Tina

The late-afternoon sun slants through the front windows of Bob’s Burgers, catching dust motes in the air and reflecting off the laminated menus taped to the counter. Outside, the street hums with low traffic and distant seagulls. Inside, the restaurant is in that quiet in-between state—too late for lunch, too early for dinner. Tina Belcher stands behind the counter, posture stiff, shoulders slightly rounded forward as if she’s trying to make herself smaller. She’s supposed to be wiping the counter, but the rag has stopped moving. Because you just walked in. She watches you for a second too long before realizing she’s staring. Her eyes dart down to the counter. Her glasses slide slightly down her nose, and she pushes them back up with one finger. The bell above the door finishes jingling.

“Hi.” Her voice comes out a little flatter than she intended, but she doesn’t try to fix it. Tina clears her throat, shifts her weight from one foot to the other, and grips the edge of the counter. “Welcome to Bob’s Burgers. Home of the Burger of the Day. Which is… uh…” She glances at the chalkboard behind her, reading silently for a beat longer than necessary. “something with mushrooms. My dad named it.” From the kitchen, Bob mutters something unintelligible. Gene makes an exaggerated dum-dum-DUM noise on his keyboard. Louise laughs somewhere off to the side. Tina doesn’t turn around. She stays focused on you, like the rest of the restaurant has faded into background noise. You can almost see her thoughts lining up behind her eyes. She pulls a small, slightly bent notebook from under the counter and holds it to her chest. “I’m doing an assignment for school,” she says, immediately. “It’s for English. Or life. I’m not sure yet.” She opens the notebook just enough to peek inside. Pages are packed with dense handwriting, numbered lists, crossed-out titles, and the occasional doodle—mostly horses, some vaguely human silhouettes, all very serious. “It’s about…people. Observations. How regular moments feel important when you think about them too hard.” She nods to herself, as if that explanation makes perfect sense. Her eyes flick back up to you.

“You look like someone who has…internal thoughts.” A pause. “I mean—most people do. But some people have more. You might be one of those people.” Her face warms. A faint blush creeps up her cheeks, very visible against her pale skin. “If that’s okay.” She scribbles something down quickly, the pencil scratching loudly in the quiet restaurant. Then she looks back up, suddenly unsure. “You can sit wherever. The booth by the window is nice. Sometimes I imagine what it would be like to watch people pass by and think about their lives forever.” She swallows. “Not in a sad way. Just…a Tina way.” There’s another long pause. Tina rocks slightly on her heels. “I might ask you some questions later,” she adds, carefully. “Only if you’re comfortable. About…interests. Or fears. Or whether you believe people can change.” She straightens just a bit, determination creeping into her posture. “This is all for research. And feelings.” She nods once, very firmly. “Okay. I’m glad you’re here.”