Chapter 28 — Late Table Lady

The creative festival is over, but the backyard is not closed. The school signed a one-year trial operation schedule, the neighborhood committed to supporting trees and books, and Khai An company paid the cost of changing the entrance according to the agreed plan. Pham Gia Shop moved part of its tools to the new warehouse, but still kept the old sign in the market.

Khang is no longer the technical team leader, but he comes every Wednesday to check the plumbing. An still makes data sheets, but does not make decisions himself. Quynh Nhu is in charge of the calendar, Mai opens a photo album of corners that few people notice, Huy hosts the radio program "Five minutes in the backyard".

“Five minutes is too long,” Khang said.

“I can say a lot in five minutes.”

“That's the problem.”

Huy launched the first issue with the story of a forgotten broom. The whole class listened, then sent more stories about the stone bench, the potted plant and the lost book. The backyard has its own life, no need for An to stand in the center.

An started submitting college applications. She chose three programs: service management, spatial design and a major related to community development. Her father was initially worried that she chose too differently, but did not stop her.

“You can change your mind,” he said.

“I know.”

“Not every choice needs to be kept until the end.”

An remembers Khang once withdrew from his technical position. Change is not failure, if it brings people to the right place.

One afternoon, An received an email from a university with a design studio. They invited her to participate in an interview. She was so happy that she ran into the yard, tripped over the wooden steps and fell into the bucket of dirt.

Huy clapped his hands: "Very new victory pose."

Khang gave the towel. “You can make announcements without falling.”

“I'm trying to stand out.”

“Stand out enough.”

Mai took a photo of the dirt on An's hand, but asked before saving. An agreed, telling her not to post it right away.

In the evening, An called his father. He said the hotel board wanted her to participate in a summer internship program. An replied that she would consider it if the job had a clear description and was not a specifically created position.

Father laughed. “I want to be recruited like everyone else.”

“I want to know what I can do.”

“Then I will ask the human resources department to interview you.”

“Dad, you can't sit in the room.”

“I will sit outside.”

“Don't look through the glass either.”

“It's difficult.”

“Dad, you can go get some coffee.”

“I will try.”

At school, a 10th grade student placed a piece of paper on the end table: "I have finished reading the first book. Thank you." An asked if he wanted to keep it. He shook and told him to write for everyone to read.

Like posting it on a thank you sign, but not naming it. Huy suggested creating a message book. Mai said we should let the writer choose whether or not to make it public. An added regulations to the book.

“You are making rules for emotions,” Khang said.

“Emotions also need privacy.”

"Correct."

Khang helped her close the book cover. The two worked side by side, occasionally touching hands. No one dodges as fast as before.

“Are you going to say anything about us?” Khang asked.

An paused. “What are we?”

“I'm asking you.”

“You ask like submitting a form.”

“I need data.”

An looked at the words on the cover of the notebook. "I like you. I don't know what to call it other than that."

Khang nodded. “I like you too.”

“You can say a little more.”

“I like you a lot.”

An smiled. "Okay."

No big promises. They agreed to continue going to school, working on projects, and making it clear when one person felt overwhelmed. Khang doesn't want to call An his girlfriend first when you both understand what it means; An doesn't want to turn the relationship into content for anyone.

Huy discovered two people walking together from the yard and immediately pretended to look at the sky. “Today's clouds are heart-shaped.”

Mai pulled him away. “Don't break it.”

At the end of the month, the school holds a preliminary meeting. Figures show the yard has had more than a thousand uses, books have been borrowed four hundred times, the rain garden has reduced standing water, and the bug list has been halved. The principal thanked the students, but Mr. Hoang reminded that maintaining is more difficult than opening.

An stood next to the board, looking at the people who once doubted him, now taking notes together. She didn't think anyone had changed completely. They just have more information, more opportunities to speak and more reasons to believe.

Father came to the preliminary meeting, this time he did not stand far away. He sat in an anonymous chair, reading a children's book for ten minutes. Huy took photos, but An said to ask first. Father agreed, then asked Huy not to make him look like he was sleeping.

“I don't promise,” Huy said.

An smiled. Her father looked at her and whispered: "You seem different."

“I still drop things.”

“But I know how to pick it up.”

In the afternoon, it suddenly rained. The rain garden is active, students pull chairs to the roof. Khang checked the tube, An held the light, Mai collected the camera, Huy turned off the speaker. Everyone knows what to do when the weather changes.

When the rain stopped, a thin rainbow appeared above the field. Huy wants to call it exclusive content, but no one takes pictures of it. They just stood and watched.

An leaned on the railing. Khang stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder.

“On the first day, did you think you would stay that long?”

“The first day I didn't even know how to get off the bus.”

"Now?"

“Now I can still get off at the wrong stop.”

"Good."

“Where is good?”

“Because you haven't turned into a perfect person yet.”

An smiled. A lady at the back desk, a car repair guy and a schoolyard may not be the biggest story in the world. But to those standing there, it was a world that had expanded a little.

The new student council held its first meeting in the courtyard. Successors ask the old team about common mistakes. An said don't buy too many things before knowing what the user needs. Khang said you have to put the tools in the right place. Mai said ask before taking the photo. Huy said he couldn't let him make his own lemonade.

A 10th grader suggested adding a craft corner. Like asking how much space is needed, cleaning time and supervisor. She answered that she didn't know. An said to try a small session, then evaluate. Not every idea needs a complete plan from the beginning.

In the afternoon, the new group knocked over a potted plant. They called Khang, but he told them how to change the soil over the phone. An stood by, not taking the phone. The 10th grader did it himself, his hands were dirty but he had fun.

Khang asked An if he found it difficult not to directly correct it. She said it was difficult, but good. If you do it instead, the new person won't learn.

Father An sent a photo of the completed new entrance. There are no longer red poles next to the shop, there are pedestrian lines and truck time signs. Khang looked at it and said he still needed to check during winter hours. I texted my father and he replied that he would measure again after a month.

An realizes that every decision has a sequel. A finished entrance doesn't end the tracking; A yard that is kept does not end with care.

In the evening, she and Khang sat on the golden chair, talking about keeping in touch when they go to college. They agreed not to promise to text every day, but only promised to tell the truth if they missed, were tired or busy. Huy eavesdropped from afar and said it was an emotional contract Terms are too few.

Mai pulled him away. “Few provisions have room to breathe.”

An looked at Khang and smiled. She likes that sentence.

They don't need a big promise to stay together. Just remember to ask before booking the other person.

An leaned his shoulder against Khang, then asked before holding on longer. Khang nodded. They sat quietly under the tree, without others witnessing.

The sea breeze blew through the yard, causing the calendar to shake slightly. An holds the edge of the paper, Khang holds the frame. They adjusted the hanger together, no one said it was their job. The two hands touched each other on the wooden bar, then separated when the board stood firmly.

The next day, a post on a parent forum called the backyard “a beautiful model for photos, but difficult to maintain.” Huy wants to respond immediately with a seven-page article. Like holding his phone back, telling the group to give the data instead of getting angry. An opened the tracking table: number of uses, number of revisions, number of books returned to the shelf and number of volunteer hours. Khang added that on rainy days, when the drainage system needs more inspection.

The group posted a short report Friday night. No one scoffed at the original post, nor did they promise the pitch would be perfect. They clearly state what worked well, what was weak, and how others can give feedback. Monday morning, the other parent sent back a text message: "I will come watch during winter hours to give more feedback." Huy regretted not having an argument, but Mai said that one person coming in person would be more useful than ten rounds of online debate.

An started learning to ride a bicycle in the school yard. Khang adjusted the saddle low, put the hat on for her and then backed away. She pedaled three times before hitting the painted line, making Huy clap his hands like he was watching the final. Khang didn't laugh out loud, just ran to check the brakes. An asked if points would be deducted. Khang replied: "No. You just learned another way to avoid it."

Late in the afternoon, An's father called to say that the new entrance might open earlier than expected. He asked her if she wanted to attend. An said she would come if she could sit in the parents' row and not go on stage. Father agreed. She realized that family relationships can also be adjusted with clear agreements, just like a good schoolyard is maintained with schedules and responsibilities.