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OUT OF HIS FRAME

OUT OF HIS FRAME

Short Story · Romance
By:  Ivy MonroeCompleted
Language: English
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Synopsis

Tragic Love

Counter Attack

Bias

Campus Beauty

Female Growth

Winning Back the Wife

Face Slapping

At the start of graduation season, my boyfriend took more than two hundred photos of Madison Vale. Chase Whitman was president of Westbridge University’s photography club. He knew how to find flattering light and how to coax people out of stiff smiles. Madison stood beneath the maples outside the library in a white dress, her graduation cap tucked under one arm. “Am I taking up too much of your time?” she asked. Chase checked the last few shots and smiled. “You make my job easy.” When it was finally my turn, he barely looked at me. “Stand by the tree.” He clicked the shutter twice and lowered the camera. “Done.” I stared at him. “That’s it?” He turned the screen toward me. In one photo my eyes were half-closed; in the other, a branch shadow slashed diagonally across my face. “Can we try again?” Chase sighed. “Avery, you always tense up. Fifty more takes won’t change that.” Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed. He had posted in the Westbridge Buy: Twenty dollars for someone to spend ten minutes taking a few graduation photos of my girlfriend. Nothing fancy. She just needs something usable. Half an hour later, a stranger replied. I sent him my location, then added: Just so you know, I’m not very photogenic. His answer came almost immediately: That usually says more about the photographer than about the subject. When Rowan Hayes arrived, he looked at Chase’s two photos and said, “He didn’t even try.” An hour later, he sent me the raw files. No filters, no heavy retouching. Just me on the library steps, my hair loose in the wind and my eyes brighter than I remembered them being.

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9 Chapters
Chapter 1
Rowan sent the rest of the photos that evening.I went through them slowly, bracing for the flaws Chase always found first: a stiff smile, a bad angle, some proof that the first few shots had been pure luck.Instead, I kept finding myself.My dress was wrinkled at the waist, and the wind had tugged several strands of hair from their pins. In one photo, I wasn’t even looking at the camera—someone nearby had dropped a graduation cap, and Rowan had caught me a split second before I laughed, my head half-turned, my expression unguarded.Nothing about the picture was perfect, but I looked comfortable.That was the part I barely recognized.For years, Chase had told me to relax whenever he photographed me.“Stop thinking so much.”“Smile normally.”“Why do you make this so difficult?”The harder I tried, the worse I looked. Eventually, I stopped asking him to take pictures of me. I stayed behind the camera instead—holding reflectors, organizing equipment, sorting through hundreds of photos o
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Chapter 2
The next afternoon, Rowan was waiting outside the west entrance of the library. He had traded the baseball cap for sunglasses, but the same worn camera bag hung from his shoulder. A small video camera sat on a tripod beside him.“You came,” he said.“You gave me a time and place.”“I wasn’t sure that would be enough.”I couldn’t tell whether he was joking.Rowan looked me over once—not in the slow, appraising way that made me want to adjust my clothes. He seemed to be checking how my white shirt and jeans worked against the stone library walls.“This is good,” he said.“I didn’t dress for a campaign.”“That’s why it’s good.”He handed me a small microphone and showed me where to clip it beneath my collar. His instructions were brief and practical. He asked before moving a strand of hair away from the mic and kept his attention on the equipment, not my body.Once the camera was ready, he pointed toward the library steps.“Walk up, stop near the doors, then look back.”“That’s all?”“For
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Chapter 3
Over the next five days, Rowan and I filmed the parts of Westbridge that rarely appeared in brochures: the library steps before sunrise, the communications building after rain, and the student center at dinner, when everyone looked tired enough to be honest.Whenever I started sounding like an admissions page, Rowan lowered the camera.“Would you actually say that to someone?”“No.”“Then don’t say it to the lens.”By the fourth day, I stopped asking whether I looked bad. I started asking whether I sounded like myself.We wrote the voice-over in a nearly empty campus café. My first draft was full of polished lines about opportunity and personal growth.Rowan read it once and slid it back across the table. “This could be about any university.”“That’s what admissions videos sound like.”“It’s not what you sound like.”I turned my pen between my fingers. “What am I supposed to say?”“What were you like when you came here?”“Quiet.”“You’re still quiet.”“Thanks.”“That wasn’t criticism.”
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Chapter 4
I barely slept.By seven the next morning, screenshots of the anonymous post had reached nearly every student group I was in. Some people defended me. Others compared the video to old photographs from the club archive, as if enough bad angles could prove my face was fake.Leah sat at her desk downloading every version of the project we had saved.“You listed Rowan as the cinematographer,” she said. “You didn’t hide anything.”“They can still say he gave me an unfair advantage.”“Did he?”“I don’t know.”The answer came out before I could stop it.Leah turned toward me. “Avery.”“I was there for every shoot. I chose the footage. But I never asked exactly what he’d done for the university before.”“You didn’t ask because he was supposed to be a twenty-dollar graduation photographer, not an applicant for a security clearance.”At eight thirty, Rowan texted: I saw the email. I’ll meet you outside admissions at nine forty-five.You don’t have to come, I replied.His answer arrived almost im
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Chapter 5
Dr. Bennett reviewed the documents once more before speaking.“The submission was created by two current Westbridge students, and the collaboration was disclosed. The campaign rules do not prohibit applicants from working with students who have prior production experience.”My fingers tightened beneath the table.“We also found no evidence of prohibited digital alteration, AI-generated imagery, or an undisclosed outside team.”“So I’m still a finalist?” I asked.“Yes.”The answer came so simply that it took a moment to settle.The communications officer added, “Your entry will be restored today. We’ll issue a brief statement confirming that the work was reviewed and met the rules.”“Will it say what you verified?” I asked.Dr. Bennett’s expression became more careful. “We generally don’t discuss individual complaints.”“I’m not asking you to identify anyone. If you only say the entry was approved, people will keep claiming the university covered for me. Please say there was no outside
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Chapter 6
By noon, the university’s statement had been reposted by most of the campus accounts that had shared the accusation.The tone changed almost immediately. People who had questioned my face now praised the video’s authenticity. Students who had demanded an investigation commented that they were glad Westbridge had handled things “fairly.” A few sent private apologies that sounded as though they had accidentally forwarded the wrong email.I read the first three, then stopped.Leah was less forgiving. She sat across from me in the student center, scrolling through the comments with open disgust.“This guy called you a fraud eleven hours ago. Now he says he always loved your message.”“Maybe he experienced tremendous personal growth overnight.”“I hope he experiences tremendous hair loss.”I laughed before I could stop myself.Leah put down her phone. “What are you going to do about Chase?”The question settled between us.“I don’t know.”“That’s not true.”She was right. I had known since
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Chapter 7
The final-round brief gave us ten days to produce a three-minute film around a new theme:MY PLACE HERE.The five films would premiere during Westbridge’s Senior Formal, followed by short interviews with the selection committee. The winning film would anchor the next admissions campaign.Rowan met me the next morning in a media lab on the third floor of the arts building. He had reserved the room and written the technical requirements on the whiteboard.I placed my notebook on the table. “I said I wanted to direct.”He handed me the marker. “So direct.”I had expected questions. Maybe a reminder that I had never led a film shoot before.Instead, he sat down and waited.I stared at the blank board.“What does ‘my place here’ mean to you?” he asked.“I thought I was asking the questions.”“You can start by answering one.”For most of college, my place had been wherever someone needed an extra pair of hands: beside the equipment cases, behind Chase’s laptop, outside the shot holding a ref
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Chapter 8
The finalist email arrived the next morning.All five films would premiere at Senior Formal on Saturday night. Each finalist could bring one guest.I opened Rowan’s messages.Are you free Saturday?His reply came a few minutes later.For the premiere?Yes.Another message appeared.As your cinematographer?I looked at the screen longer than necessary.As my guest.This time, he answered immediately.Then yes.On Saturday evening, Leah stood behind me in our dorm room, pinning back one side of my hair.The dress I had chosen was dark green and simple, with thin straps and a skirt that moved when I walked. It didn’t make me look taller or more dramatic. It felt like something I could breathe in.Leah caught my eyes in the mirror. “You’re not asking whether you look okay.”I realized she was right. “Do I?”She tightened the last pin. “You ruined the moment.”Senior Formal was held in the ballroom of an old hotel near campus. Westbridge had filled the room with warm lights, white flowers,
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Chapter 9
By the time we reached the hotel lobby, Westbridge had posted the winner on its social accounts and added a temporary banner to the admissions page.A still from my film filled the screen on Leah’s phone. I stood in the photography club darkroom, one hand resting on the equipment table, looking directly into the camera.FIND YOUR PLACE. TELL YOUR STORY.For a few seconds, I could only stare.I had spent most of college just outside the frame. Now prospective students would open the admissions page and see me first.Leah threw both arms around me. “You did it.”I laughed against her shoulder. “I actually did.”When she released me, Rowan was standing a few feet away, studying the banner.“Well?” I asked.“The crop is a little tight.”I stared at him.Then he smiled. “Congratulations, director.”The word hit me harder than winner had.The following morning, Dr. Bennett called. The communications team wanted the final campaign to keep the tone of my film: real students, real experiences,
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