Chapter 4 — Late Table Lady

The last group officially became a project team the day Mr. Hoang gave each group a whiteboard and said: "In three weeks, show me a small place that can make people stay longer."

Huy wrote on the board: “HAPPY YARD CORNER — free entry, laugh all you want.”

Khang deleted the word "happiness". “Sounds like a commercial for supplements.”

Mai wrote back: "Backyard No Tickets".

An added a small line: "There are books, there are trees, there is room to breathe."

No one objected. Project names are finalized faster than team names. The whole class split up to go get materials. Quynh Nhu was in charge of contacting the school union, while An's group went to the Old Market to ask for pallets. Huy took on the task of recording a video but dropped his phone into a basin of water before pressing the button.

“I was testing the reflection angle,” he explains.

Mai took a towel to wipe the phone. “The angle of reflection in water or the angle of reflection of intelligence?”

“Both are out of focus.”

An became more and more familiar with the way 11A4 turned every incident into a joke. In the old school, when a plan went awry, everyone would call another meeting and demand accountability from the person responsible. Here, Huy will drop something, Mai will scold, Khang will fix it, and then the group continues. No one denies the error, but also don't let the error last longer than necessary.

On the way to the market, An sat on the back of Mai's bicycle because the bus did not go through the alley. She had to hold the bag of materials, keep her balance, and keep quiet in front of Mai's laughter when she asked "where is the foot brake".

“Pedaling backwards is braking,” Mai said.

“I know.”

“You just pedaled forward.”

“I'm checking.”

“Checking to see if we can crash into the fish stall?”

The Old Market was crowded and hot, the canvas roofs were so low that An had to bow his head. Khang made an appointment with a furniture seller to ask for ten broken pallets. The man agreed to lend it to them if they drove it home themselves, but only had a small trailer.

Huy looked at the pile of pallets, at the four people, then at the trailer. “We need a historic transportation plan.”

Khang tied the rope. “You pushed behind.”

“I am the intellectual part.”

“So the intellect pushes harder.”

An rolled up his sleeves. The white uniform shirt was immediately covered in wood dust. She pushed along with everyone, through a narrow alley, past a fish stall and an aunt selling tea. The trailer wheel got caught in a pothole, the whole pile of pallets tilted to the right. An grabbed the top plate, Khang held the axle, Mai pulled Huy out of the way.

“Is everything intact?” Khang asked.

“I lost my honor,” Huy replied.

“Your honor was lost before we left school.”

The tea seller laughed loudly and gave each group a cup of black bean sweet soup. An looked at the layer of shaved ice and carefully asked the price. She waved her hand: "I invite students who do good work."

An wanted to say thank you by buying six more drinks for the people standing around, but Khang gently touched her elbow. Just a quick touch was enough for her to understand. She sat down on the sidewalk and received a cup of tea like a normal student.

“Are you used to people giving things to you?” Khang asked.

"Are not."

“So today is your lucky day.”

"Maybe."

“Don't try to turn luck into bills.”

An scooped a spoonful of tea. The taste is sweet and soft, mixed with the smell of car exhaust and the sound of sales pitches. She suddenly remembered the afternoons when her mother took her to the market when she was a child, before the family moved into an apartment where someone bought everything. She doesn't remember the last time she sat on the sidewalk.

At school, the group stacked pallets into raised floors. Peace together Mai measured the distance, Huy painted the words "Backyard No Tickets" on the board. Khang nailed each beat steadily. Quynh Nhu stopped by with a stack of sponsorship applications.

"I talked to the school union. They lend string lights, but you have to take responsibility if they break."

“Are there any records?” An asked.

Like looking at her. “Yes. Do you want to see it?”

"Yes. If there is no record, it will be difficult to explain later."

“You act like you've managed a very large project.”

An tightened his pen. “I just don't want the group's efforts to turn into arguments.”

Like holding an estimate sheet. "Me too."

Two people read together. In a moment, An realized Nhu was not causing trouble. She really wanted to protect the class, just using her voice to make others feel like they were being tested.

In the afternoon, a piece of paper appeared in the bottom desk drawer: "Your project is going nowhere. The school is about to fix that yard."

After reading Mai, she immediately underlined the word "no". Huy suggested investigating the handwriting. Khang said it might just be a joke. An asked Mr. Hoang, but the teacher only said: "Verify by asking the right person, not by guessing."

The group went to the administrative room. The clerk said the backyard is indeed in the repair plan, but there has not been a final decision yet. An outside unit wants to turn that place into a parking lot during the holidays. If the student project is meaningful, the school will consider keeping it.

“So we don't just do a reading corner,” Khang said on the way home. “We have to prove it's useful.”

Huy raised his hand. “I can prove it by filming myself reading a book without sleeping.”

“You have never done it.”

“This time I will open my eyes.”

An looked at the yard through the trees. On the other side of the wall is her father's new hotel complex, a project that is seeking to expand the parking lot. She vaguely remembered her father talking about "the land next to the school", but never asked in detail. Her heart suddenly beat fast, not from pushing the pallet.

That night, my father called to ask how the first week of school was. An told about the project, about black bean soup, about Huy dropping his phone. She did not mention the land.

“Are you happy?” father asked.

An lay on the narrow bed, looking at the car light that Khang had hung on the backpack buckle.

"Yes. But I think the school is about to encounter something unpleasant."

Father was silent for a beat. “You just learn to see clearly before drawing conclusions.”

When An heard that sentence, he suddenly realized it was different from normal advice. Father's voice was still calm, but something was heavier. She opened the project board, adding a new entry: “Find out your backyard plans — don't cause panic.”

At the bottom of the page, she wrote the names of people to ask. The first line is Master Hoang. The second line is her father.

The next morning, the group split up to ask the classes about the backyard. Huy held the survey but mistakenly read "community space" as "community space for cake production". A 12th grader replied that if he had cake, he would definitely use the yard, causing Huy to add a new entry.

Mai snatched the board. “Do not arbitrarily add data.”

“I am listening to the need.”

An changed the question into three clear options: read, study group, rest. The last part is left blank for other comments. Some people suggested having an outlet, a closed trash can, and a roof. A teacher said the yard should have low trees so as not to block security cameras.

Khang writes down each request without arguing immediately. The group then classifies what is needed, what is possible, and what does not have enough funding. An I like the way you turn scattered sentences into plans without losing the original meaning.

At noon, Huy tried installing a string light that he asked for from the school union. The light is only half bright, the other half flashes on and off according to the rhythm he speaks. Huy stood under the lights, declaring that he was creating contemporary art.

Khang removed the plug, checked the wire and discovered one end was broken. He fixed it with electrical tape, but reminded him not to use it outdoors before an adult checked. Like writing warnings on the board. An added the item "string lights only turn on when someone is in charge".

Quynh Nhu brought a list of potential sponsors for the school. An saw the name of a business that had worked with his father, so he asked if Nhu had contacted him yet. Like I said, because I want to keep the project independent.

“What if they just lend the materials?” An asked.

“It still has to be made public.”

“I agree.”

Like looking at An. “You agreed faster than before.”

“It took me many days to learn.”

In the afternoon, the group invited Mr. Hoang to see the yard floor. The teacher asked them to do a simple calculation: if every day there are a hundred people using the yard, how many garbage collections, how much irrigation water, and how many hours of duty will be needed. Huy lamented that he turned dreams into Excel tables.

“If a dream wants to survive, you must know what tomorrow needs,” the teacher replied.

An divides the work. She and Nhu calculated the calendar, Khang calculated the water, Mai surveyed the trash, Huy asked the cleaning lady. They eventually discovered that maintenance costs could be greater than the initial construction cost. The group abandoned the idea of decorating with many lights and switched to easy-to-change wooden panels.

I'm sad because the corner of the yard will be less sparkling. Khang said: “A beautiful place that no one can fix when it breaks is just a display.”

“I want it to be both beautiful and durable.”

“So we have to choose what we really need.”

An looked at the design board. She kept a wooden arc at the gate, removed the light strings, and added a gutter. The project is smaller, but more realistic.

That night, my father sent me a map of the land. An marks the yard, auto repair shop and service road. She drew three entrance options, calculated the distance and wrote down questions about noise. Dad texted: “You are working like an architect.”

An replied: "I'm a student with homework."

Father: “Your homework is more difficult than many adults.”

An looked back at the drawing. She didn't know if the project would keep the yard, but she knew what to ask. That's the beginning of turning a desire into a proposition that can stand before others.