“Allowed to what?” Tom asks.

“Allowed to look!” The man laughs.

Tom and Olympia exchange a glance. Olympia’s excitement is tempered. Was the man listening to them? Or is the word “allowed” fashionable in the real world?

“I don’t know,” Olympia says to Tom.

She’s worried about Malorie discovering they’re talking to a stranger. She’s scared to open the door for him.

And is she really considering doing that? Opening the door? Is entering the real world such a slippery slope?

It doesn’t matter if she’s considering it or not. Tom is already up, crossing the cabin, sliding the door open.

Olympia thinks to close her eyes. Because that’s what she’s been told to do her entire life. Despite what the man Dean says about this being a safe place.

The school for the blind was considered safe. The home they were born in was considered safe. Why should this train be any different?

But it is different. She can’t deny this. And, again, she feels a sense of having shed her skin, of having stepped, clearly, into a new phase, a second life.

“Hi,” Tom says. “I’m Tom.”

And now, giving out their actual names.

“Tom.” The man smiles. “What a wonderful appellation.”

The man, Olympia sees, is much older than Malorie. He has gray hair and white stubble on his chin and face. Olympia hasn’t seen someone this man’s age in ten years, not since the school for the blind.

“And you?” Henry says, raising his eyebrows her way.

It chills her that they’re doing this. And more. Something more. Something similar to leaving Camp Yadin behind. That feeling of never getting something back again.

“I’m Jamie,” Olympia says.

Henry smiles. He wears a sweater, despite the heat, and sweat drips down his cheeks.

Does he know she’s lying about her name? He looks like he does.

“Well,” he says. “I just wanted to introduce myself and to let you know…if you want to learn anything about this train, anything at all, feel free to knock on my door. I’m what people used to call a regular. My good friend Nathan and I are just a couple cars that way. Cabin Sixteen, I believe.”

He points up the hall as the train shakes, and for a second he looks blurry to Olympia. Out of focus.

Then he bows. He holds one hand to his belly and extends the other arm out, as if he’s just wrapped a performance.

Olympia knows the word: theatrical.

“Thank you,” Tom says.

Henry winks.

Then he steps out of sight, and Olympia hurries to the door and slides it closed.

“What’s wrong with you?” she says. “Giving him your real name.”

“Oh, stop it,” Tom says. “Mom doesn’t have the same hold on us out here.”

“What does that mean?”