Nowhere Girl by A. J. Paquette

apartment is one big room, with a cooking area to the side and a door on the far end that must lead to a bathroom. Plastic wrappers dot the floor, lending splashes of color to the dull gray linoleum. I am starting to appreciate Chaluay’s taste already. Then my eyes find the couch, which lies half-buried in rumpled clothes. My mouth gapes open. At a quick glance I can see three or four pairs of jeans, and the bright colors of at least six shirts and dresses. What could Chaluay possibly do with all those clothes? I consider this rough-edged girl, not many years older than me, with renewed respect. Everything in this apartment belongs to her. Even the sour air must smell sweet to Chaluay, because it is home and it is all her own.
    It is a staggering thought. Surely no wat could be more precious than this.
    Chaluay throws her helmet on the floor and peels off her wet jacket. She kicks aside some of the clothes and rolls out a lumpy sleeping mat for me while I go into the bathroom to change. In the tiny room alone, I hold Yai’s sarong to my cheek and smile, grateful that I can take off my wet, muddy clothes. I wash them out in the sink and hang them to dry. Unlike Chaluay, I will need to use them again tomorrow. I may not have nearly as much, but every item I own is a treasure.
    Our evening passes slowly, uncomfortably. Chaluay is nothing like Kiet. She will help me because she was asked to, but she obviously finds no joy in it. I am a duty she will tend to, nothing more. We eat some instant noodles and I am glad when we turn out the lights and I lay down on my mat.
    In the dark, I tuck my arms behind my head and study what I can see of the ceiling. Chaluay’s breathing slows to a measured tread, and I think of Mama. I remember a long-ago night when I was still very young, a night like so many others. The guards had settled down for the late watch, Bibi was snoring on her bunk, and Jeanne too was finding her peace in dreams. I was on my cot, listening until the time was right.
    There was a certain magic moment, when the quiet was just perfect—a breath, a snore, a sigh from outside the bars. Then I crawled out of bed and slipped in next to Mama. She was curled up tight in the blanket, trying to hold her warmth against the damp night air. But she saw me come and flipped down the edge of her covers, scooted over to make room.
    I made myself into a ball and slid into the space her body made for me. We lay side by side, breathing in the quiet. Then Mama whispered, “You have to go to sleep, baby. You know the tooth fairy won’t come until you’re asleep.”
    My tooth had gone under the pillow earlier that night, but this was not my first lost tooth. I knew who was really the one leaving a treat for me to find in the morning. Still, I liked to play along.
    â€œHow can the tooth fairy find us in here?” I asked. The words tickled the empty space at the front of my mouth and I giggled.
    â€œShe will find us; she always does,” said Mama. And then her voice got very quiet and faraway. “But nobody else will. We are safe here, and that’s what matters.”
    The tremor in her voice made me wriggle closer and reach back to pull her hand over my shoulder like a shawl. I was safe, and warm, and happy. And in the morning there would be a wrapped candy under my pillow, and Isra had promised to take me to the market on the weekend.
    I had everything I wanted in the world.
    I slept.

26
    The next morning when I come out of the washroom dressed in my clean—though still-damp—clothes, Chaluay greets me with a tentative smile.
    â€œI must apologize for yesterday. I behaved poorly. I …” She seems to be searching for reasons but not finding them, so I cut her off quickly.
    â€œNo, I am the one who needs to apologize for arriving without warning. You are very kind to let me stay with you.”
    Chaluay waves that away. Her smile is real, I think, though her mouth is still