Read Online Nowhere Girl by A. J. Paquette - Free Book Online Page B

heard, others will have, too. Any concerns they might have had about my upbringing will be justified. They will be glad they kept Pensri away from me.
    Swallowing hard, I remove the borrowed hat and lay it down in front of her. I lower myself into a wai . The traditional gesture, the pressing of palms and lowering of head, calms me a fraction. But as I open my mouth to explain, my heart starts to pound again. “I wish to say farewell, Khun Yai. I have learned that the roads are clear. I must now be on my way.”
    Yai only nods, and her eyes shine with understanding and maybe sorrow, too. “May the spirits of your ancestors go with you, child,” she says. “It has been a good thing to have you at our table.” And I know she does understand, and feel, and care.
    I swallow, because in spite of my anger, in spite of the tension of the past days, in spite of Kiet, I do agree with her words. And appearances must be kept up. “It has been an honor to share your home,” I say.
    Then I turn and leave the room. Kiet is not in the kitchen, and I slip on my sandals and stride down the porch steps. Away.
    I will make my own way. I don’t need anyone else.

17
    As I walk, the rain starts up again. I wrap my sarong tightly around my tea box, determined not to let in any moisture that might damage the precious contents.
    It takes me less than fifteen minutes to get to the main road. I have heard the family talking about this road that leads back toward Sukhothai. From there, I will find a bus to take me to Bangkok. I have Isra’s baht , so I will have no trouble paying my way.
    The quiet afternoon air and the light rain lull me with their peace, and I think about my exchange with Kiet. Was I right in what I said, what I did? I lost face, and more important, I caused Kiet to lose face. But what else could I have done? The pushing in my chest was not something that could be controlled. I truly believe it was something that needed to grow, a moth that had to push its way out of the cocoon so that it might someday learn to fly.
    I replay the memory in my mind. I see myself standing on that porch, telling Kiet what I thought, deciding what I had to do. All on my own. Not forced by circumstances outside of my control, but acting alone—choosing—for the first time in my life.
    No. It was not a mistake, and I would bear an ocean of rain and a river of mud and the solitude of all the lonesome treks in the world to gain the strength that came from that choice.
    Still, the rain and the mud are a poor exchange for my lost friendship, and I would be a fool not to see what I have lost.
    The road to Sukhothai is longer than I had expected. After an hour’s walk, I have no idea how far I have come or how far there is still to go. My hair hangs around my face in dripping strands and my clothes stick to my body. The soles of my feet are made of sandpaper. How much longer can I go on like this?
    The road is well traveled, and each time a car or truck passes I scoot up onto the bank, getting as far away from it as I can. Yet I look wistfully after the clouds of exhaust, picturing wide-open doors and invitations to ride—anything, anything if I could just stop walking.
    A pickup truck slows as it passes me, the paunchy driver in mirrored sunglasses swiveling his head around to study me as he goes by. Round lumpy figures line the back of the truck like a half-filled fruit bowl. I turn my head away from the man’s buglike stare.
    The truck drives only a few hundred meters, then stops and veers onto the side of the road in front of me. Suddenly I feel very exposed on this busy highway. My earlier wish for someone to stop seems reckless; this driver does not look like he has good intentions. I clutch my bundle closer to my chest and slow my walk.
    The engine turns off.
    My steps slow to an ant’s crawl, but the truck waits. I have to reach it eventually. The shapes in the back unfold themselves into