Chapter 1

My boyfriend Noah Carter and I had a plan: turn our college's fourteen-day outdoor orientation into a fourteen-episode documentary series about us.

For the eleventh time, Noah left me alone on the training field. His childhood friend Claire Moore had called him in tears, saying she'd been vomiting and was lying in the camp clinic alone and scared.

Waiting for him to come back, I missed the camp's only sunset team drill and the closing long take I'd spent two weeks preparing.

That evening, he sent me a photo. Claire sat in a dessert shop outside camp, a smoothie and a slice of strawberry cake in front of her, cheeks pink and looking happier than anyone else in the place.

Noah texted back: "The nurse said it's just stomach cramps. Relaxing will help her recover faster. I took her out for some air. Don't overthink it."

Before, I would have asked when he was coming back. This time, I crossed "Couples Finale" off the Day Fourteen script and replaced it with two words.

"Just me."

The next day, he came rushing over to tell me Claire had a fever. I set up the camera for a solo shot without even looking up. "Noah, you don't have to report to me every time. From now on, where you go and who you choose to be with have nothing to do with me."

He finally panicked.

What he didn't know was that that night, I hadn't just canceled our orientation series. I'd scrapped every plan I'd ever made for a life with him.

Chapter 1

"Erin Bennett, are you really taking something this small all the way to a breakup?"

Noah blocked the exit to the training field and pressed a hand down on my tripod. "Claire threw up three times last night, and everyone else in her cabin was at the evening program. She called me. Was I supposed to just ignore her?"

I slowly pried his fingers off. "Yes. The camp has a nurse on duty, program instructors, cabin coordinators, and an emergency line. Even if she really needed company, it shouldn't have been a guy with a girlfriend sitting with her all night."

Noah's face darkened. "When did you get so mean? It's her first time away from home for a residential program. I'm the only person here she trusts. You have your roommate, your film crew, and plenty of people willing to help. You can manage without me once."

Once.

I nearly laughed.

On endurance-test day, Claire said her new hiking boots had rubbed her heel raw, and he carried her to the clinic. On cabin-inspection day, she said she didn't know how to make her bed or organize her gear, and he abandoned the time-lapse he'd promised to shoot for me to spend a full hour teaching her outside her cabin. On campfire sing-off night, an instructor gave her a couple of notes, and she ran crying into the equipment shed. He stayed up until midnight explaining it to the instructor on her behalf.

Then came the low blood sugar, the sunburn, the stomachache, fights with her family, and drama with her cabinmates.

Eleven days, eleven reasons. And now he was telling me it was just once.

I looked up at him. "Noah, do you even remember what today is?"

He frowned and paused for two seconds. "Day twelve of orientation."

"And?"

He glanced at the date on his watch, and his expression went rigid.

Today was our two-year anniversary.

Six months ago, we'd sat on the roof outside our high school's photography room and promised to film a special anniversary episode of our orientation series on this exact day. He'd wrapped his arms around me and grinned. "We'll film our way from high school to college, then graduation, careers, and our wedding. I'll be the only leading man your camera ever sees."

He finally remembered. "Erin, I've been exhausted lately. It just slipped my mind. I'll make it up to you tonight. Pick any gift you want."

"Don't bother."

"What?"

"I don't need a gift, and I don't need you."

I slung the tripod over my shoulder and walked past him. He reached for me, but I sidestepped. His hand closed on empty air, and for the first time, real unease flickered in his eyes.

"You're serious?"

"Of course."

"Just because Claire's been sick?"

I stopped but didn't turn around. "Because I finally admitted to myself that you were never going to show up."

The assembly whistle blew from the other side of the field. I walked toward the returning crowd. The only item left on my Day Twelve shot list was one entry: solo monologue.

Buried in my cloud folder were eleven screenshots he'd never seen. I'd left room for him in every frame. In every one, I stood alone.

Chapter 2

Noah and I met in our high school photography club.

Our first project together was covering the school track meet. He was in front of the camera; I was behind it. At the four-hundred-meter finish line, he jogged over and hung his medal around my neck, still catching his breath. "So? How'd I do, Bennett?"

I raised my camera and captured his face lit by the sun. The video unexpectedly went viral, racking up hundreds of thousands of views. After that, we filmed cafeteria reviews, late-night study vlogs, and a graduation countdown series. The account grew from a few hundred followers to more than a hundred thousand, and we went from partners to a couple.

Senior year, I'd already been accepted to North Ridge Film Academy's Documentary Film program with a generous scholarship. My teachers all urged me to go, saying the equipment, mentors, and hands-on opportunities there were the best fit for me.

But Noah held me tight and wouldn't let go. "Four years two states apart is too long. Erin, let's go to Bay State University together. They have a School of Communications too, and I'll keep filming with you. The fourteen-day outdoor orientation is perfect for our series. We'll make the account even bigger."

I turned down North Ridge and chose to enroll at the same university as him. My father didn't speak to me for an entire week, but I thought it was worth it, because Noah had promised so earnestly that he'd be there with me.

On the first day of orientation, he really did cover every corner of the training grounds with me. We tested camera angles along the grass field, checked audio levels at the activity center, and I spent two evenings finishing the full fourteen-day storyboard.

On the first morning, I woke up at five-thirty and set up the camera early. Five minutes before we were supposed to start rolling, Claire called, saying she'd gone to the morning endurance test on an empty stomach, her vision was going black, and she was about to faint.

Noah didn't even finish his sentence before grabbing a pack of glucose tablets and a water bottle and sprinting to her squad. Shortly after he left, I saw Claire sitting in the shade, nibbling on a piece of chocolate he'd unwrapped for her. She even waved at me from across the crowd. "Erin, sorry, just borrowing Noah for a few minutes."

That day, he missed the very first shot of the series. That night, he brought me a cup of hot cocoa to make up for it. "Claire's had low blood sugar since we were kids. I'm just used to looking after her. I'll be there tomorrow, I promise."

The next day, he really did show up on time. But halfway through filming, Claire texted again, saying her hiking boots had rubbed her heel raw and she was too scared to go to the clinic alone.

Before he left, he handed me the action camera. "Shoot some B-roll first. I'll be back in twenty minutes, tops."

I waited two hours. I found out later he hadn't just taken Claire to get her blister treated. He'd also bought her softer insoles and walked her back to her cabin to rest.

Day three was the cabin and gear inspection. Noah had promised to film a time-lapse of my roommate, Megan Reed, and me making our beds and sorting the first-aid kits. The camera kept running, but the spot across from my bunk where Noah was supposed to be filming stayed empty. He stood outside the girls' cabin on the phone with Claire, teaching her how to fold her blanket and arrange her gear.

Day four, her sunscreen went missing. Day five, she fought with her cabinmate. Day six, she said her group instructor was singling her out.

Every time, Noah promised he'd be right back. Every time, the sun set and I packed up the gear I'd set aside for him by myself.

I had confronted him, too. On the evening of day six, I asked him in the dining hall, "Why does every one of her emergencies happen right when we're about to film?"

Noah dropped his fork with a clatter. "Are you so obsessed with making videos that you've lost your mind? You think she checks your script first and picks a time on purpose?"

Claire stood right behind him, holding her tray. The moment she heard that, her eyes rimmed with red. "Erin, do you think I'm doing this on purpose? I won't call Noah again. Even if I pass out, I won't bother him."

Everyone around us turned to look. Noah stood up immediately and took her tray. "If you feel sick, come find me. Don't put your own health at risk to make a point."

Then he gave me a cold look. "Being sick isn't something she can control. Stop assuming everyone is as calculating as you are."

Calculating.

Because I was filming orientation and the account made money, he treated every hurt I felt as self-serving.

That night, I went back to the cabin alone and saved the sixth empty-frame screenshot to my folder. I renamed the folder, too. It used to be called "Shots to Reshoot." I changed it to "Forget It."

Chapter 3

On day seven, the program organized a nighttime hike in the mountains.

It was the single most important shoot of the entire series. I'd cleared it with the group instructor in advance and gotten permission to record alongside the group with an action camera. Noah was supposed to wear a wireless mic and capture our conversation along the trail.

Before we set out, he clipped the receiver onto my camera and tapped the brim of my cap with a grin. "This time I'm turning my phone off. Nobody's pulling me away."

I actually believed him.

Halfway through the hike, Claire suddenly crouched beside the trail, clutching her chest and gasping for air. When Noah broke from the group, he forgot the transmitter was still clipped to his jacket. I ran after him to remind him, but he'd already hoisted Claire onto his back and shouted at me, frantic, "At a time like this, all you care about is the audio?"

He ran off with the mic still on him. All I got on the recording was the rustle of fabric, pounding footsteps, and his voice, over and over, soothing Claire. "Don't be scared, I'm here. Hold on to me. I'm not leaving you."

Those words ran through my entire night-hike footage.

I hiked seven and a half miles in the dark with the rest of the group. Blisters formed on the soles of my feet. The equipment strap rubbed my shoulder raw. At one point, I lost my footing and fell into a shallow ditch beside the trail. I didn't break down. But when I returned to the cabin at dawn, put on my headphones, and heard his voice, the tears came without warning.

He said he wouldn't leave Claire behind. He'd already left me behind seven times.

The next morning, Noah showed up with a tube of ointment. "Last night was an emergency. Claire was hyperventilating. It can cause fainting if it gets bad enough. What happened to your feet? Why didn't you tell me?"

I looked at the ointment in his hand. Back in high school, he'd carry me to the school nurse if I so much as scraped my knee during an eight-hundred-meter race. Now I'd hiked seven and a half miles, blood soaking through my socks into my insoles, and he didn't find out until the next day, from Megan.

"Would telling you have made a difference?"

He frowned. "If you don't say anything, how am I supposed to know?"

"Claire didn't say a word, and you knew anyway, didn't you?"

His face hardened instantly. "You're still comparing yourself to her. Erin, she has health problems. Do you really have to compete with someone who's sick?"

He set the ointment beside me and walked out. I didn't go after him.

Day eight, he missed the wilderness first-aid drill. Day nine, he skipped the group aerial shoot to handle Claire's conflict with an instructor. Day ten was the camp-wide group photo. I saved the spot next to me for him. When the shutter clicked, he was standing outside another squad, putting his hat on Claire's head to shade her from the sun.

When the photo was printed, there was a half-person gap to my right. Megan studied it for a long time, then asked quietly, "Why didn't you stand in the center?"

I wanted to know, too. Why did I keep saving him a spot when I already knew he wouldn't come?

On day eleven, I decided to trust him one last time.

We were shooting a long take that moved from the team-coordination drill into sunset. The light, the group's route, and the final movement would align only once. Noah made a point of handing his phone to his roommate right in front of me. "Nothing is dragging me away today."

At 6:07 p.m., his roommate came running over with the phone buzzing nonstop. Claire's name was on the screen. After barely a dozen seconds, Noah's face changed. "She's throwing up at the clinic. Nobody's with her."

I grabbed his sleeve. "Just twenty more minutes. Once the drill's over, I'll go with you."

He looked down at my hand as if he couldn't understand what I was saying. "She's throwing up and you want me to wait twenty minutes?"

"The nurse is right there."

"Can a nurse replace a friend?"

He jerked his arm free. The back of my hand struck the tripod clamp, and a cut opened across it at once. He saw, but paused for only half a second. "Keep filming. I'll be back as soon as I get her settled."

He ran out of the training field as the sun was sinking behind the pines. The instructor blew the start whistle and the team moved along the planned route, but I'd designed the shot for two people. Without him, every transition, focus pull, and camera movement fell apart. I couldn't be in the frame and operate two rigs at the same time.

The only sunset drill we'd get ended just like that.

At nine that night, Noah still hadn't come back. At nine-thirty, Claire posted to her private Instagram. She was sitting in the dessert shop outside the camp's east gate, holding a smoothie, a smear of whipped cream on her lip. Her caption read, "When you're feeling awful, someone's willing to drop everything to come get you."

In the corner of the photo, Noah was cutting into the cake for her.

I called him. He took forever to answer. Upbeat music played in the background.

"Wasn't she throwing up?" I asked.

"Stomach cramps. She's fine now. She's been in a bad headspace lately, so I took her to get something sweet."

"Do you know how late I waited?"

"Erin, we can always reshoot. Her health can't wait."

"There won't be another sunset drill."

"Then pick a different shot. You're always so good at improvising."

He said it like it was obvious, as if the script I'd spent two weeks writing was worthless.

I heard Claire's soft voice beside him. "Noah, the cake's melting."

He answered at once. "Coming." Then he said hurriedly, "Don't get hung up on it. We'll talk when I get back."

The line went dead.

I sat at the top of the bleachers and rewatched eleven days of footage from start to finish. At the beginning of every clip, I looked off-frame. At the end of every clip, I said "See you tomorrow" to an empty space. What the audience thought was an artistic choice wasn't design. It was me waiting.

I dragged all eleven empty-frame screenshots onto the timeline, imported the chaotic night-hike audio, then opened a new file for the Day Twelve script. When I typed "Just me," the remaining space in the frame suddenly looked vast.

At two in the morning, I texted my father: "Dad, I'm sorry. I'll find my way back from the wrong turn I took."

He replied quickly: "A wrong turn isn't a wasted journey. Turn back as soon as you see it. Our door is always open."

I stared at the message and cried for a long time, grieving for the girl who had gambled her future on love and been certain she couldn't lose.

By dawn, I'd finished the new storyboard for Day Twelve. I'd also made up my mind to end things.

Chapter 4

On the morning of day twelve, I scrapped the two-person setup and placed the camera at the far edge of the training field.

Noah arrived late. He carried coffee and toasted bagels, his voice deliberately gentle. "Last night was my fault. I shouldn't have hung up on you. Claire said she had a fever in the middle of the night, so I took her to the clinic. Once orientation is over, I'll reshoot every shot I owe you. Deal?"

I finished checking the memory card and hit record. "You don't have to report to me anymore. Where you go or who you're with is no longer something you need to explain to me."

He stepped in front of the lens. "Can you stop saying things you don't mean? Let's talk this through."

I looked up at him. "Noah, let's break up."

A few seconds passed. He tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You're trying to use a breakup to force me to cut Claire off again? I'm not doing that. You know I can't stand people trying to control who I'm friends with."

I looked at this person I'd loved for two years and realized for the first time how confident he was. He was so sure I wouldn't actually leave that he was setting conditions before he even bothered to ask me to stay.

"Whatever." I stepped around him and readjusted the camera.

He stood there, face tight. "Forgetting the anniversary was on me. I'll book a restaurant tonight and get you that lens you've been wanting. Once you cool down, you'll see there's no reason to risk our relationship over a few missed shoots."

"Eleven."

"What's the difference?"

I nodded. "You're right. No difference at all."

To someone who doesn't care, one and eleven are just numbers.

The assembly whistle blew. I picked up the camera and headed for the field. Behind me, Noah called out, "Go ahead and film. When you've calmed down, we'll talk."

He still thought this was the silent treatment, something dinner and a lens could fix before I slid right back into place. I didn't explain.

At noon, Claire came to find me. She didn't have the pallor of someone recovering from a fever. Her camp jacket was cinched neatly at the waist, and light pink gloss shone on her lips.

"Erin, Noah told me you two had a fight."

"It's none of your business."

"How can it not be my business? It's all because of me." She lowered her gaze, her voice pitched to exactly the right note of vulnerability. "I've been insecure since I was little. My parents are rarely around. Whenever something happens, Noah is the first person I think of. You have family, a roommate, and all those people who follow your work. But he's really all I have."

I'd heard that speech eleven times. Each time, I moved my boundaries back another step, until somehow even my boyfriend had become the only thing she had.

I slid my camera into its bag. "Claire, do you know how many sessions you've missed over fourteen days?"

She blinked. "I haven't been well. I've lost count."

"Eleven. I'm just curious why you always feel sick exactly ten minutes before we're supposed to film and recover as soon as Noah leaves the training field."

Something flickered in her eyes. Then they reddened just as quickly. "You think I'm faking it?"

"It doesn't matter anymore." My voice was steady. "I already broke up with him. From now on, you can be sick whenever you want. No need to schedule around my shoot list."

The wounded look on her face froze. "Broke up? You're really not doing the couple's series?"

"No."

"What about your followers? Didn't you build the whole account on the couple brand?"

I looked at her. She realized she'd let something slip and rushed to backpedal. "I'm just worried about your account."

"Thanks, but that's not your concern."

I turned to leave. Behind me, she called out, "Erin Bennett, even without me, you and Noah wouldn't have lasted. You turn everything into content. Even your relationship felt like a job. He just felt more relaxed with me."

The fake intimacy vanished from her voice, along with the fragility.

I looked back and smiled. "Then you should thank me for stepping aside. But there's one thing you may have gotten wrong. People don't watch my work because of the couple brand. If anything, the person dragging the series down these past eleven days was the leading man who never showed up."