“So? Haven’t you ever left a compliment on someone’s post before?”
“Not someone I wasn’t flirting with,” Bua says.
Remembering what she said to Sud about me needing to practice flirting so I can date, I scowl at her. Then the universe sends the perfect retribution.
“P’Tam!” I wave. P’Tam, who just walked around the corner, spots me and walks toward us.
“I am going to kill you!” Bua mouths, looking horrified, but she pastes a pleasant smile on her face as she turns to greet our senior. “Sawasdee-kha, P’Tam. You look very nice today.”
“Thank you, Nong, I had a presentation, so I did my hair different. You really think it looks good?”
“It’s very flattering,” Bua says. She glances at me, and I give her a look to remind her that she just told me she compliments when she’s flirting. She looks so worried I’m going to say something to P’Tam about it that I take pity on her.
“I just wanted to ask—is the field trip this weekend or next? I wrote it down somewhere, but I can’t find it.”
“This weekend,” P’Tam says. “I sent you an email.”
“Oh, yeah. What am I thinking?”
“See you then!” She says before walking off.
“You are mean.”
“Payback’s a bitch,” I say in English, pushing her textbook toward her on the table.
***
We leave early Saturday morning on a bus to Nakhon Pathom. Everyone’s in good spirits after completely mid-term exams. One of Bua’s friends asks her to sit with her, so I choose a seat by the window.
As the bus heads west on Highway 4, leaving behind the heavy traffic of Bangkok, the view of the cityscape gradually gives way to one of factories and suburban areas with the occasional roadside shop along the way.
Remembering I told Sud I’d text him when we left, I send one telling him to have fun on his trip to Hua Hin with his theater group. I put in my ear buds and choose a song on my phone.
A little over an hour later, I pluck them out when the scenery turns to rice fields and orchards as the bus enters the province of Nakhon Pathom. A general rustling begins around me as passengers stretch, put away their phones and tablets, and prepare to disembark. The site of food stalls along the road, along with the aroma of grilling meat drifting in the windows that are open, reminds me that I haven’t eaten since breakfast.
The bus slows as it enters the bustling town center. The Phra Pathom Chedi, with its gold dome gleaming in the late morning sun, makes an imposing backdrop to the mix of ancient and modern architecture. We pass temples and local markets, more tempting scents making my stomach growl.
The bus stops, and the group disembarks, heading across the parking area to a trio of college-age guys holding signs with the name of our university painted on them. One of them is short and athletic-looking, another, tall and rangy, wearing a backward baseball cap; and the third a little older and obviously the leader as he calls everyone to gather round them.
As he welcomes us, I spot Bua making her way through the small crowd toward me, the friend she sat with on the bus accompanying her. She introduces her to me as Peach, and weturn and follow the three guys on foot toward the university in the distance. On the way, P’Tam joins us.
“What, exactly, will we be doing here, P’Tam?” Bua asks politely.
“We’re joining some students from the local university to create a medicinal garden on their campus,” P’Tam says.
“I don’t know much about plants,” Bua says.
P’Tam smiles. “Just stick with me, and I’ll show you what to do.”
Bua nearly trips on the pavement, but P’Tam catches her by the arm, and I bite my lip to keep from smiling.
Walking a little faster to give them time to talk, I wind up walking beside the tall, rangy guy with the baseball cap. Having helped Mae for years with her garden in Wang Phong, Pran Buri, I have an interest in horticulture and am looking forward to the weekend. The guy I’m walking with grins at me, and I nod back at him, noticing that his baseball hat saysplant loveracross the front.
Our guides take us to the guesthouse on the local university’s campus, and soon after we’ve unpacked our things, a group of students comes to escort us to a dining area in the same building. More students are there, unloading dishes of food.
The boy I walked with, now sans cap, sits down beside me at the long dining table.
“Sawasdee-khap,” he says with a wai. “I’m Film, a second-year student here.”