“Morning.”
He traces a finger over a squiggly line that someone has drawn on the ceiling, which doesn’t seem to lead anywhere in particular. Maybe it’s a map. Maybe it’s their route. Or maybe it’s just a line. “Where’s Toledo?”
“Ohio,” she says.
“What happened to Pennsylvania?”
“It’s still there. We just slept through it.”
There’s a pause, filled once again by the scrape of a pen, and he asks, “What are you writing?”
“Just some notes,” she says.
Hugo shimmies over to the edge of the bed. His legs get tangled in the harness as he tries to get down, and he nearly tumbles sideways but manages to right himself before dropping to the floor. Mae, who is sitting on the lower bunk with a notebook balanced on her knees, looks up at him. She’s already dressed in black jeans and a gray T-shirt with the Ghostbusters logo on it, her feet bare. He notices that her toes are painted the same color purple as her glasses.
“I didn’t think anyone used pen and paper anymore,” he says, and she smiles as if he’s paid her a compliment. He leans an arm on the top bunk and takes a peek at the page. It’s a bit awkward, hovering over her like this, but there’s not really room to be anywhere else. “Wow. Your handwriting is truly terrible.”
“It’s notthatbad.”
“You know those blue lines aren’t just suggestions, right? You’re supposed to write in between them.”
She gives him a look of mock outrage, then tucks her legs in so that there’s room for him to sit on the other end of the bed. “I’m working up some questions for my interview with Ida.”
“Want to practice on me? I do a mean American accent.”
“I’m sure you do,” she says. “But you’re no Ida.”
“Fair enough. What sorts of things are you going to ask?”
“Questions about her life. Her hopes. Her fears.”
“Well,” he says, leaning back against the window, “we know Roy’s fear is that they’ll run out of apple pie.”
Outside, there’s the muffled sound of Ludovic yelling “All aboard!” and then heavy footsteps as people climb back onto the train. The curtain is still drawn across their compartment’s doorway, but they can hear their neighbor return to his room, and the train jerks forward once, then twice, before starting to pull away from the station.
Hugo nods at her notebook. “So what’s the plan?”
“I think,” Mae says, looking up at him through her glasses, “I might be making a documentary.”
“About Ida.”
“Sort of. I mean, you saw the way she was with Roy last night. Think about how many other people are on this train right now, how many other love stories. That’s what I want the film to be about.”
“Love and trains?”
“Love and trains,” she agrees, and then she tips her head to one side, studying him. “Hey, if you had to describe love in one word, what would it be?”
Hugo blinks at her, his heart quickening for no particular reason. “I have no idea.”
“It could be anything. Like, say…pizza.”
“Pizza?” he asks, surprised. “Why pizza?”
“That’s…not important,” she says. “It could be something else too. Anything.”
“Wait, doyouthink love is like a pizza?” he asks with a grin, and she looks at him impatiently.
“This isn’t about me.”
