Nowhere Girl by A. J. Paquette Page A

stretched a little tight. She is obviously trying very hard to be friendly. “Kiet said you were born up-country and have lived there your whole life.”
    I had wondered what Kiet told her about my past. But something in the way she says this—curious but not alarmed, interested but not desperate to know—tells me that he said nothing about Khon Mueang Women’s Prison. Did he guess at my wish to start anew? I smile. I really can be anybody I want to, now.
    I will tell Chaluay nothing more than I must.
    â€œYes, up-country,” I say. “North of Chiang Mai.”
    â€œAnd your parents?” she prompts.
    â€œMy mother has recently died. I am now returning to America to … be with my father. And other relatives.” I am once again surprised at how normal these careful slivers of fact make me sound.
    Chaluay never even blinks. She moves right on to the next subject. “This cannot be your first time in Bangkok!” When I nod that it is, she claps her hands together. “Today, I do not need to start my shift until after midday. Would you like to go downtown? There is so much for you to see—Bangkok is the greatest city in the world!”
    Her enthusiasm is contagious. For the first time I feel I might find a friend in this strange, moody girl. “Yes,” I say. “I would like that very much.”
    Chaluay studies me approvingly. “You are not like other farang . If I was not looking at you, if I only heard you speak, I would think you were Thai.”
    A cold fist clenches in my stomach. My familiarity with the Thai language could easily bring up questions that I have no wish to answer. I need to move away from that subject as quickly as possible. “Well, I have done much traveling,” I say, letting the eager smile slide off my face, trying to sound cool and world-weary. “But I feel a special connection with the Thai culture. I spent my whole life and … I studied here.”
    Chaluay shrugs, and that familiar scowl seems to flutter back between her brows. “Good for you. It must be nice to be able to travel so much.” She gives herself a little shake, and her smile is back. “But never to have seen Bangkok! We must lose no time.”
    I stifle a sigh of relief as we move away from that shaky ground, and I follow Chaluay down the stairs. We step out the front door of her building, into the soft morning drizzle, and climb onto her bike, which she has left chained outside. Chaluay revs up the motor and we are off.
    How much there is to see! The wind roars outside my helmet, but my mind replays over and over the majestic symphony music that Kiet chose for my entry into this magnificent City of Angels. All around me, everything is so big, so bright, so busy! The colors of my childhood were gray and dull brown, with the only bright splashes found in the green trees and the deep blue sky. Occasional festivals and market days were explosions of color that fed my soul for weeks.
    But here—this whole city is a rainbow. Bright electric lights flash on the sides of buildings, even now that it’s daytime. Shops are lined with colorful awnings, and women strut by dressed in hot pink and orange and yellow. In the public gardens and near tall fancy buildings, there are flowers—real, living flowers, with delicate purple and white petals. And the wats ! Temples so tall and ornate that I feel holy just looking at their doors.
    I could stop on every corner and stare for hours, but Chaluay keeps up a speedy pace, zipping down one street and on to the next. Cars are packed in tightly everywhere, but she slips in and around them with effortless skill so that, like a bird in flight, we never need to stop moving. Meanwhile she talks to me over her shoulder—keeps up a steady stream of friendly banter, introducing and explaining and advertising all in one. She is a wonder.
    I crane my neck and try to understand the Skytrain, something I have