Free The Merit Birds by Kelley Powell

over beer or mango shakes. No one would spot them. She stopped to wipe a kernel of corn from his chin. She wanted to meet his eyes, but at that moment she couldn’t bring herself to. For the first time in her life she felt reticent. He raised a hand to smooth her hair away from her face. She swallowed. Her skin tingled and an unusual kind of warmth rushed over her body. She wanted more, but was afraid of what that meant.
    â€œCam,” she said, and for a split second was unsure if she should ask what was on her mind.
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œHave you ever had sex?”
    His eyes widened.
    â€œSorry,” she said. “I know I can be too direct.”
    â€œNo, no, it’s okay.” He paused and looked out over the river. Then he said, “Yes.”
    She wasn’t surprised. “With who?” she asked.
    â€œDrunk, at a party. It was kind of stupid, actually. At the time it felt good, but now I see how fake it was. Just a big act. Kind of explains why I felt depressed the next day.” He turned and met her eyes. “Have you?”
    â€œNo. Things are slower here — at least for girls.”
    He looked into her eyes before looking towards the river, dark and slippery in the moonlight.
    â€œSo beautiful,” he said.
    â€œWait until you see it all fat and swollen during the rainy season. These banks we’re standing on will be covered with water.”
    â€œNo, I mean you.”
    She looked at her feet. A fisherman rode by on a creaky, rusty bike. Nok could hear him click his tongue as he eyed the two of them. She gently pulled on Cam’s arm so he’d start walking again.
    â€œDo you want to go to Keng Heng?” she asked. The sticky rice was overpriced, but the restaurant usually had a good mix of Lao and foreigners. They wouldn’t stand out as much.
    The restaurant wasn’t far from the river, in a pretty, two-storey colonial villa next to Nam Phou Fountain. The building was a leftover from the days when Laos was a French colony. Now it teemed with Lao NGO workers and their foreign colleagues, scruffy-looking backpackers, United Nations staff, English teachers, and wealthy Lao teenagers craving a glimpse of the world outside of their landlocked country. Western dance music pumped from the stereo. Nok had never been inside before. It was way too expensive for her and Seng. No one she knew would be there.
    â€œTonight is insect night!” their cheery Lao waiter told them in English as he seated them. “Larvae, grasshoppers, crickets. Do you dare try?”
    Nok knew it was an attention-grabber to attract tourists. Falangs were always fascinated by what Lao people ate: omelettes with ant eggs, whole frogs barbequed on wooden skewers, duck’s-blood soup. They couldn’t get over how some Vietnamese living in Laos loved their barbequed dog.
    â€œUh, okay,” Cam said, falling for it.
    The waiter brought a round plate to their table of assorted fried insects resting on a pillow of sliced cucumber. Nok laughed as Cam bit gingerly into a crunchy, whole grasshopper.
    â€œI was thinking, maybe —” she started.
    Cam spat a barely chewed cricket into his napkin, interrupting her. They laughed out loud.
    â€œYeah?” he said, wiping his mouth.
    â€œLao New Year is coming up. There’s this party my brother’s friend is having. Do you want to come?”
    â€œOf course. You sure it will be okay? I mean, with your brother and all?”
    â€œWell, Seng does like anything Western.”
    She looked around the room. She noticed a few other mixed couples — Lao and Western.
    â€œWhere do you live, anyway?” Cam asked.
    â€œNear That Luang.”
    â€œI haven’t been there yet.”
    â€œYou have to go! It’s Laos’s national symbol. Such a beautiful golden stupa. ”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œIt’s a giant, sacred mound, all golden with three tiers. It’s supposed to have