The night before our post-graduation trip, we managed to secure only six express rail tickets. Seven people. Six seats. The odd one out would have to ride the overnight regional train—seventeen hours on a stiff, unpadded bench. Eli, terrified that an open conversation might bruise feelings, posted an anonymous poll in our group chat instead. “Who is best suited to take the overnight train?” I hesitated for a long time, staring at the glowing blue screen of my phone, before finally tapping my own name. Two weeks ago, my parents had brought Daisy home. She was the daughter they had given up for adoption before I was born, recently traced and welcomed back with an overwhelming rush of parental guilt. This trip was supposed to be her introduction to our circle. She didn’t know the others well, and I didn’t want her to spend the entire journey feeling like an unwanted guest. I hit submit. The results populated instantly. Daisy: zero votes. My younger brother, Finn: zero. My best friend, Morgan: zero. Eli, my boyfriend of four years, along with Reid and Mason, the two boys I had grown up with since elementary school: zero. Beside my name was a solitary red number. “Seven.” A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the chat. Finn was the first to chime in: “Summer, don’t read into it. Daisy just got here. We couldn’t very well make her ride alone.” Morgan jumped in right behind him: “It’s only seventeen hours! Look at it this way—you can read, listen to podcasts, watch the scenery roll by.” Eli deleted the poll almost immediately, as if scrubbing the evidence would spare my feelings. “Since everyone’s on the same page, let’s lock it in. When you pull into Savannah, Summer, I’ll be waiting on the platform.” Daisy was the last to speak. “If it’s a problem, I can give my express ticket to Summer. She seems upset.” Her message hung there. No one replied. No one offered to swap with her, and no one suggested drawing straws. They were all certain I wouldn’t actually refuse. And why wouldn’t they be? When the graduation platform was too narrow for our department photo, I was the one who stood down on the pavement. When the bistro was one chair short during our celebration dinner, I was the one who carried my plate to an empty two-top by the kitchen. When our college had only one corporate internship recommendation left, Eli took my hands and softly convinced me to step aside for Daisy, whose transfer credits had left her stranded without placement. I didn’t fight them in the chat. I simply opened the transit app, cancelled the overnight coach ticket they had booked in my name, and bought a ticket to somewhere else entirely. The next morning, the six of them boarded the express train to Savannah. Eli texted: “What time does your train pull in? I’ll meet you at the terminal.” I turned off my location sharing, glanced out the window at the silver tracks carving their way north into the pines, and sent two lines back: “Don’t bother.” “Have a great trip.” … Once the poll vanished, the group chat surged back to life with dizzying speed. Morgan was dropping links to rooftop bars in the Historic District. Finn asked Daisy whether she preferred fresh oysters or a low-country boil. Reid and Mason spent twenty minutes negotiating seat swaps so Daisy could have the window on the sunny side of the carriage. No one mentioned the seven votes. Leaving me to spend seventeen hours upright on an unpadded bench was treated with the casual indifference of forgetting an extra cup of takeout coffee. My phone buzzed. A private message from Eli. “Don’t give us the silent treatment, Summer. Everybody feels terrible about how the logistics shook out.” I stared at the word “everybody”, a cold, bitter laugh rising in my throat. “Who did you vote for?” The typing bubble appeared, vanished, and reappeared for half a minute. “Summer, do we really need to dissect this right now?” “I’m asking.” “You.” He typed it without hesitation, then immediately unleashed a paragraph of justification. “It’s not personal. You’re just the one who takes care of things. Daisy has never traveled with us. Finn is your little brother. Morgan’s migraines flare up under stress, and Reid and Mason have to haul the heavy luggage. You can’t honestly expect me, the one who planned the itinerary, to miss the morning arrivals.” Seven people. Every single one of them had an airtight excuse for why they couldn’t be inconvenienced. Except me. Because I was sensible. Because I was easy. Because I never threw tantrums or made demands. And so, by default, the sacrifice belonged to me. I didn’t write back. Just as I was about to close the app, Morgan accidentally sent a screenshot into our shared group. “Daisy, look! Our six seats are two rows facing each other!” The message was recalled within two seconds. Too late. I had already seen the title at the top of her screen: “Savannah Six – Grad Trip.” Created three days ago. Long before Eli launched his little anonymous poll, they had already decided the express train belonged to the six of them. The poll wasn’t a vote. It was a sanitized, cowardly performance to make my exclusion look democratic. Morgan messaged me in a panic: “Wrong chat! Don’t overthink it, Summer, Eli just made that side thread to coordinate ticket IDs.” I replied with a single question: “You knew three days ago I wasn’t getting on that train?” She went dark. A minute later, Finn called, his voice dripping with defensive irritation. “Summer, can you stop obsessing over a chat name? Daisy just came back to the family. She’s walking on eggshells. We made a separate thread because we didn’t want to hurt your feelings while we coordinated the express booking!” Excluding me, it turned out, was an act of mercy. “How many hotel rooms did you reserve?” I asked quietly. “Three, obviously. Two people per room.” Finn stopped dead. Seven people. Three rooms with double beds. From the second they put down the deposit, they had never made room for me. He scrambled to recover. “We can just book you an extra room when you get there! No big deal.” “The boutique inn on the waterfront is fully booked, Finn.” “Then find a place down the block! You just need a place to sleep, right?” He said it so offhandedly. Just like when the restaurant ran out of chairs and they told me the side table was quieter anyway. Just like when the photo studio had a six-person limit and they told me I wasn’t the photogenic type, so I might as well hold their jackets and bags. Just like when Eli told me my career opportunities would come later, while Daisy’s tears couldn’t wait another minute. My chances were always postponed to some vague, shimmering future. Daisy’s comfort was an emergency that required immediate surrender. I hung up on him, opened my travel app, and cancelled the overnight train ticket. A notification flashed: “Refund processed. Service fee: $24.00.” I opened the national map and dragged my thumb north. Up past the humid lowlands, past the crowded coastal corridors, all the way to Bozeman, Montana. It was a place I had dreamed about for years—cool summer breezes that barely broke seventy degrees, towering lodgepole pines, snow-dusted ridges, and the high-altitude planetarium I had wanted to visit since my freshman year. Every time I had brought it up, Eli had dismissed it. “It’s too far, Summer. Let’s wait until everyone has the time and the budget.” I had actually waited four years for them. On my screen, a single seat on a morning flight toward the mountains was holding in my cart. I didn’t hesitate. I tapped purchase. As soon as the confirmation email hit my inbox, I toggled off my location sharing. A second later, Eli sent another text: “Keep your physical ticket safe. Don’t lose it like you usually do. It’s only seventeen hours—just sleep through the night and you’ll be there.” I glanced at the reservation confirmation for the small cabin outside Bozeman and sent back a single word: “Okay.” It was the last time I would ever play along. The afternoon before departure, Eli texted me to meet at a café near campus to review the road trip logistics. When I arrived, all six of them were already seated around the large central booth. Daisy was pressed close to Eli’s side, a slice of strawberry shortcake—my favorite—sitting half-eaten on the table between them. “Summer, you’re here!” Daisy scrambled to her feet, hands smoothing down her denim skirt. “Don’t get the wrong idea, I tried to save you an inside seat, but Eli said you always prefer sitting toward the aisle.” I looked at the wobbly plastic chair that had been dragged from another table and placed in the direct blast of the rattling air conditioner, halfway into the walkway. Eli waved me over casually. “Sit down, we’ve been waiting. Here’s the rental agreement for the SUV—give it a quick pass, will you? Oh, and did you lock down the tickets for the harbor tour and the aquarium?” I didn’t reach for the papers. For four years, every road trip, every weekend getaway, every birthday dinner had been planned by me. I mapped the driving routes, tracked the gas prices, and booked the accommodations while they rolled out of bed an hour late, rubbed their eyes, and asked, “Where to next, Summer?” I reached into my canvas bag, pulled out an old, scuffed Canon DSLR, and placed it gently in front of Eli. “Yours.” His grandfather had given him that camera for his eighteenth birthday. Eli always complained that the body was too heavy, so he inevitably dumped it into my backpack whenever we went out. Over time, the memory cards filled with thousands of our memories, until people assumed it was mine. Eli blinked, confused. “Keep it with you. Why give it to me now?” “Just in case I don’t have the chance later.” He didn’t catch the finality in my voice. Frowning, he slid the strap toward Daisy. “Daisy mentioned she wanted to try her hand at landscape photography. You hold onto it for the weekend.” Daisy’s eyes brightened, though she adopted an uneasy whisper. “Isn’t this Summer’s baby? Maybe I shouldn’t…” “What’s the big deal?” Eli leaned over, adjusting the aperture wheel for her. “It’s full of our old road trips anyway. Good way for you to catch up on our history.” I said nothing. Seeing the tension ease, Morgan slid an iPad across the table toward me. “Summer, when are you dropping the shared itinerary? Daisy wants golden hour photos by the lighthouse, so make sure you clear out tomorrow afternoon.” Mason chimed in from the end of the table. “Don’t go with the standard mid-size SUV, by the way. Trunk’s too small for seven bags. Bump it up to a nine-passenger Suburban.” Reid tapped his knuckles on the polished wood. “And call the seafood hall to reserve a private dining room. Daisy gets overstimulated by noisy crowds.” One after another. Even though I wasn’t worthy of an express ticket or a bed in the oceanfront inn, I was still expected to be their unpaid concierge. “Don’t you have the Savannah Six chat?” I asked softly. “You can coordinate in there.” The table went dead silent. Morgan offered a brittle, nervous laugh. “Summer, seriously? It’s just a temporary side chat. Are you really going to be this petty?” Daisy’s gaze suddenly dropped to the white linen sundress folded in the boutique shopping bag resting against my knee. “Oh, Summer… that dress is gorgeous. Were you planning on wearing that to the pier?” I nodded. She ran her fingers over the hem, her voice small and wistful. “I didn’t have time to buy any summer clothes before the trip.” Finn immediately jumped to her aid. “Come on, Summer, you’re stuck on an overnight train anyway. By the time you crawl into Savannah, it’ll be pitch black. Let Daisy wear it for the morning group shots.” That dress had taken me three weeks to find. Eli had stood outside the fitting room, kissing my temple when I stepped out, whispering that he had an unforgettable surprise waiting for me by the water. Now, the surprise was dead. And a dress was just a piece of dyed fabric. I pulled the handles of the bag together and slid it across the table to Daisy. “Take it.” Daisy froze, genuinely startled. Eli exhaled, visibly relieved. “See? That wasn’t so hard. If you’d just started with that attitude, Summer, nobody would have had to feel bad.” I didn’t answer. I pulled out my phone, tapped into my apps, and methodically began cancelling: The seven-person harbor boat tour. The aquarium passes. The luxury SUV reservation. And finally, the complimentary room upgrades on their three waterfront suites that I had earned through four years of accumulated hotel loyalty points. Confirmation banners began popping up at the top of my screen. Within seconds, Morgan’s phone began vibrating like an angry hornet. “Wait… what just happened?” Morgan shrieked, tapping furiously. “Our boat booking just vanished! The hotel downgraded us to standard street-view rooms! Is the app glitching?” I picked up my iced coffee, took a long, clean sip, and stood up. “The app is fine,” I said evenly. “I cancelled them.” Eli’s face darkened instantly. “Summer, what the hell is wrong with you? We built that entire schedule around seven people!” “Right,” I replied, looking him dead in the eye. “And only six of you are going on that trip. You don’t need my bookings.” Mason leaned back, crossing his arms with an irritated scoff. “Fine, we’ll just rebook under my card. It’s not that complicated. She’s just throwing a tantrum.” Reid let out a dry, dismissive chuckle. “Give her five hours on that train coach. She’ll be crying on FaceTime before midnight, begging for our address.” A ripple of uncomfortable, smug laughter washed over the table. That night, Eli sent me a link to an address. “The oceanfront inn wouldn’t give us the upgrades back, so we’re stuck in basic double rooms. There’s a youth hostel two blocks down with open dorm beds. Book yourself a bunk there.” “Don’t be late tomorrow. Dinner reservations are set for eight.” I looked at the message, swiped it away, and opened the message from the host of the cabin outside Bozeman: “Your room is ready, Summer. The mountain air is crisp, and if you open the bedroom window, you can see the snow on the Spanish Peaks.” I smiled and typed back: “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” For the first time in my life, I wasn’t going to sleep on the floor, on a cot, or down the street. And I wasn’t going to spend my vacation standing on the outside of someone else’s frame. The evening before departure, the group gathered at an upscale campus tavern for a “farewell toast.” I had intended to skip it entirely. But Morgan called four times, pleading that this was our final gathering as college students. “We’ve been an inseparable unit since freshman year, Summer. Are you really going to blow up four years of friendship over a train ticket?” I went. Not because I missed them, but because I had Eli’s external hard drive and Mason’s university parking pass in my bag, and I wanted my life completely stripped of their belongings. Inside the private booth, Daisy was holding the Canon camera, snapping candid shots of the guys. She was wearing my white linen dress, her arm casually brushing Eli’s shoulder. “Summer!” Daisy smiled brightly, gesturing toward the booth. “Come here! Let’s get a picture of all seven of us!” The student waiter holding the camera winced slightly as he framed the shot. “Uh, guys, this lens is pretty tight. With the booth partitions, I can only fit six people across. Any more and the edges get cut off.” A brief, awkward pause settled over the booth. Then, Morgan smoothly picked up her phone and held it out to me. “Summer, you have the best eye for lighting anyway. Do you mind?” No one flinched. No one said, “Wait, let’s take turns.” It was as if my entire purpose in being there was to exist on the other side of the glass. I took the phone. “Scoot in a little.” They squeezed together, laughing. Eli wrapped an arm around Finn, while Daisy was tucked securely in the center, glowing in the white dress that was supposed to be mine. When the shutter clicked, I realized something profound: with me out of the frame, the picture wasn’t missing anything at all. It was completely, beautifully balanced. Halfway through the appetizers, Finn started frantically slapping his pockets. “Where’s my wallet? My driver’s license was in it! I can’t board the train tomorrow without an ID!” The entire table scrambled. They tore through seat cushions, checked beneath the table, and shook out their jackets. Nothing. Finn’s face turned an ugly, panicked shade of red. Suddenly, Morgan glanced at my canvas tote slung over the back of my chair. “Summer, weren’t you holding Finn’s jacket earlier when we walked in?” Finn’s head snapped toward me. “Did you put it in your bag?” “No.” “Let me check.” He reached for the zipper. I slammed my palm down over his hand. “Don’t touch my things.” “It’s just an ID search, Summer! Why are you acting like a psycho?” Reid didn’t even ask. He snatched my bag off the chair, turned it upside down, and dumped the entire contents across the greasy wooden table. My keys, my AirPods, my small leather wallet, lip balm, and a glossy, folded visitor’s guide to Bozeman tumbled across the plates. Mason glanced at the brochure, scanning the bold letters: “Montana Big Sky Country.” “What’s this for?” he asked casually. “Something to read on the trip.” He tossed it back down without another thought. It never crossed their minds that my path might diverge from theirs. Finn pawed through my belongings, finding nothing. Instead of an apology, he threw his hands up in frustration. “Are you seriously telling me it’s not in here?” I stared at my little brother. “Are you looking for your ID, Finn? Or were you hoping to prove I stole it?” “Nobody said you stole it!” Eli snapped, stepping between us. “Finn is stressed out, Summer. Can’t you act like an older sister for once in your life and show some grace?” Right then, Daisy reached into the side pocket of my white linen dress and pulled out a blue plastic card. “Wait… is this it?” She blinked innocently. “Finn handed me his wallet to buy sodas earlier. I must have slipped it into the pocket and completely forgotten.” She looked around the table, her eyes welling with theatrical tears. “I am so, so sorry, Summer. I caused everyone to turn on you.” Finn snatched his card back, sighing with relief. “Whatever, as long as it’s found.” He slid back into his seat. Not one of them apologized to me. Eli was already leaning over Daisy, patting her shoulder softly. “It was an accident, Daisy. Don’t beat yourself up over an honest mistake.” I knelt on the floor, picking up my things one by one. My wallet had a sticky smear of barbecue sauce on the leather. The Bozeman brochure had the distinct outline of someone’s sneaker heel stamped across the center. For years, they had walked into my dorm room without knocking. They had borrowed my laptop without asking. They had rummaged through my drawers, eaten my food, and made decisions for me, never once considering that boundaries applied to Summer. I had spent four years convincing myself that this was what closeness felt like. Now, crouching under the low tavern lights, I finally saw the truth. They didn’t respect me because they were confident I had no teeth. After dinner, the Savannah inn called Morgan to confirm their arrival roster. She put the clerk on speakerphone while checking her compact mirror. “Six guests total, correct?” the concierge asked. Morgan paused, glancing up at me. “Well, seven, technically. But one of us is staying at a nearby hostel.” Eli reached over and took the phone. “Yes, six in the main booking. Put Daisy in the corner suite with the balcony view—it’s her first time seeing the Atlantic.” The concierge finalized the notes and hung up. Only then did Eli turn his attention back to me. “Look, the hostel isn’t luxury, but it’s literally two nights. You’ve never been high-maintenance, Summer. Just tough it out.” I looked at him, my expression unreadable. “Okay.” A look of smug satisfaction washed over his face. He pulled out his phone. “Give me your train number again. I’ll set an alert so I know when to grab an Uber to the station.” I rattled off the arrival time of the seventeen-hour overnight coach. He typed it in carefully, naming the alarm: “Pick up Summer – Old Savannah Terminal.” As we walked out into the humid night air, he grabbed my wrist, pulling me back from the group. “Stop picking fights tomorrow, okay? I really don’t like this passive-aggressive version of you.” I gently pulled my arm from his grip. “Eli, what if I don’t show up?” He stared at me for a beat, then let out a soft, condescending chuckle. “Where else would you go, Summer?” He smiled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “You love us too much to walk away.” He was so certain. So blindingly arrogant that even when my backpack was dumped in front of him, he hadn’t spent two seconds looking at the brochure with the snow-covered mountains. The next morning, the six of them gathered under the high glass arches of the express terminal. Morgan dropped a selfie into the group chat: Daisy in the middle, wearing my white linen dress and the woven straw sunhat Eli had bought for me last summer. Beneath the image, Eli tagged my name: “We’re boarding Car 4. Did you make it to your platform?” I was sitting in a window seat of an aircraft cruising thirty thousand feet above the Midwest, watching the patchwork earth give way to rolling golden hills. I didn’t reply. Finn’s text popped up: “Summer, look up a cheap car rental near the downtown terminal for us. My app is freezing.” Mason followed right after: “You cancelled the aquarium tickets, but you still have the tour PDF, right? Drop the file in here.” Reid sent a restaurant link: “Can you jump on their digital waitlist under your phone number? Our numbers aren’t verified on that app.” They had exiled me from their journey, yet still fully expected me to be their remote assistant from two states away. I pulled up the shared folder containing two months of detailed itineraries, restaurant reservations, and discount codes. I hit “Select All”. Then, “Permanently Delete”. Just as my finger hovered over the “Leave Group” button, Daisy sent one last photo. She was sitting in the window seat I had originally chosen, looking out at the morning sun. “Summer, the view out the window is breathtaking. Is your train carriage super crowded?” I didn’t answer. I pressed “Leave Chat”. A dialogue box appeared: “Are you sure you want to leave this group?” My thumb trembled for half a second. We had created that chat during our first week of college. The name had morphed over four years—from “Freshman Idiots” to “Forever Family” to “Savannah or Bust”. Four years of inside jokes, late-night cram sessions, and shared road trips. I had believed we would grow old together. But seven red votes had laid the truth bare. I tapped “Confirm”. The plane banked through a bank of cool white clouds, preparing its descent toward the valley. Just before my cell signal flickered and died, Eli’s final text squeezed through the network: “Stop being dramatic, Summer. I’ll be at the station at four.” In Savannah, their trip fell apart the moment they stepped off the train. With the SUV reservation cancelled, they were forced to wait an hour in the sweltering coastal humidity for two separate, overpriced rideshares. At the waterfront inn, they discovered that without my loyalty status, they had been relegated to three noisy ground-floor rooms whose sliding glass doors faced the dumpster alley. The seafood hall had a four-hour walk-in wait. The aquarium was sold out for the entire weekend. By two in the afternoon, Daisy was pale and throwing up in the hotel lobby from the rideshare’s erratic driving. Morgan tore through her suitcase, only then realizing that the motion-sickness patches, the ginger chews, and the travel first-aid kit were always packed in my bag. Finn tagged me a dozen times in their private thread. Silence. Reid kicked the leg of his suitcase in the lobby. “Is she seriously sabotaging our entire graduation trip over a single train ticket?” Eli kept telling everyone to calm down, insisting that I was just sulking. But by three o’clock, he had already left for the old train depot. The overnight regional train was running thirty minutes late. He paced the dusty concrete platform, checking his watch every ninety seconds, wiping sweat from his forehead. At 3:40 PM, the heavy diesel locomotive finally groaned to a halt. Weary commuters, families hauling taped cardboard boxes, and college kids with massive hiking packs poured out of the narrow metal doors. Eli stood on his tiptoes, his eyes scanning every face in the crowd. Nothing. He waited until the last passenger had dragged their duffel bag past the turnstiles and the metal gates clanged shut. He pulled out his phone and dialed my number. No ring. Straight to voicemail. He sent a text. A bright red exclamation mark popped up instantly beside the bubble. “Message Not Delivered.” A station agent in a navy vest was turning the key in the station office door. Eli sprinted across the waiting room, cutting her off. “Excuse me! Has everyone cleared the platform from the incoming regional train?” “Yes, sir. That’s the end of the line.” “Could someone still be asleep in one of the rear cars?” The woman gave him an exhausted, bewildered look. “The conductors sweep every car before we pull the train into the yard. The train is empty.” A prickle of cold sweat ran down Eli’s spine. He pulled out his phone, rattling off my full name and the booking reference. “Can you please check the passenger manifest? Please.” The agent sighed, unlocked the terminal, and tapped a few keys. She squinted at the monitor, then looked up at him, her expression flat. “She never boarded.” “What?” “The ticket was cancelled yesterday at 1:15 AM.” Eli stood frozen on the linoleum floor, the breath knocked entirely out of his lungs. Behind him, the station doors swung open. Daisy, Finn, and the others hurried into the lobby, out of breath. “Where is she?” Finn asked, panting. “Did she miss the connection?” Eli didn’t answer. He couldn’t speak. Suddenly, a chime echoed from the vintage Canon camera hanging around Daisy’s neck. The camera was linked to our collective cloud drive via Wi-Fi; whenever a new photo was uploaded to the account, it flashed a real-time notification on the digital viewfinder. Daisy looked down, tapping the small display. A new photograph bloomed on the LCD screen. Under a piercing, cloudless sapphire sky, a massive wooden timber sign stood proudly against a backdrop of jagged, snow-capped peaks: “Welcome to Bozeman, Montana.” The timestamp in the corner read: “Uploaded 28 minutes ago.” Eli lunged forward, ripping the camera from Daisy’s hands. He opened the metadata, staring at the GPS coordinates until the numbers burned into his retinas. Bozeman was two thousand three hundred miles away. Eli stared at the screen, every drop of blood draining from his face until he looked like a ghost standing in the Savannah heat.
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