.
“No. We’re not.”
It came out sharper than she meant it. She cleared her throat. “We… stopped talking, like, a long time ago.”
Zeke nodded slowly. “Yeah. Me too. I tried to keep up for a while. But he kinda… I don’t know. Didn’t seem to want to.”
Tina glanced at him. “I heard he does ballet now.”
Zeke laughed once, dry. “Yeah. Fancy dancer. Guess I don’t fit in the picture anymore.”
Tina didn't know what to say. The wind kicked up some dust. Beans sneezed dramatically.
They kept walking like that — side by side, one on foot, one on a fidgety horse — the quiet not exactly comfortable, but not unbearable either.
Up ahead, Tina saw her assigned group — a cluster of students in matching helmets, their horses calmly lined up by a tree.
She pulled lightly on the reins. “I think I should probably… join them.”
Zeke nodded, stepping back. “Yeah. Right. See you around, Belcher.”
“Yeah,” she said. “See you around, Zeke.”
She nudged Beans forward. He huffed but obeyed.
As she trotted off toward the group, she didn’t look back, but she felt it, the weight of Zeke still watching her. Like a ghost she hadn’t expected to run into, still warm and real and walking in the same dust.
Tina guided Beans into the cluster of students just as the instructor was holding up a laminated map.
“Glad you could join us, Belcher,” the woman said without looking up. Her name tag read Marla. She wore mirrored sunglasses, had a voice like she'd eaten gravel for breakfast, and looked like she could bench-press a full-grown cow.
“We’re doing a basic checkpoint route today,” Marla said. “Six stations hidden in the forest. You’ll use your map to find each one. At every post, there’s a marker. You stamp your card. Get all six, you pass. Miss one? You don’t.”
Someone raised a hand. “Can we work in pairs?”
“No,” Marla said flatly. “This is about independence, awareness, and not dying in the woods. So saddle up and head out.”
Tina looked down at her map. A wrinkled white square with cartoon trees and squiggly lines. Beans flicked an ear as if he, too, wasn’t thrilled.
They started off at a slow trot down the gravel path, the woods thick and cool ahead. Tina’s helmet itched, her saddle creaked, and her thighs were already sore. Beans walked like he didn’t love the idea of work, but he obeyed.
“Okay,” Tina mumbled. “Just follow the map. Find the boxes. Don’t die.”
The first checkpoint was near an old log. Easy. She leaned over and stamped her card — a bright red pine tree. Victory.
The second was harder. Up a narrow slope where Beans nearly slipped in mud. But she got it — a blue horseshoe.
By the third checkpoint, Tina was sweating and talking to herself.
“So you and Jimmy Jr. are still keeping it up? God. Who says that?” she muttered, brushing a branch out of her face. “Who even asks that? And why did I answer like a weirdo robot? ‘No. We’re not.’ Cool, Tina. Real smooth.”
Beans gave a short grunt, as if in agreement.
Checkpoint four was missing its stamp. She circled it three times, sure she was missing something. By the time she found the marker — tucked under a branch — her knees were shaking.
As she stamped the card with a lopsided acorn, her thoughts slipped again. Back to the firepit. Back to the kiss.
It was short. Unplanned. A little messy. But… not bad. Not nothing. And the way he looked at her today, she wondered if he still remembered it too.
Beans whinnied suddenly, yanking her back to the present. A squirrel darted across the trail, and the horse danced in place, snorting.
Tina rubbed his neck. “Same, dude. Same.”
They moved on.
Checkpoint five was near a stream, the water glittering like foil. Tina leaned down and stamped her card with a faded brown feather.
One more.
Just one.
She took a breath. Sat up straighter. The woods were quiet around her — just birdsong and hoofsteps, like the whole world had narrowed down to her, Beans, and the map.Checkpoint five had left a stripe of mud across Tina’s left boot, and her thighs were starting to go numb. Beans huffed under her, tail twitching at invisible flies, ears twitching at every crackle of leaf or breeze.
The sixth checkpoint was somewhere near “Ridge Hollow,” which sounded quaint on paper but looked like a steep slope tangled in roots, rocks, and evil.
Tina stared at her map. Then on the path. Then back at the map.
"Okay," she mumbled, mostly to herself. "It’s just… up the ridge, past the gully, near that rock that looks like a butt."
Beans tossed his head, impatient.
“Don’t judge. You try navigating with cartoon anatomy.”
They started the climb.
The trail narrowed to a broken vein of dirt, squeezed between low pine branches and sharp, mossy stones. Tina ducked as a twig nearly took out her eye. Beans picked his way forward, hooves slipping once—twice—on loose gravel.
"Easy," she whispered, gripping the reins tighter. “We’re almost there. I think.”
They crested the ridge, the canopy breaking open just enough to let in a shaft of dusty light. For a second, Tina felt like she was inside a photograph — golden beams, still air, trees frozen mid-sway.
And then she heard the voice.
“Oh my God, he bit you? Beans are such psychos.”
Tina froze.
Near the base of a squat, gnarled tree — with the last checkpoint box strapped to its trunk — stood Riley. She was everything Tina wasn’t: confident, sharp-cheekboned, and already on her second bottle of electrolyte water.
Tina guided Beans closer. Riley gave her a once-over, mouth already twitching with judgment.
“Well, look who made it,” Riley said. “Thought you’d chicken out by checkpoint four.”
Tina blinked. “Why would I chicken out?”
Riley shrugged. “You seemed kind of... lost. And no offense, but your horse looks like he hates everyone, including himself.”
Beans let out a loud fart. Tina stared forward, face hot.
“I’m managing,” she muttered, sliding off the saddle awkwardly. Her thighs screamed in protest. Her foot sank immediately into a hidden mud pocket.
“Oh,” Riley said, smiling like she’d been handed a gift. “That’s unfortunate.”
Tina wiped her card on her jeans, then reached for the stamp. It was jammed sideways in the holder. She jiggled it once—twice—and got it free.
Riley sighed dramatically. “You can go first. I’m generous like that.”
Tina stamped her card with the last symbol — a crooked little horse head. The ink smudged.
She turned to Beans. He was chewing bark. Her face burned.
“Okay,” she said, under her breath. “We did it. Now let’s get the hell out of here before she asks if we know how deodorant works.”
She pulled herself back up into the saddle, knees wobbly, boots slick.
Riley waved lazily as Tina trotted past. “See you at camp, Belcher!”
Tina didn’t answer. She didn’t trust her voice not to crack.
But halfway down the hill, she said quietly, “Don’t worry, Beans. She probably thinks sarcasm counts as a personality.”
And for a moment, just a flicker, she swore she heard Zeke’s voice in her head:
Still got the ramble, huh?
She smiled.
Only a little.
Tina sat cross-legged on her tiny dorm bed, a half-unwrapped protein bar forgotten in her lap. Her boots were still muddy and her thighs felt like they’d been personally betrayed by every muscle she owned. Beans had tried to bite her again while she was unsaddling him. Marla had said “that’s life” and walked away. Riley had winked at her like they were in on a joke, and Tina had no idea what the joke was, or if she was the punchline.
The sky outside her narrow window was turning lavender. Her roommate was still at dinner. The room smelled like dry shampoo and animal feed. She unlocked her phone and stared at the screen.
Call Mom.
Call Gene.
She hovered, then tapped Call Dad.
It rang twice.
“Bob’s Burgers.”
“Hi, Dad.”
There was a pause. “Tina?”
“Yeah.”
“Is everything okay? Did something die?”
“No. I mean, maybe me. A little. Emotionally.”
He made that little huff-sigh she knew so well. “What happened?”
She flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. “I can’t do this. I rode this demon horse into the woods to collect stamps like some kind of equestrian mailman, and then I got insulted by a girl named Riley who wears mascara to barn class, and my thighs hurt in ways I didn’t know possible.”
“Oof,” Bob said. “That’s… okay, that’s a lot. You want me to tell you to quit?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
“Okay, good. Because I’m not gonna do that.”
Tina groaned.
Bob continued. “Tina, you made it through middle school. You made it through puberty. You once did a book report on butts and turned it in with confidence. You can do horse camp.”
“It’s college,” she said weakly.
“College horse camp.”
“I ran into Zeke,” she blurted.
Bob paused. “Zeke.... jimmy jr's Zeke?”
“Yes.”
“Oh boy.”
“He works here. Like, with the animals.”
“Well… that makes sense. I think he once tried to feed your brother a live cricket.”
Tina was quiet.
Bob got quieter too. “Are you okay? With… seeing him again?”
She pulled the scratchy dorm blanket up to her chin. “I don’t know. We kissed once. It was weird.”
“Was it bad, weird or weird?”
Tina closed her eyes. “I don’t know yet.”
Bob made a noise like he was trying not to sigh too hard. “Look, sweetie. I don’t know what you’re supposed to do about Zeke or mean girls or demon horses. But I know this: you’re brave. You’re awkward. But you show up. That counts for a lot more than you think.”
Tina swallowed. “Thanks, Dad.”
There was a pause.
“You still want me to tell you to quit?” he asked gently.
“…Maybe just a little.”
“Tough. You’re a Belcher. Go show that horse who’s boss.”
She smiled. Just a little.
“Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, kiddo.”
She hung up and stared at the ceiling for a long time.
Then she sat up.
Then she pulled out her journal.
Then she wrote, in huge all-caps letters:
BEANS TRIED TO KILL ME BUT I AM STILL HERE. ALSO ZE IS BACK WHAT THE F**
And underlined it three times.The dorm showers were exactly as uncomfortable as Tina had feared: vaguely mildewy, poorly lit, and echoey enough that she could hear someone singing a weirdly intense version of “Chandelier” two stalls down.
She stood under the weak spray, arms crossed, letting the hot water sting her shoulders. It helped. A little. The mud from Beans. The sweat from the uphill trudge. The stress of Riley and her perfect jawline. The whole Zeke of it all.
She shampooed, conditioned, over-conditioned, rinsed, and stepped out. She wrapped herself in her oversized towel robe Linda had insisted she pack — white, fluffy, with a monogrammed “T” that already had a mystery stain.
Her flip-flops squeaked all the way back to her room. Her roommate still wasn’t back, thank God. She flopped onto her bed with damp hair, letting the towel ride up dangerously high on her thighs, feeling like a freshly-washed emotional casserole.
Then her phone buzzed.
“Incoming Call: Louise.”
Tina stared at the screen like it might explode.
She picked up.
Before she could even say hello, Louise’s voice burst through:
“TAKE IT BACK.”
Tina blinked. “What?”
“You don’t get to just casually kiss Zeke on a beach and then not tell me for two entire years. What the hell, Tina?!”
Tina sat up, towel still askew. “Oh my God, Mom told you, didn’t she?”
“Dad told Mom. Mom told the wine. The wine told me.”
Tina groaned, flopping backwards. “Louise, it was one time. And it didn’t mean anything. And I wasn’t even—me and Jimmy Jr. were on a break.”
“Please. That kiss had thigh energy. You know it did.”
“What does that even mean?!”
“It means your thighs remembered, Tina. They remembered today when you saw Zeke again, didn’t they?”
Tina’s voice dropped to a defensive mumble. “...Maybe.”
“Oh my God. You still like him.”
“I don’t like him, I just—he showed up and Beans liked him and I was all muddy and awkward and he asked about Jimmy Jr. and I—”
“—Had thigh energy, continue.”
“Louise!”
There was a beat. Then a softer voice on the line.
“Hey, Tina?”
“Yeah?”
“I miss you. Even though you’re embarrassing and emotionally constipated.”
Tina blinked hard at the ceiling. “I miss you too. Even though you’re loud and terrifying.”
“Aw. We’re the worst.”
“We really are.”
Another beat. Then:
“So when are you gonna kiss Zeke again?”
Tina made a sound like a strangled llama. “Goodbye, Louise.”
She hung up.
The phone buzzed a second later with a text.
From: Louise
“KISS HIM AND NAME YOUR FIRST HORSE NIECE AFTER ME.”
Tina turned the phone facedown and buried her face in her pillow.
This day was way too long.
Tina slept through breakfast. And part of lunch.
The dorm was quiet — a soft, humid kind of Saturday where time got lost between lazy breezes and the rustle of leaves. Her roommate was gone, probably with friends. Tina hadn’t really… made any yet. Not real ones. Unless you counted Beans, which she definitely didn’t.
After a long internal debate (pants or no pants?), Tina finally got dressed, grabbed an apple, and wandered toward the small animal enclosures.
The bunny pens were under a canvas tarp that fluttered gently in the wind. It smelled like hay, fur, and the tiniest hint of poop — a scent Tina was learning to weirdly find comfort in.
She sat cross-legged in the wood-chipped corner of the enclosure, a Dutch rabbit hopping lazily by her shin.
“Hey,” she said softly. “So... I know we don’t really know each other. But you have kind eyes. And I trust you.”
The bunny nibbled at a straw of hay. Another one flopped on its side like a tiny pillow had given up on life.
Tina sighed. “Zeke showed up yesterday. You don’t know who that is, but it’s complicated. I once kissed him and now he’s here and we’re older and I think he has facial scruff now.”
The bunnies gave her nothing but twitchy noses and silence.
“I mean, I’m not saying I want to kiss him again. That would be… chaotic,” she mumbled. “But like, what if I do?”
One bunny sneezed.
“Thank you. That was very validating.”
Later Tina had moved on to the dining hall after sitting with the bunnys for longer then she should have.
Tina sat with her tray alone, chewing on a sandwich that had too much mustard and not enough distraction. Her phone sat untouched beside her. No messages. No calls.
She stared into her juice for a long time, She had done all her extra work and the only thing she wanted to work on right now was Beans. Tina was determined to tame that horse.
The wooden path creaked under her boots as she stepped into the warm, hay-sweet air of the barn. Her heart was kind of racing — but she told herself it was just from the walk. Just from the resolve.
Then she stopped.
Beans’ stall was empty.
She blinked. I looked around. Empty, empty, empty.
“Did they… put you out to pasture?” she whispered. That’s what people did with horses, right? Sometimes?
She took a cautious step forward. Then paused.
There was a shuffle behind the tack room.
A low whistle.
Tina froze.
That whistle.
She turned just slightly, already regretting it.
Zeke.
He was crouched beside a stack of buckets, sorting something that looked like tools and saddle straps. His hair was longer than she remembered — pulled back loosely, a little greasy. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, and his hands were covered in dirt and soap scum.
She didn’t say anything.
He didn’t notice her yet.
And then—
“Oh my God, Belcher.” came a sharp voice behind her.
Tina flinched.
Riley.
The one with the mascara and the opinions.
Tina spun, instinctively stepping back. “Sorry! I wasn’t—uh—I was just—”
Riley tilted her head, chewing gum with purpose. “Why are you standing in the aisle like a ghost?”
“I thought the horses were—”
“Out to pasture?” Riley smirked. “Yeah, it’s Saturday. That’s literally what happens every Saturday. Everyone knows this.”
Tina flushed. “Oh. Sorry.”
Then Zeke’s voice echoed lazily from behind them. “What y’all whisperin’ about?”
Riley rolled her eyes. “Just the new girl being creepy.”
Zeke stepped into the light, wiping his hands on his shirt. His eyes landed on Tina.
“Oh,” he said, a little smile curling the edge of his mouth. “Hey, Belcher.”
Tina's mouth opened. Nothing came out. Then finally: “Hi.”
Riley looked between them, a little grin twitching at her lips. “You two know each other?”
Zeke gave Tina a look.
Tina blinked. “We… yeah. Kind of. A long time ago.”
Riley squinted, smirking. “Huh. Weird.”
She turned, already bored, and sauntered off toward the fields, her gum snapping like punctuation.
Zeke stuffed his hands in his pockets. “So. Beans?”
Tina nodded. “I was gonna… try to befriend him.”
Zeke grinned, all teeth and a smudge of grease. “He ain’t easy.”
“I know,” she said. “Neither am I.”
Zeke blinked, then laughed. “Damn, Belcher. You got a little fire in you.”
Tina smiled. Just a little. “I’ve been working on it.Tina crossed her arms over her chest, trying not to fidget as Zeke leaned against a stall door, wiping his hands off on a rag that looked like it had lived four lives.
“So,” she said, shifting her weight. “Beans.”
Zeke raised an eyebrow, grinning. “The menace himself.”
“Yeah. I want him to like me.”
Zeke snorted. “Good luck.”
“No, seriously. I’m gonna earn his respect. Like… horse-respect. Or fear. Whichever one works.”
Zeke tossed the rag onto a hook and grabbed a pitchfork, jabbing it into a pile of old hay. “Well, for starters, don’t flinch when he pins his ears. He’s testing you. He likes to see what you’ll do.”
Tina followed him automatically as he moved to the next stall. “I did flinch. Like… a lot.”
“He knows. He clocked you.” Zeke started to shovel hay into a wheelbarrow. “You gotta act like you’re the boss, even when you’re not.”
Tina frowned, chewing her lip. “I don’t think I’ve ever been the boss of anything.”
Zeke gave her a sidelong look. “Is that so?”
She shrugged. “I mean… I once organized a fanfic crossover spreadsheet. But that’s different.”
He barked a laugh. “That’s real leadership.”
They moved to the tack room. Zeke started untangling a bridle from a mess of leather straps. Tina reached out and gently helped him loop the reins, not really thinking about it.
“So what does he like?” she asked. “Like, if I wanted to bribe him.”
“Apples. But not red ones. Only green. He’s snobby. And he lets you get closer when you’re singing.”
Tina blinked. “Singing?”
“Yeah, he’s weird. Hates silence. I hum when I muck out his stall and he chills out.”
She nodded slowly, filing that away. “Okay. Songs and apples.”
Zeke handed her a curry comb without looking, and she took it automatically, brushing down the saddle he set on a rail.
“And he doesn’t like sudden moves. Or loud zippers. And don’t wear anything crinkly — like jackets that go swish-swish, y’know?”
Tina glanced down at her windbreaker and sighed. “So basically I’ve been doing everything wrong.”
“Nah,” Zeke said, nudging her shoulder lightly with his elbow. “You just haven’t learned his language yet.”
She looked at him.
For a second, she didn’t say anything. Just nodded, and went back to brushing.
They fell into a rhythm ,Zeke scraping mud off a boot, Tina wiping down tack. No awkward silences, just the quiet thuds of work and the low clucks of pigeons nesting in the rafters.
Tina cleared her throat. “So when did you figure him out? Beans, I mean.”
Zeke paused, leaning on the shovel. “Second week. He bit me hard enough to bruise my hip, kicked a pail into my face, and stole my peanut butter sandwich. I sat in the stall and cried.”
Tina blinked. “You cried?”
“Hard. Like, ‘sniffling into the sawdust’ cried.”
She smiled without thinking. “What changed?”
Zeke grinned. “I started talkin’ to him like he was a person. Turns out he likes being treated like a cranky old man.”
Tina laughed. “So basically, he’s my dad.”
They both laughed at that, a little too loud.
Then silence again. But it wasn’t awkward this time. Just warm.
Zeke reached up and hung a halter on the wall. “You can try feeding him tomorrow, if you want. I’ll show you the trick.”
Tina looked down at her hands, then nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Zeke gave her a quiet smile, then turned back to his work.
Tina watched him for a second longer, then grabbed a broom and started sweeping beside himThe dorm hall smelled like a mix of industrial cleaner and someone’s forgotten tuna sandwich. Tina padded down the hallway with her boots in one hand and her hoodie half-zipped, hair still a little damp from being outside. She’d spent more time in the stable than she’d planned again and now all she wanted was to collapse face-first into her bed and maybe talk to no one for the rest of her natural life.
When she opened the door to her dorm room, it wasn’t empty anymore.
“Hi!” a voice called from across the room, followed immediately by a flurry of motion. “You must be Tina!”
Tina stopped mid-step.
There was a girl standing on her bed — Tina’s bed, technically — wearing a glittery tank top, a half-curled ponytail, and mascara that looked like it had gone three rounds with a tornado.
“Oh, sorry! I was just checking how much headspace you’ve got up here. Like, for bunking stuff. But I think it’s fine, unless you're super tall? Are you super tall? I’m Gabby!”
Tina blinked.
“Hi,” she said flatly, staring at the girl’s boots sitting on her pillow.
Gabby jumped down, completely unaware. “Okay, Tina, I’ve already unpacked—well, not really unpacked, more like I just opened the suitcase and now stuff’s everywhere—but listen! There’s a party tonight.”
Tina’s body tensed. “Uh…”
“It’s in East Dorms, apparently it’s a kind of unofficial-official welcome thing for everyone who survived the first week without crying publicly.” She leaned in. “Did you cry? You look like someone who cries quietly.”
“I—what?”
“Never mind! Anyway! It’s gonna be fun! Loud music, maybe snacks, maybe not, I dunno. Someone said there might be a goat. You have to come.”
Tina opened her mouth. Closed it again. “I don’t… really go to parties.”
Gabby gave her the most dramatic gasp Tina had ever witnessed. “But why not?”
“I just don’t. Loud noises. People breathing directly at me. Unidentified drinks. The possibility of dancing.”
Gabby dramatically collapsed on her bed. “Ugh, Tina, come on! This is like a rare moment! A pocket universe where everyone’s still pretending they’re cool and not behind on their readings.”
Tina hovered in the doorway, clutching her hoodie like it was a flotation device.
Gabby sat up, eyes wide with sparkle and caffeine. “Tina. Please. Tina. Tina. Tiiiiina.”
Tina flinched at the repetition. “Okay!” she blurted out, hands up.
Gabby paused, triumphant. “Yay! I knew it!”
Tina immediately regretted every life decision that led her to this moment. “Wait, I didn’t mean—”
But Gabby was already tearing through her closet, pulling out what looked like an aggressive amount of sequins and lace.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find something! Oh my god, maybe you can wear the shirt with the horses on it. That’s your vibe, right? Horse girl, but make it glam.”
Tina sat slowly on her bed, her brain vibrating from sensory overload.
What had she just agreed to?
Somewhere in the distance, she could already hear the thumping of music. Or maybe that was just her pulse.
The walk to the East Dorms was a chaotic stream of Gabby’s breathless commentary about who might be there (“I swear I saw someone who looked like a TikTok vet-influencer, like, real big on reptile enrichment!”), while Tina focused on breathing and not falling over in her borrowed heeled boots.
The dress clung to her hips in a way that made her feel like a sausage casing. Her hair was up in some kind of bun—Gabby had done it and called it “flirty librarian chic,” which felt like an insult—and she wasn’t wearing her glasses. Everything was slightly blurry and way too bright.
When they got to the party, it was worse than she expected.
The dorm lounge had been cleared out, transformed by string lights, loud music, and the heavy, unmistakable smell of animal students who hadn’t showered post-stables. A goat in a tutu was, in fact, present.
Tina stood in the entryway, paralyzed.
People were laughing, dancing, shouting. Someone passed her a red solo cup she immediately set down on a windowsill. Gabby disappeared into the crowd like a very glittery moth.
Ten minutes in, and Tina had officially hit her social limit.
She found herself inching toward the open window like it was a holy escape hatch.
She didn’t even think—just lifted a leg and started trying to climb out like an ungraceful burglar in a clingy dress.
Her foot slipped.
The ground hit her back.
“Ughghghghh,” she wheezed from the grass.
A pause. Then:
“Y’alright there, Belcher?”
Tina blinked up at the blurry figure, her heart thudding. Of course. Of course.
“Oh my God,” she groaned. “Is he everywhere?”
Zeke stood above her, backlit by the party lights, one eyebrow raised, a broom propped against his shoulder. “Did you just fall out of a building?”
“No. I mean yes. I mean—I was trying to sneak out.”
Zeke offered his hand, and she took it reluctantly, scrambling upright and brushing grass off her thighs. The dress shifted awkwardly, and she folded her arms over herself without thinking.
He looked at her—really looked at her. His brows ticked up slightly.
“You look… different.”
“Yeah,” she muttered. “My roommate dressed me. She thinks I’m a sexy librarian horse whisperer or something.”
Zeke snorted. “I can kinda see it.”
Tina shot him a look. “Don’t.”
“Okay, okay.” He held up both hands in mock surrender, then unzipped the hoodie he was wearing and handed it to her. “It’s cold out.”
“It’s not,” she said flatly.
“It might be later,” he offered, with exaggerated nonchalance.
She stared at the hoodie. Big, soft, faintly smelling of hay and mint gum.
She slipped it over her head anyway. It hung past her hips. She could breathe again.
“Thanks,” she mumbled.
Zeke gave a lopsided shrug. “Didn’t figure you for a party girl.”
“I’m not.”
“You always sneak out of buildings through windows?”
She stared out across the dark lawn, hugging the hoodie tighter around her. “Only when I really, really hate everything about being inside.”
He laughed softly, more like a breath. “That tracks.”
Tina glanced at him. In the orange glow from the windows, he looked… steady. Older. Like someone who’d been working and sweating and building a life for longer than most kids their age had even thought about it.
And she hated that she liked seeing him again.
“Hey,” he said after a pause. “You want me to walk you back?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”
They took the long way back to the dorms, through the gravel path that wound behind the paddocks. It was quieter there, just the hum of crickets and the distant rustle of pasture grass. Zeke had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, and Tina kept fiddling with the sleeves of the hoodie, tugging them over her hands.
“So,” he said after a beat. “Is your dad’s place still open?”
She blinked. “Bob’s? Yeah, of course. Still flipping burgers.”
“Huh.” Zeke nodded thoughtfully. “I was thinking about that.”
“Thinking about burgers?”
He smiled, crooked. “Thinking about your dad. He offered me a job once, a long time ago. After I dropped out. I didn’t take it.”
Tina tilted her head, surprised. “I didn’t know you liked cooking.”
“I don’t know if I do,” he admitted. “I mean, I guess I kinda like it. Food’s real, you know? Like, you make it, and it’s there. It’s something.”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get that.”
He kicked a pebble. “Anyway, I was thinking, maybe, if he’s still looking for someone…”
“I can ask him,” Tina said, too quickly, and then cleared her throat. “If you want. I can ask.”
Zeke looked over at her, and for a moment, something passed between them, quiet, real. Tina felt the air shift.
But then-
“Oh my God, Zeke!”
It came like a screech from a romantic comedy, right on cue. From behind a tree, a girl came stumbling toward them in heels too high and a dress too short, all lip gloss and bounce. She threw herself at Zeke with zero hesitation, arms flung around his neck, mouth pressed to his.
“Zeke, baby, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over! You said you’d be at the party—oh my God, I’m soooo drunk!”
Tina froze. Her brain stuttered.
Zeke pulled back, clearly caught off guard. “Uh, Allie—uh, sorry, Tina, this is Allie. She’s, um…”
Allie giggled, curling her fingers in Zeke’s shirt. “Girlfriend,” she sang.
Zeke blinked. “She’s… a friend.”
“Pshhh,” Allie swatted at him, then stumbled slightly and laughed.
Tina felt something inside her shrink. Like a sudden draft had blown right through her chest.
“Oh,” she said, hugging the hoodie tighter. “Um… I can make it back on my own.”
Zeke snapped his head toward her. “Tina, no, wait—I’ll come with you, just—”
But Allie tugged at him again, hanging off his shoulder like a vine. “Zeeeeeeke, let’s gooo, come on—”
“It’s fine,” Tina said, forcing a tight smile. “Really.”
She turned before he could stop her, her boots crunching fast over the gravel. She didn’t look back.
Tina lay on her dorm bed, knees pulled up, hoodie still on, even though the room was warm. The party makeup had been half-wiped off. Her hair had come loose from the forced-updo and now hung unevenly around her face. She stared at the ceiling fan spinning slowly above her, like maybe if she stared long enough, it would explain things.
They’d talked, what? Four times? Five, max?
Not friends. Not really.
Not strangers.
Not dating. Definitely not dating.
So why did her chest feel like a stomped-on hamburger bun?
Why did she feel embarrassed? And kind of small?
Her phone buzzed. She rolled over to look at it.
Gene.
She hesitated, thumb hovering, and then answered. “Hi.”
“Tina! You’ll never believe it—I got the lead in Jesus Christ Superstar, except it’s Jesus Christ SuperAlien, and I’m an alien messiah who speaks only in fart chords and delivers a monologue about intergalactic dairy farming—”
He kept going.
Tina sat there, phone to her ear, eyes open but not really seeing. Gene’s voice filled the room like glitter in a blender. Loud, colorful, impossible to grab onto.
“—and then I said, ‘Let there be jazz hands,’ and Ms. Cho fainted. I think. She might’ve just bent down to tie her shoes but I’m claiming it—”
“Gene.” Her voice cracked.
He didn’t notice. “Oh! And then—”
“Gene,” she said again, louder this time. “Shut up. Please. Just stop talking for a second.”
Silence. On the other end, she could almost hear him blink.
“What’s wrong?” he asked finally, quieter.
“I just… I can’t talk to you right now.” Her throat tightened. “I’m going through something.”
“Is it Zeke?”
She swallowed. Her voice barely came out. “I don’t want to talk about it. Please, Gene.”
“Okay.”
She hung up.
Rolled over.
And pulled the hoodie up over her face like a turtle shell.
She didn’t cry.
She didn’t do anything.
Just lay still, feeling like something small and sore that didn’t even have a name.
Sleep took its time. But eventually, it came.
Weeks passed like rain dripping off a sloped roof -slow, then fast, then unnoticed altogether.
Tina stopped counting them.
Classes stacked up. There were lectures in cold barns, late-night studying under fleece blankets, and the distant sound of horses snorting as she fell asleep. She started walking the campus with a thermos of lukewarm coffee like it was an accessory. Her handwriting got smaller and neater.
She began to look forward to certain classes.
Not in a "giddy" way. Not in a "life has meaning" way.
Just in a quiet, anchored sort of way.
Beans were... better. He still snorted like he owned the place, still acted like Tina's very presence was a personal inconvenience. But he let her stroke his neck now. He stopped throwing his head when she tried to mount him. He even—once—nudged her arm when she had carrots.
She told no one.
Zeke remained a phantom. She ducked out of the room when he entered. If she saw him at a distance, she found an excuse to look down at her phone or pretend she’d forgotten something.
She liked it that way.
(She didn’t.)
And then it was break.
She came home.
The cab dropped her in front of the apartment, and it looked both smaller and exactly the same. She stood on the sidewalk for a second, clutching her bag, already hearing her mom's voice in her head, already bracing for the tightness of everything.
The door flung open.
“Tinaaaaa!” Linda practically launched herself at her daughter. “My baby girl is home from college! Look at you! Look at your face! Look at your hair! You’ve got a woman’s forehead now!”
“Hi, Mom,” Tina mumbled into her mom’s coat.
Then Bob, wiping his hands on a towel from the kitchen, stepped forward with a tired grin. “Hey, kiddo.”
She hugged him tight. Longer than she meant to.
Gene crashed into her next with a trumpet fanfare from his phone. “Behold! The Queen of Horses returns!”
Louise was on the couch, legs crossed, arms behind her head like she owned the apartment.
Rudy was beside her.
Their hands were clasped.
Tina blinked. “Are you guys...?”
“Together?” Louise said, grinning without teeth. “Obviously.”
Rudy blushed like his whole face was sunburned. “Hi, Tina.”
“Oh,” Tina said. “Cool.”
And for a weird second, everything was normal.
Dinner happened like it always did. Too much food. Too much yelling. Too many competing stories. Linda tried to get Tina to talk about “that cute janitor boy” and Bob scolded her, and Louise threw a napkin at Gene and Gene rapped about ducks in return.
It was loud and messy and so familiar it hurt.
Tina excused herself early, retreating to her old room with the creaky door and faded posters and string lights that still only half-worked.
She sat on her bed. Her real bed.
And for the first time in a while, she let out a sigh that didn’t feel trapped in her throat.By the third day, Tina found herself back behind the counter at Bob’s Burgers, wearing a ketchup-stained apron, flipping through delivery orders and swatting Gene’s hand every time he tried to eat a pickle spear off someone’s plate. It was familiar almost hypnotic in its rhythm.
Linda had “accidentally” played the same Bette Midler playlist on loop, and Bob kept grumbling that the fryer was making a “new sound” which he did nothing about except occasionally scowl at it.
Tina liked being useful. She liked using her hands. She liked the way the grease stuck to her elbows and the way the bell over the door always jingled just a second too late.
And then it jingled.
And she looked up.
And her whole body went cold.
Jimmy Jr. stood in the doorway. Taller. Sharper. Still with that dopey-lidded look that used to send her spiraling in eighth grade.
He gave her a little wave. “Hey, Tina.”
Tina blinked. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh—uh,” he shrugged, stepping farther in. “I was walking by. Thought I’d stop in. Burgers and all.”
Bob, wiping his hands on a rag that had long given up being useful, lspoke up “Jimmy Jr.! Hey, buddy! Yeah, take a seat, take a seat.” He pointed to a booth like this was a sitcom.
Tina glanced around.
Mort was suddenly very focused on pretending to stir sugar into his empty coffee.
Teddy was blinking hard, like maybe that would make his ears not work.
Tina sighed. “Fine. But it is.”
Jimmy Jr. slid in across from her, his elbows on the table, palms pressed together like he was about to pray. “So… how’s horse school?”
“Fine.”
“That’s cool.”
Silence stretched out like melted cheese between them.
Tina cleared her throat. “Did Zeke tell you anything? About me?”
Jimmy looked up, startled. “No. I mean—he mentioned he saw you. But that’s it.”
“Oh.” Tina stared at a chip on the table.
Jimmy scratched the back of his neck. “He doesn’t talk to me much anymore, actually.”
She looked up.
“I dunno. He’s different. Or maybe I am. I’ve been busy. With dancing and stuff.”
“Are you still doing ballet?”
He laughed a little. “Yeah. I mean… not everyone takes me seriously. But it’s what I want.”
Tina nodded slowly. “That’s… actually cool.”
Another beat.
Tina tapped her fingers on the table. “So why are you really here?”
Jimmy Jr. hesitated. “I guess… I thought maybe we could talk. Like, catch up.”
She tilted her head, trying to figure out if this was nostalgia or guilt or some weird collision of both.
Outside, it had started to snow, barely, gently. The kind that doesn’t stick. The kind that just makes everything quiet.
Inside, the fryer hissed. Bob cursed under his breath about something. Linda sang off-key in the back.
Tina leaned back in her booth and exhaled.
“Okay,” she said softly. “Let’s catch up.”“So,” Jimmy Jr. said, eyes scanning the booth like maybe it held answers, “you seeing anyone?”
Tina raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Subtle.”
He smirked, leaned back. “Just curious.”
“Well, don’t be.”
Jimmy tapped the table, restless. “I just… I don’t know, I guess I’ve been thinking. A lot. About us.”
Tina didn’t flinch. “There is no us.”
He blinked, surprised. “Right. Yeah. But I mean… we were good, right? I was good to you.”
Tina laughed once, sharp. “You were good to you.”
Jimmy fidgeted. “I don’t know, I’ve just been in this weird place lately. Nothing feels right. And then I remembered how things were with you. And I thought—maybe, I don’t know, maybe if I could get that back—”
“Jimmy,” Tina said flatly, “you’re confusing guilt with longing.”
That made him falter. “I just...listen, okay? Me and Rachel, or whatever, we weren’t even serious. It was a thing, but it was kind of already going on while we were…”
Tina’s face went still.
“…Wait,” she said. “While we were, what?”
Jimmy blinked. “What?”
“You said it was already going on. While we were, what?”
“I mean… I didn’t mean it like that, I—”
Tina leaned forward. “Jimmy. You were cheating on me?”
“I—well, I didn’t think we were that serious. I mean, we never defined—”
“Oh my God.”
“Tina, I—”
“No.” She stood, her chair screeching against the floor.
“Tina, come on, it wasn’t like that—”
She was already raising her voice. “You were cheating on me the whole time we were together?”
Mort spilled his coffee.
Linda froze in the kitchen doorway with a tomato in her hand.
Bob looked up from the fryer.
“Are you serious, Jimmy?”
He stood too. “Tina, I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”
“Get out.”
“What?”
“Get OUT. I don’t want to see your face. I don’t want to hear your voice. I don’t want your sad-little-boy explanations. Just get out.”
“Tina, please—”
Linda came rushing out. “Whoa whoa whoa,okay, okay, honey, just take a deep breath—Jimmy, sweetie, maybe just- maybe just head out—”
“Get out of my dad’s restaurant,” Tina snapped, her voice shaking now. “Just get out, Jimmy Jr.”
He froze, then nodded sheepishly. “Okay… yeah. I’m sorry.” He backed out, nearly bumping into the bell as the door swung shut behind him.
Everyone was staring.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Tina said, voice trembling. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
Bob gently put a hand on her shoulder. “Tina, maybe just sit down, we can talk about it—”
“No.”
Linda tried, “Honey, your blood sugar—”
“I said no!” She twisted away, shoved the apron off, and stormed out the back door.
The snow had started falling harder now .fat, slow flakes that caught in her eyelashes and hair. She walked fast, too fast, down the sidewalk, ignoring the burn in her lungs and the fact she hadn’t even grabbed a coat.
By the time she reached the old school grounds, her fingers were numb.
She sat down on a bench near the big, graffitied bike racks,the same ones she used to daydream a t while writing horse fanfics in her head.
Her breath came out in clouds.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry.
Instead, she sat, snow building slowly on her shoulders, and whispered, “I’m over him. I am. I am.”
Even if it didn’t feel that way just yet.