“Honestly? I’m not totally sure yet. But there’s something interesting about her, isn’t there?”
Back in their compartment, Mae switches on the yellow light above the seats, then reaches for the black bag she tucked on a small shelf. She unzips it and pulls out her camera with a dreamy look. Hugo sits down across from her, watching as she tinkers with the lens.
“You’re really making a film about Ida?” he asks, incredulous.
“So it would seem.”
“But…why?”
She looks up at him, her blue eyes glinting. “Do you ever have one of those ideas where you don’t quite know what it is yet, but you have this feeling that something will come of it? That’s what it was like talking to Ida tonight.”
She holds the camera up and points it at him, closing one eye.
“Cheese?” Hugo says, and she laughs.
“This is the fun part,” she tells him, lowering the camera again. “Ever since—well, I’ve been waiting for a spark for a while now. I didn’t know if it would ever happen again.”
“I don’t suppose they grow on trees, do they?” he says, and when she looks up at him, he scratches his chin and adds, “Ideas, I mean.”
“No, they definitely don’t grow on trees. But it was never a problem for me before.”
“Before what?”
“Before I got rejected from film school.” She says it fast, like she’s ripping off a bandage, but the next part—the next part comes out a whole lot softer. “For a film I was really proud of.”
Hugo isn’t sure what to say to this. He fumbles around for a question or a word of encouragement, but the silence stretches between them. Finally, he says, “What was it about?” which turns out to be the exact wrong question. To his surprise, her face immediately clouds over, and she unzips the case, carefully tucking the camera back inside.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she says. “Clearly, it didn’t work.”
“But do you have any idea why—”
“It’s fine,” she says abruptly. “I still got into USC—just not the film program. So my plan is to put in for a transfer. That’s why I need to make another film.”
“When do you need it by?”
She twists her mouth up to one side. “Well, technically, you can’t apply till the end of sophomore year. But I figure it wouldn’t hurt to try before then, especially if I can make something good enough. Something too good for them to ignore.”
“Something like…Ida describing each of their four hundred and eighty-two meals on a train?”
This makes her smile. “Sometimes the best ideas come from the most unlikely sources.”
“Maybe you should be interviewing Roy, then,” he jokes.
Later, Ludovic arrives to make up their beds, and then they take turns standing in the hall so the other can change. Mae goes first, and when she returns to find Hugo in a gray T-shirt and pajama pants with rubber duckies on them, she can’t help smiling.
But it’s his turn to laugh a few minutes later, when he sees that hers are so similar. “Are those clouds or cotton balls?”
She looks indignant. “They’re sheep.”
“Right,” he says as he climbs up to the top bunk, barely managing to wedge himself into the coffinlike space. “Is that so you can count them if you have trouble sleeping?”
“Something like that,” she says, switching off the light.
For a while, they both lie there quietly in the dark. Every now and then, there are noises in the hall as other passengers make their way to the tiny loo. But Hugo can see how you might get used to sleeping like this; there’s something oddly soothing about the gentle rocking of the train. He does his best to keep his eyes from fluttering shut, thinking of all the things Alfie has compared his snoring to over the years: a buzz saw, a trumpet, an elephant, even—ironically—a train. The idea is to wait for Mae to doze off first so he won’t embarrass himself, but he can still hear her shifting around below.
He tries to turn on his side, but there’s not quite enough space. For some reason, he keeps thinking about the way Mae walked back over to Ida earlier, so full of purpose, and he’s surprised by how badly he wants to find out what will come of the interview.
“Is that why you’re here?” he asks, the words loud in the dark. Beneath him, he hears Mae stir in her own makeshift bed. “To make a film?”
