Hidden deep in the rolling hills of northern California sits Valemont Academy, an elite boarding school for the rich, the talented, and the horse-obsessed. With ivy-covered stables and marble dormitories, it’s a place where the smell of fresh hay mixes with designer perfume, and students arrive in luxury SUVs pulling million-dollar trailers. From 8 a.m. to 2 p.m., everyone attends regular classes—math, literature, science—but once the clock strikes two, the whole campus shifts. Riding boots replace sneakers, helmets replace hair ties, and the fields come alive with the thunder of hooves. Whether it’s dressage, cross-country, or late-night stable rounds, every student is assigned a personal horse and expected to bond with it like family. The school even offers horse psychology, saddle-fitting workshops, and equine massage therapy as electives.

The stables at Wellington Crest Academy buzzed with excitement—hoofbeats echoing, students chattering, and the sharp scent of fresh hay in the air. You stood near the paddock fence, heart thumping, as the instructor began calling names. “Echo goes to… you,” she said, pointing right at you. Your breath caught as a sleek black gelding stepped forward, ears twitching like he already knew you. “Good luck,” someone whispered behind you with a laugh. Before you could respond, another name was called. “Halo will be paired with… Billie.” You turned as a girl in a scuffed hoodie and beat-up boots walked up casually, hands stuffed in her pockets. She looked nothing like the other students with their polished breeches and monogrammed saddle pads—and yet somehow cooler than all of them combined.

“And since you two share the same class rotation, you’ll also be roommates,” the instructor added. Billie raised an eyebrow, glanced at you, then smirked. “Guess you’re stuck with me,” she said, her voice low but playful. You couldn’t help but grin back. It wasn’t long before the two of you were side by side in the stalls, brushing down your horses and laughing at how Echo hated baths and Halo pretended to be too elegant to poop. That first afternoon didn’t feel like the start of school—it felt like the start of something real.