Chapter 6 — Late Table Lady

An arrived at school at six thirty-eight, two minutes earlier than scheduled and twelve minutes later than Khang. He swept most of the backyard, rebuilt three bricks and hung a small sign saying "During construction, please do not sit on wet paint".

“Do you sleep at the school gate?” An asked.

“No. I have a bicycle.”

“Bicycles run faster than buses?”

“No. I left earlier.”

Khang gave her the broom. "Sweep along the wall today. If you see glass, call me. Don't pick it up with your hands."

An followed. The smell of wet soil, the smell of paint and the sound of brooms dragging on brick floors gradually become familiar sounds. She discovered that simple work has its own rhythm: sweeping from the inside out, gathering leaves into piles, picking up each bottle cap, sorting plastic bottles into bags. No one clapped when she finished, but the yard looked a little cleaner.

When Truc Mai arrived, she brought a small box of plants that she asked for from her grandmother's house. Huy appeared later with a mini speaker and announced: "This morning, radio station 11A4 officially recruited people to tell stories about forgotten chairs."

“We don't have that program,” Khang said.

“Yes now.”

Teacher Hoang looked at the group from the hallway and did not intervene. The teacher just wrote on the board in class: "All changes must start with rules." Thus, a new mission was born. The group had to write their own rules for the Ticket-Free Backyard so that everyone could use it, but no one could turn it into a private room.

An proposed a rule of silence when someone is reading. Mai wants to prohibit bringing food with sauce. Huy wants to allow jokes to be told on Friday. Khang added terms about borrowing and returning books, clearly stating that books cannot be hidden under chairs.

Nhu listened to everything and said: "Don't write too much. The longer the rules, the less people will read them."

An looked at the two-page list. “So how to write clearly enough?”

"Three words: return it after use, report it if it's broken, give it up if you see someone who needs a seat."

Khang nodded. "Okay."

An crossed out all the lengthy explanations. She never thought something so important could require so few words. At home, all father's contracts are dozens of pages long because adults are afraid of being misunderstood. Here, a short sentence must be enough for strangers to trust each other.

At noon, the group tried setting up a bookshelf. One leg of the shelf is lower than the other leg. An took a measuring tape, Khang found a wooden insert, Mai held the shelf, Huy stood far away and commented. When the group let go, the shelf tilted to the left and then fell onto the pile of leaves.

“I suggest calling this an inclined design,” Huy said.

“I suggest calling this the reason you are not in charge of engineering,” Khang replied.

An laughed but then frowned. The shelf collapsed and two old books had torn covers. She picked it up, brushed it off, and felt her face heat up. “I measured wrong.”

Khang squatted next to him. "Not one person. We all left the field."

“But I'm the one recording the measurements.”

"So fix the measurements. Don't fix the feelings first."

An didn't understand that sentence right away. She is used to the fact that when she makes a mistake, she has to find someone responsible and then quickly correct the consequences. Khang did not let her hide in guilt. He took the ruler back, measured the slope of the foundation and pointed out where it needed to be raised.

That afternoon, a sudden rain came. The group ran and herded books into the hallway. The corrugated iron roof in the backyard was punctured, and water fell straight into the location where the shelf was intended to be placed. An stood in the rain, hair stuck to his forehead, looking at a design with red arrows overlapping each other.

“This project cannot be finished,” she said.

Mai hugged the box book. "Don't say it in front of Huy. He will make a sad song."

Huy immediately hummed: "Pallet, don't leave..."

Khang smiled, but his eyes still looked at the corrugated iron roof. "The rain gives us information. The shelf has to be moved to a corner with a roof, and this place is used for a water garden."

“Water garden?” An asked.

"Collect rainwater to water plants. If we put the barrel in the right place, we can reduce costs."

An looked at the sky. An accident that has become part of the design. She and everyone else placed a plastic bucket under the trough, recorded the amount of water and calculated the number of plants that could be watered. When the rain stopped, the yard was full of puddles, but the group had a new idea.

In the evening, An attended a family meeting wearing a shirt with paint stains. Her father looked at the stain, then asked: "Are you going to dress like this to meet the council?"

“I was just working.”

“I see.”

“Meeting about the land behind the school, right?”

Her father put down the file. "There are many options. Nothing has been decided yet."

“But if we build a parking lot, the school will lose its yard.”

"The company needs a parking lot for the project to be profitable. The school needs a yard to have space to operate. Both things are true."

An wanted to refute, but the answer was too obvious. She asked: "Have you asked the students yet?"

Father smiled lightly. “Businesses don't often ask students.”

“So maybe business should start.”

Her mother put her hand on her father's shoulder. “She's working on a project.”

"I know. But the school project cannot decide the land."

“I don't want to decide,” An said. “I want to hear the full reason before someone decides for everyone.”

Her father looked at her for a long time. Finally, he pushed a diagram towards An. There is a service road written on it that runs close to the backyard. "If the school keeps the yard, the company will have to change the entrance. Costs will increase. It's not impossible, but it needs a convincing reason."

An holds the diagram. “Then we will make that reason clear.”

“Don't promise what you don't know.”

"I won't promise. I will do it."

In the room, her father did not say more. An brought the diagram back and placed it next to the project board. She circled the parts that needed to be researched: the number of students using the yard, the activities that took place, and the benefits of turning the yard into an open space. She doesn't want to use her father's name to pressure anyone. She wanted the project to stand on its own legs, just like a shelf would have to stand on its wooden legs.

The next day, the team tested the shelf a second time. Khang puts the insert in the correct position, Mai keeps the balance, An reads the measurements, Huy is not allowed to touch. The shelf stands firmly. They put the first books on the shelves, from comic books to planting guides.

A 10th grade student stopped by and asked if he could take the book home. Khang said: “Okay, just write your name and return it.”

The boy held the storybook and smiled timidly. An looked after. The backyard is not beautiful, the paint is still smudged, the brick floor is still uneven. But for the first time, someone came in who was not a member of the project.

An recorded in the book: "Day 6: The yard started to have guests." Next to it, she added: "Everything doesn't need to be perfect to be worth using."

At noon, Ms. Dung asked the group if they wanted to try a "swap" schedule in the cafeteria. On winter days, students often sit at tables for a long time, while others have to eat standing up. An suggested using a small bell to ring in fifteen minutes, but Huy said the bell would make everyone think the school had a test period.

“Let's use a phrase then,” Mai suggested. “The cafeteria is full, you're done eating Please make room.”

Khang wrote that sentence on the board. Some students laughed, others followed suit. An recognizes that change does not necessarily have to start with a complex system; sometimes it is a reminder spoken in a voice that does not embarrass the listener.

In the afternoon, the group tried making a moisture-proof book borrowing box from a foam box. An measured the cap wrongly, Mai cut it again, and Huy mistakenly applied tape to his hand. Khang gave him scissors and told him to cut in a straight line. Huy makes a beautiful curve.

“Art doesn't follow a ruler,” Huy said.

“A rainproof box is available,” Khang replied.

An laughed until her stomach hurt, then she and Mai added a layer of plastic. They tried pouring a cup of water onto the lid. The water slid to the side, not entering the book. The group clapped as if they had just invented the roof.

A 12th grade student asked An why she was interested in the yard even though she was about to graduate. An replied that she didn't know who would use the backyard this year, but a good place doesn't need to only serve its creator. The student looked at the shelf and said he would leave a set of exam questions when he finished reviewing.

Khang checked the duty book. Two people forgot to water the plants, one student returned the book late, but nothing was lost. An writes down both the error and the correction, then closes the book. The small report card gradually became something the group trusted more than memory.

On the way home, An sent his father a photo of the moisture-proof box. Father replied that the hotel also had similar boxes for the technical area, but she had a simpler design. An didn't know if it was a compliment or a comment, but she saved the photo to the project folder.

Before closing the gate, Khang checked each book one last time. He discovered a storybook with a piece of paper with a phone number stuck in it, so he immediately gave it to Mr. Hoang to handle privately. An asked why he didn't throw it away. Khang said that a piece of paper could be something someone else was looking for.

An added in the notebook: "Protecting a place is not only about preserving objects, but also preserving the privacy of users." She began to see that the reports were not as dry as before; It's like the way the group tells the next person what the yard has been taken care of.