On the day of our graduation road trip, my boyfriend and his childhood best friend left me behind at a highway rest stop. It took them half an hour of driving before they even realized my seat was empty. When Theo finally called, there was no panic in his voice—only irritation. “June, why aren’t you in the car?” “Come on, stop messing around. We’re chasing the sunset and we can’t turn back now.” “Just call an Uber and catch up with us.” Through the receiver, Summer’s voice drifted in, crisp and clear. “She’s not a kid, Theo. You can’t baby her forever.” In the past, I would have apologized with stinging eyes. Then I would have dragged my suitcase behind me, doing whatever it took to catch up. But this time, looking up at the bruised, gray-blue sky hanging over the asphalt, the urge to run after them simply vanished. I went into my phone and cancelled all our lodging reservations for the rest of the trip. Then, I booked a ticket to a quiet coastal town—a place I had always wanted to visit, but one they had dismissed as “boring.” From now on. The mountains, the oceans, the vastness of the world. I was done following in anyone else’s shadow. … This graduation trip was supposed to be just for Theo and me. During our four years in college, I had followed him everywhere. To snowy peaks, deep canyons, barren deserts, and endless highways. Always his choices. Always his obsessions. Right before graduation, I had made a small request. “Theo, let’s go to the coast. Just a quiet little seaside town. We can sleep in, eat fresh seafood, feel the salt air, and actually take our time.” He had agreed so easily then. “Sure, babe. We’ll do your trip for graduation.” I had floated on that promise for weeks. I mapped out three different itineraries. I picked a cozy B&B right off the historic waterfront with a small balcony where we could watch the harbor lights spark to life at night. I even bought a white sundress in secret, picturing us taking our graduation photos against the backdrop of the sea. But a week before we were set to leave, Summer dropped a route map of the Montana backcountry into our group chat. “Graduation is about living out loud,” she wrote. “Who wants to sit on a beach? Summer in the Rockies is a once-in-a-lifetime vibe.” Theo’s reply came almost instantly: “This looks incredible.” I stared at my phone, my thumb hovering over the glass. Finally, I typed: “But didn’t we agree on the coast?” Summer was quick to shoot back: “June, are you seriously trying to retire at twenty-two? Don’t live your life like a grandma already.” A chorus of laughing emojis from the rest of the group chat followed. Someone mentioned how cinematic the mountains would look. Someone else chimed in that the beach was too cliché. And then came the comment that stung the most: “With Theo’s camera eye and Summer’s style, it’d be a tragedy not to shoot a road-trip vlog there.” Theo didn’t defend me. Instead, he sent me a private message: “Don’t be a buzzkill. Summer has a point. I’ll take you to the beach another time.” “Another time.” He always had an endless supply of “another times.” But every “another time” promised to me eventually became someone else’s “right now.” I stared at his text, a familiar ache blooming in my chest. But I swallowed it and typed back a single word: “Okay.” So, I cancelled the coastal reservations. I spent the next week mapping routes through Montana, booking a rental SUV, securing cabin rentals, checking altitudes, tracking weather reports, budgeting expenses, and buying travel insurance. Summer dropped a text in the group chat: “June’s planning skills are honestly lifesavers.” Followed by a clapping emoji. Looking at those words, I didn’t know whether to feel proud or pathetic. On the morning of the trip, Theo pulled up to my apartment. Summer was already sitting in the passenger seat. She wore oversized sunglasses, her long legs casually propped near the dashboard, a cup of iced coffee cradled in her hand. When she saw me rolling my heavy suitcase out, she offered a dismissive nod. “Hey, June. Mind taking the back? My motion sickness is acting up, and I really need the front seat.” I got motion sickness too. Theo knew this. He knew how bad it got for me. But before I could speak, he had already walked around and opened the back door for me. “Just hang in there, okay? Summer was editing until three last night. She’s exhausted. Besides, the back has plenty of room. You can take a nap.” Watching his effortless, practiced consideration for her, a memory from freshman year flashed through my mind. The first time we had taken a road trip together, my stomach had been in knots from the winding roads. He had insisted I take the front, squeezing himself into the back to hand me water bottles and tissues. Back then, he had smiled and said, “So what if my girl is a little delicate? It’s my job to spoil her.” Now, he shoved my suitcase into the trunk, climbed back in, and turned to Summer. “Seatbelt on. Let’s hit the road.” I stood by the car door for a brief second, letting out a quiet, empty laugh. I guess being the favored one comes with an expiration date. The entire drive was filled with their animated chatter. They talked about camera angles, drone flight paths, and which stretches of the highway would capture the perfect sunset golden hour. They debated titles for the vlog they were co-creating, throwing out ideas like “Before the Real World: Escaping into the Wild”. I sat in the back, my iPad resting heavy on my lap. On the screen was the master spreadsheet I had built. Departure times, arrival estimates, gas stops, dining options, dead zones without cell service, and which cabins needed a courtesy call to ensure the hot water heaters were turned on. A few times, I tried to chime in. “Hey, the owner of tonight’s cabin messaged. He said the mountain road is incredibly narrow. We should really get there before dark.” No one heard me over the music and their laughter. During our lunch stop at a highway plaza, I texted Theo a restaurant recommendation I had researched beforehand. “Let’s avoid this diner,” I said, pointing to the greasy-spoon joint they were heading toward. “The reviews say the sanitation is awful. There’s a decent cafe just next door.” Summer glanced at the diner’s neon sign. “But I want this one,” she said. “Bad reviews just mean it’s authentic. Those polished, touristy spots are always overpriced garbage.” Theo laughed, his eyes crinkling. “Alright. Your call.” I frowned. “But Theo, your stomach. You know grease triggers your acid reflux.” “June,” he said, his tone sharp with irritation. “Can you not be so uptight? We’re on vacation. It’s just a quick lunch. It’s not a big deal.” They ended up ordering a spread of heavy, greasy, spicy food. Theo ate with gusto. But thirty minutes back on the road, his face drained of color, and he was clutching his stomach in pain. I reached into my bag, pulled out his prescription medication, and handed it to him along with a bottle of water. Summer leaned back, resting her chin in her hand, watching us with an amused smirk. “Honestly, June. You act exactly like his mother.” Theo froze mid-swallow. Then, he let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah. She’s always had a habit of micromanaging me.” My hand remained suspended in the air, holding the water bottle. It was genuine care. But in their mouths, it was twisted into a pathetic joke. We kept driving as afternoon bled into evening. The weather soured, and a thick, heavy fog began rolling down the mountain slopes. “Don’t go too fast,” I warned Theo from the backseat. “There are sharp switchbacks coming up.” Summer didn’t even look up from adjusting her camera settings. “June, if you’re that terrified, just close your eyes and sleep. Don’t backseat drive. You’ll mess with his focus.” Theo offered a light, dismissive chuckle. “Hear that? Eyes closed, babe.” I gripped the seatbelt tight and didn’t say another word. As the fog thickened, my motion sickness flared up with a vengeance. My stomach churned violently, and cold sweat broke out across my forehead. I rummaged through my backpack for my Dramamine, only to realize that when I was organizing our things that morning, I had put the medicine box in the glove compartment up front. “Theo, can we pull over at the next exit?” I called out. “I really need to grab some medicine and get some fresh air.” He gave a distracted murmur of agreement. The indie-rock music blasted through the car speakers. Summer was eagerly leaning over, showing him a shot on her camera screen. “Look at this one, Theo. The lighting is so cinematic. If we cut the vlog around this aesthetic, it’s going to go viral.” Theo glanced sideways, his eyes leaving the road for a second. “Incredible shot, Director Summer.” They shared an intimate laugh. I leaned my head against the cold glass of the window, eyes squeezed shut as my stomach flipped. In the dark of my closed eyelids, a flood of memories rushed in, unbidden and sharp. I thought of our sophomore year art exhibition. I had spent three sleepless days running back and forth to print shops to help Theo set up his gallery space, losing my voice entirely from the exhaustion and cold air. At the opening, Summer stood proudly in front of the main showcase wall, talking effortlessly with the professors about “their” creative vision. A professor had praised how beautifully in sync they were. Theo had beamed, looking at her. “Yeah. We just click.” I stood in the corner, my arms wrapped around a stack of empty cardboard boxes. He didn’t look back at me once. I thought of junior year summer, when Theo wanted to shoot a landscape series in the remote, high-altitude badlands. Terrified of him getting altitude sickness, I spent weeks researching safety tips, buying specialty gear, and coordinating equipment rentals. But on the morning of departure, he casually told me the car was too packed and asked me to stay behind. I had stood on the curb outside my dorm, bags in hand, staring at the empty street for an hour. Later that night, I saw Summer’s Instagram post: “The best partnerships are always forged on the road.” In the photo, she was lounging in the passenger seat. Theo had one hand lazily resting on the steering wheel, the golden-hour sun painting his profile. He looked breathtakingly handsome. And completely out of reach. And then there was the photography club dinner. Someone had asked Theo, “Where’s your girlfriend tonight?” Theo had shrugged, taking a sip of his beer. “She’s not really into this scene. She’d probably just feel out of place.” He said it so casually, as if it were a simple fact. I had been standing right outside the door of the private room, holding a container of warm soup I’d bought to help settle his stomach after drinking. I didn’t go in that night. I texted him saying something had come up at the library. He never asked what it was. None of these incidents, on their own, felt like a killing blow. But compiled together, they sat in my chest like layers of heavy, waterlogged cotton. It didn’t bleed. It just made it impossible to breathe. The SUV finally rolled into a bustling highway rest stop. I pushed the door open and stepped out, my legs trembling slightly as they hit the concrete. Theo rolled down his window. “Make it quick, June. We still need to beat the sunset.” I nodded, swallowing the bile in my throat. “Just grabbing some medicine. I’ll be right back.” The plaza was packed with travelers. The convenience store and pharmacy counter were tucked deep inside the main building. I waited in a slow-moving line, paid for my pills, and filled a paper cup with hot water from the dispenser. By the time I walked back out, the sky had bruised into a darker shade of twilight. Cradling the pills and the steaming cup, I navigated through the rows of parked cars. The spot where our white SUV had been parked was empty. I froze, thinking I must have gotten the section wrong. I walked up and down the aisles, row after row. Nothing. The white SUV was gone. I stood frozen in the middle of the asphalt, my fingers turning numb around the paper cup. That was when my phone vibrated in my pocket. Theo’s voice filled my ear: “June? Where are you?” My throat felt tight, as if clamped by a vise. “I’m at the rest stop. I told you I was getting medicine.” He let out an irritated sigh. “Why aren’t you in the car?” “I didn’t get back in,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Did neither of you notice?” Summer’s voice floated over, loud enough to hear. “I totally thought she was crashed out in the back seat. Theo, we’re already twenty miles down the interstate. If we turn back now, we’ll miss the golden hour entirely.” Theo lowered his voice, speaking directly into the receiver. “June, don’t do this. We’re on the highway, and U-turns out here are a nightmare. See if you can call an Uber or hitch a ride with someone heading east. Just catch up with us at the next exit.” I stood there, surrounded by headlights and families rushing past me, entirely alone in a place I didn’t know. An eighteen-wheeler roared past nearby, kick-starting a gust of wind that stung my eyes. “Theo,” I said. “Are you really not coming back to get me?” There was a pause on the other end. When he spoke again, his annoyance was palpable. “Why do you always have to make things so dramatic? It was an honest mistake. We didn’t do it on purpose. You’re an adult, June. Can’t you just figure out a way to get here?” Summer let out another soft laugh in the background. “She’s just spoiled, Theo. It’s always like this. The universe has to stop spinning for her over the tiniest inconvenience.” A small, quiet laugh slipped past my lips. So being abandoned on the side of the highway was just a “tiny inconvenience.” So their perfect mountain sunset was worth more than my safety, more than me standing alone in the dark. I looked down at the cup in my hand. The hot water was seeping through the thin paper, burning my palms red. But inside, I was absolutely frozen. “Okay,” I said. Theo let out a breath, sounding relieved. “Good. Send me your location pin once you’re in the cab. Don’t wander off. And hey—don’t start crying. It’s supposed to be a fun trip. Don’t ruin the mood.” I didn’t answer. I just hung up. The mountain wind swept over me, and my tears fell without warning. I wasn’t sobbing; they just spilled silently, one by one, sinking into the hot water in my cup, disappearing without a sound. I remembered my mom asking me before we left: “Are you sure you want to go all that way with them, sweetie? Every time you go on trips with Theo and his friends, you come back looking utterly exhausted.” I had defended him, of course. “It’s our graduation trip, Mom. It’s the last time we’ll get to do this.” I didn’t realize how literal “the last time” would be. I pulled up my phone, opened an airline app, and booked a one-way ticket to Port Haven—the sleepy coastal town in North Carolina. The place with the historic waterfront. The ocean I had wanted to see. The warm seafood chowder I had been craving. And the boutique travel and lifestyle studio where I had secretly submitted my resume weeks ago. They had invited me for a second-round interview last week, but I had left them on read. Because Theo had told me, “I don’t like the idea of you being so far away by yourself. Move to Boston with me. I can get a friend to set you up with some marketing or operations gig.” I hadn’t refused back then. Not because I wanted that job, but because I had spent four years tailoring my life to fit the margins of his. But standing under the harsh fluorescent lights of the rest stop, I realized I was done shrinking. I opened all the reservation apps on my phone. The mountain cabins, the glamping sites, the rental car, the professional photographer packages for their “aesthetic road trip”—I cancelled every single one of them. I had made the bookings. My credit card had paid the deposits. I owed them nothing, least of all a perfect vacation that didn’t include me. I unpinned Theo’s name from my contacts and blocked Summer. Finally, I texted my mom: “Mom, I’m not going to Montana. I’m heading to the coast.” Her reply came almost instantly: “Go. And this time, stop taking care of everyone else. Just take care of yourself.” Reading her words, the tears flowed freely again. Night had fully claimed the sky. I dragged my suitcase toward the shuttle bus bound for the nearest airport. Behind me, the headlights on the interstate stretched out like a glowing, infinite ribbon of light. It looked exactly like the path I had spent years trying so desperately to catch up to. But tonight, I stopped running.
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “547499”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel
Leave a Reply