Chapter 11 — Second Floor Library Girl

A falsely posted photo can turn a warm room cold in just a few hours.

A photo of a group of students reading books in a room on the second floor was posted on the school's news website with the caption: "New library invested in by An Nhien's family." In the photo, Ngoc is standing next to the budget board, Phuc is fixing the shelf, and Bao is holding a box of rice paper. No one asked their permission.

Minh Chau discovered it when a lower classmate sent a link. She took a screenshot and sent it to the group. Bao read the caption and said:

“I don't want my cake box to become the property of the publisher.”

Lam is more upset. "The article is wrong. The budget belongs to the school."

Phuc just asked: "Who posted?"

Ngoc recognized the admin account name belonging to the media club. She once saw her friend in charge standing and taking photos on exam day. He may have just heard the information from somewhere, not intentionally causing trouble. But the truth doesn't correct itself just because the person posted it unintentionally.

“I will contact,” Ngoc said.

Phuc looked at her. “Let's get in touch.”

Ngoc sent a polite message, asking to temporarily remove the photo and correct the funding source. The answer came ten minutes later: “The article is only to promote the activity, there is no bad intention.”

“No ill will cannot erase false information,” Lam said.

Bao typed a long sentence, Minh Chau held his hand.

“Don't comment when you're angry.”

“I'm very cultured.”

“Your culture is full of exclamation points.”

Ngoc called Ms. Hanh. The teacher suggested meeting with the media club and reviewing the photo request process. Before the meeting, Phuc asked Ngoc if she wanted her father to know.

"Not yet."

“What if the article spreads?”

"I'll report to the school. No need to call dad right away."

“You don't have to protect dad from everything.”

"I'm not protecting my father. I'm trying not to turn a small matter into a big fight."

Phuc nodded, not arguing.

The meeting took place in the media room. The person in charge, Hai Dang, apologized immediately after seeing the cost sheet. He said the principal mentioned An Nhien in the meeting about the building, so he thought Ngoc's family supported the library.

“You can ask the group before posting,” Ngoc said.

"I know. I'm in a hurry because I have to make an assignment for the day."

Phuc asked: "If the photo shows students, where is the permission process?"

Hai Dang provided the application form, but admitted that the club did not use it because it was an internal article.

Lam said: “Internal doesn't mean everyone can use the image.”

No one screamed. They made a record: removed the post, reposted the correct information, asked permission from the people in the photo, and added a caption to the data source. Hai Dang asked if he could keep the photo if everyone agreed. Ngoc asked each person. Bao agreed on the condition that the cake box was not called sponsorship. Phuc agreed but requested that everyone participate voluntarily. Ngoc agreed.

The correction was posted in the afternoon. It has fewer views than the old post, but it's clear. Ngoc felt a little lighter, although still tired.

At night, father called. He heard the story through An Nhien's media department. He asked who was behind the article and did he need a lawyer.

“No need,” Ngoc said. “The school has corrected it.”

“Are you sure?”

"Yes. I want to handle it at the school level."

Father was silent. "Some people use your family name to talk about you. You don't have to suffer alone."

"I know. But if I call dad for everything, I won't know how to speak for myself."

Father was not happy but did not object. He only advised that if the post continues to be used to cause harm, please report it immediately.

The next day, some Students still tease Ngoc as a "sponsor". Bao immediately called her "color powder sponsor", because she bought more colors for the poster board with approved class funds. Ngoc didn't know whether to thank or scold him.

Phuc said: "Don't let Bao's joke take the place of an explanation."

Ngoc nodded. She stood in front of the reading room, telling the group of new students that all items came from the school budget, donations or activity funds. If they want to contribute, they must clearly state it and not force the recipient to owe any gratitude.

A friend asked if Ngoc's family could sponsor him later. Ngoc replied that it was possible, but it would have to go through a public process and not in exchange for the right to decide the library's content.

“So what if they want to name the room after the company?”

“I'll ask everyone if they agree.”

Phuc stood behind and listened, whispering: "You have prepared your answer."

“I've been asked a lot.”

“I'm sorry for ever asking like that.”

Ngoc returned. “You asked at the right time.”

Phuc smiled. “I'm making progress.”

In the afternoon, the group read the messages students left after the exam day. One wrote: "On the second floor, I don't need to speak loudly to be heard." Another comment: "My first time borrowing a book without fear of being asked why I chose this book." Ngoc asked Ms. Hanh for permission to keep them in the message board.

Bao suggested making a compliment book for the group. Lam said no need. Phuc said if there is a book, there must be an error book. Bao said he would write on the first page: "I once spilled water on three registration forms."

Ngoc looked at Bao. “Did you really spill it?”

“I'm taking responsibility before I'm discovered.”

“That's a good thing.”

“So am I exempted from duty?”

"Are not."

At the end of the day, Ngoc removed the old photo from the board. She did not delete it from her phone, but gave the file a clear name, date and who agreed to use it. Phuc asked why it had to be so careful.

“Because a photo can make people think they know the whole story.”

“Are you afraid that others will misunderstand you?”

“I'm afraid I also misunderstand others.”

Phuc said nothing. He hung up a new sign, which read: "Ask before telling."

Ngoc looked at the text and saw that it was not just for the media. It's for rumors, hasty conclusions, and things she still hasn't had the courage to tell Phuc.

That evening, Ms. Hanh called Ngoc to stay after duty. She opened the locked wooden cabinet, took out a stack of old loan slips and a blue-covered notebook with frayed edges. “I didn't give it to you so you could tell the story for me,” she said. “I gave it to you so you can understand why people miss this room.”

In the notebook are the handwriting of many generations. Some people wrote that they needed exam preparation books, and some people asked to sit for ten more minutes because it was too noisy at home. One person wrote that the second floor was the only place where she could read without anyone asking when she would find a job. The sentences are short, sometimes misspelled, but none are empty.

Ngoc asked if she could take a picture. Ms. Hanh nodded, on the condition that her name be hidden and that the original not be taken out of the closet. Ngoc used her phone to take a photo of each page, number it, and then clearly write down the person who checked it. Phuc stood next to the door, not intruding. He only reminded her when she put things in the wrong order.

Minh Chau suggested creating a permission form for old documents. Bao said the form sounded too serious, but still sat down to design one that was simple enough: what documents, what purpose, who is responsible, deadline for payment. Hoang Duy printed three test copies. The group discovered a spelling error in the first line and burst out laughing.

Ngoc accepted Turns out the job of keeping a room isn't just about repainting the walls. It's about learning to respect those who have left their mark. She edited the “evidence material” section in the plan, adding a note that all personal stories needed to be approved before publication. When she sent an update to her father, she did not include a photo with the writer's name. She only sent numbers and one sentence: "There are values that cannot be measured by usage, but still must be protected by process."

Father replied after nearly an hour: "This sentence is more like you than the previous reports."

Ngoc looked at the screen, not knowing if it was a compliment or a reminder. She put away her phone, locked the locker and wrote in the duty book: "Check access again tomorrow." The second floor was quiet, but for the first time the quiet didn't feel like a forgotten room.

The next morning, the group received an email from the media club asking to use the reading room photo in the school newsletter. They wanted to take pictures of the bookshelf, the rule board, and a few students reading. Ngoc replied that photos without people's faces can be used immediately, while photos with people must ask permission from each person or use an unrecognizable angle.

Hai Dang, in charge of the newsletter, asked if I needed permission to cover my face with a symbol. Phuc said it's still necessary, because the person in the photo can recognize their standing posture, uniform or briefcase. Ngoc suggested using photos of hands, book spines and silhouettes of people on the window background. Hai Dang tried taking photos, then realized that a blank wall sometimes tells more than one line of people.

A student asked to take a photo on the message board to send to her sister. Ms. Hanh asked the person who wrote the notes if they agreed. Ngoc suggested only taking photos of the board without personal stories, while private messages will be transcribed after asking for permission. The student agreed, but asked if that was too cumbersome.

“It's better to be a little cumbersome than to make others have to explain why their sentence appears in a place they didn't choose,” Ngoc said.

At noon, Ms. Hanh showed the group instructions for preserving photos and documents. There is a retention period, who can access it and how to request deletion. Bao asked why there had to be a way to delete the photo after it was taken. Ngoc replied because consent is not signed once and then the rights are lost forever.

Phuc added a line about photos taken by students during activities outside the library. The group agreed not to confiscate phones, just remind them of the rules and provide a reporting channel if anyone is photographed against their will. Ms. Hanh said that's how the rules become a support, not just a list of prohibitions.

At the end of the day, Hai Dang sent a test newsletter. There were no faces, but there were lights on the table, new shelf labels, and a cake outside the door. Ngoc read and saw that the reading room appeared calmer than any crowded photo.