Oliver laughed. He seemed to laugh a lot with me, which struck me as a bit strange. Ros and I sent each other into hysterics, but only because we spoke a language entirely our own; among the three of us, I’d always thought of Touchstone as the funny one.

“Phoebe’s costume is looking really good,” I said. “She started with this coat, but now it’s becoming this, like, wild wrap thing. Kind of like a big blanket. I think it’s going to look great.”

“I have no doubt. She’s talented. She’s going to make great waves as a costumer someday, if that’s what she wants.”

The trail rose, and we moved to the side to catch our breath, letting some other hikers pass us.

“How did you know you wanted to be an actor?” I said when we started walking again, thinking of my recent conversation with Touchstone.

“I don’t know. I just thought I would be good at it. And I was.”

“Is it that easy?”

“Maybe for some people,” he said. “Do you want to keep doing costumes?”

“I don’t know. I like making costumes. Mostly applied for the internship so I could be here with my friends. I like it. I don’t know if I want… like, I don’t know if that’s what I want. You know?”

“What are you good at?” Oliver said.

“Color coding,” I said. “I do well in school, but the only thing I ever really felt like I was any good at was being friends with Ros and Touch.” I paused, my hands on my hips. “You know what job I really want? I want to be the person who comes up with names for nail polish.”

“Is that a thing?”

“Yes! They always have these wild names. Like, Meet Me in the Sleeper Car. Or Dressed to Krill.”

He laughed again. It was nice, the laughter. But I didn’t even think I was being funny; I was just being honest.

“Dressed to Krill would be, like, pink?”

“Yes. Salmon. Heavily saturated.”

“You know what you are?” Oliver asked.

“Wondering when we’re going to get to this waterfall?” I said.

“You’re good with words,” he said. “If you don’t do something with nail polish colors, you should do something with languages.”

I let this sink in, surprised at how right Oliver was and how obvious it seemed when I thought about it for a half second. I did love languages. I’d taken Spanish and Latin all through high school; I would have taken French, too, if it’d fit in my schedule. I always called English my favorite subject, and wasn’t that a language, too? Oliver had hit the nail on the head—I’d be perfectly happy if I could study languages in college.

“I think we’re getting close,” Oliver said.