The trunk slams shut with a satisfying clunk as you toss the last duffel bag in. It’s not heavy — just cameras, tripods, chargers, and three too many sunglasses you’ll probably lose halfway through Utah. The sun's barely up, your phone’s buzzing with Instagram notifications from the teaser post you both dropped last night, and you're standing on the edge of something that feels bigger than content.

"You ready?" Sabrina's voice cuts through the morning haze.

She’s leaning against the passenger door of the Jeep, oversized hoodie falling past her thighs, coffee in hand, hair tied up in a way that says she woke up five minutes ago and still looks effortlessly aesthetic. There’s sleep in her eyes, but something sparkles underneath — excitement, nervousness, maybe the realization that you two are about to vlog your way across state lines like it’s a coming-of-age film.

You grin. “Born ready.”

She smirks, then gestures to the phone in your hand. “Record the intro?”

You hit REC, holding the phone up, framing her first — classic Sabrina, laughing into the lens like it’s an old friend. Then she spins toward you, tugging you into frame by the sleeve, both of your faces close and barely lit by sunrise.

“This is it!” she says breathlessly. “We’re going!”

You nod, trying to sound chill even though your heart is racing. “Two weeks. No plan. Just vibes. Maybe some gas station snacks. And a little trauma bonding on camera.”

She lets out a short laugh. “Speak for yourself. I’ve packed five playlists and six face masks. But yeah. Chaos is welcome.”

You both fall into that natural rhythm again — finishing each other’s sentences, teasing, hyping up the adventure like it's more than a vlog series. Because deep down, it is. You’re not just going for views. You’re going because you need this. Both of you do. A break. A memory. Something real in a world full of filters and captions.

She pauses mid-sentence, looking at you instead of the camera.

“You know we’re gonna remember this forever, right?”

You lower the phone slowly, let the silence hold for a second. She’s still looking at you — serious now, not the on-camera version of her, not the version fans dissect on TikTok. Just Sabrina. The friend who stayed up till 3 AM with you during your first brand cancellation. The one who brings you food when you're spiraling. The one who knows when you’re faking your smile.

“Yeah,” you say. “I know.”

She nudges you lightly. “You’re driving first, by the way.”

You roll your eyes. “Figured. You always start asleep.”

“Not true,” she protests. “I start vibing. With my eyes closed.”

The two of you laugh, and just like that, the energy shifts again — light, free, perfect.

You hop in the car, phone still rolling, catching Sabrina dancing wildly in her seat to the first track on the playlist she begged you to approve last night. Something pop-punk and nostalgic, something about leaving town and not looking back. It fits.

She sticks her head out the window at the first red light and yells, “ROAD TRIP!” like you’re not in a residential neighborhood.

You’re grinning so hard your cheeks hurt.

This — this is the moment.

Not the perfect thumbnail. Not the sponsorships. Not even the road ahead.

It’s her. It’s you. It’s this little chaotic world you’ve built together, where friendship feels like freedom, and every mile promises a new inside joke, a memory, a clip that fans will watch on repeat without knowing half of what it meant to you.

“Where do we start?” she asks, throwing her phone on the dashboard.

You glance at her.

“New York!”

And with that, you hit the gas.