Chapter 17 — Second Floor Library Girl

The message on the last page of the old notebook appeared one more sentence on Monday morning.

“If one day this room is closed, remember the name of the person who opened it.”

Ngoc read it again and again. The handwriting is still not the same as anyone in the group. Ms. Hanh said she did not know the writer, but this time she did not stop the group from finding out. She just told her not to ask former students in a way that would make them feel like they were being watched.

Phuc suggested making a list of people who might have used the library eight years ago. Ms. Hanh looked in the alumni records, there were more than two hundred names.

“We can't ask everything,” Lam said.

“Ask someone who used to manage the reading room,” Minh Chau suggested.

Bao wrote on the board: "Former librarian, person who donated books, person who returned books late." Phuc deleted the last line, then rewrote it smaller.

Ngoc discovered that her father had been listed as a library assistant during his senior year. She asked him if he remembered the message. Dad said no, but he remembered the old librarian named Ms. Mai.

“Is Ms. Mai still in touch?”

"Maybe in the northern town. I'll look for it."

Ngoc didn't want her father to use the company's network to find her, but he said Ms. Mai was once a colleague of a family friend, not a private file. She agreed.

While waiting, the group interviewed Ms. Hanh. She said that in the past, the library was open at noon, and students lined up to borrow books. On the second floor there is a long table where anyone can sit. When the school was short of staff, Ms. Mai asked students to write notes to remind each other to keep their rooms.

“The torn page could be related to an argument,” Ms. Hanh said. “Miss Mai was once asked to remove the names of some students because they owed books.”

Phuc asked: "Did she do it?"

“She deleted her public listing, but kept her private ledger.”

Ngoc understands the message about not needing to prove you belong may have started with a librarian who tried to protect students from being called names.

The next day, the group received an email from Ms. Mai. Father Ngoc found the address through an acquaintance. Ms. Mai agreed to tell the story by phone call, but did not want to name the former student.

The call opened on loudspeaker in the reading room. Ms. Mai spoke in a slow, warm voice. She remembers a group of students who didn't have money to buy reference books, so they borrowed books and returned them late. A teacher wanted to post a list of names on the board as a "deterrent". Ms. Mai objected. Then, a page of the notebook was torn because the names of those children were there.

“Did you tear it?” Phuc asked.

"No. You keep the copy. The old page should not become a whip."

Ngoc asked if the message was from her. Miss Mai smiled.

"I have written many sentences before. But this sentence is not certain."

“Do you remember who wrote it?”

"A little girl often sits next to the window. She doesn't read quickly, but always asks other friends if they want to borrow it."

Lam looked at Ngoc. Ngoc shook her head, it wasn't me.

“It could be anyone,” Ms. Mai said. “Libraries hold more voices than one librarian.”

After the call, Ms. Hanh said that the book page was torn not to hide bad behavior, but to avoid turning difficulties into an embarrassing list. The group decided to restore the book by keeping the necessary data, removing the information that would make the borrower identifiable.

Ngoc suggests adding an "unnamed message" at the end, but does not allow writing about other people without asking.

Phuc said: “You are building a library with rules for silence.”

“Silence can also make someone disappear.”

In the afternoon, a 10th grade student returned the book and asked if he could write lyrics Message the borrower later. Ngoc gave me the paper. She wrote: "Don't be afraid that this book is difficult. Slow reading is also reading."

Bao read and said that sentence like Phuc's words. Phuc replied that he couldn't say it that well.

“Then you should borrow more books,” Lam said.

Bao suggested adding a slow reading corner. Ms. Hanh allows two chairs to be placed near the window, with an hourglass for readers to time themselves but without pressure.

Ngoc bought an hourglass with approved funds. She didn't call her father even though he could have sent the goods faster. She wanted to try ordering from the store in the neighborhood. The store owner reduced the price because he heard about the library, but Ngoc still recorded the discount in the book.

Phuc read the expense list. “You include the reduced amount.”

“Because that is also a contribution.”

“Does the seller want to give his name?”

Ngoc asked again. The store owner said no need. The group wrote "a store near the school".

At night, Ngoc dreamed that the second floor had ceiling-high shelves. She kept walking and could not find the door. When she woke up, she saw a message from Phuc: "Grandma asked if you could come wrap cakes this weekend. Not because there's a shortage of people, because she wants to know if you're making progress in paper folding."

Ngoc replied: "I will come. But you must let me use a hair tie."

Phuc: “You have the whole box.”

Ngoc: “Then I will choose the beautiful one.”

Phuc: “That is your first privilege.”

Ngoc smiled. She placed the phone next to the old notebook. A page is gone, but new sentences are filling the void by pretending it never existed.

Friday afternoon, Ms. Mai, a literature teacher, asked to meet the group. She wants to use some old book borrowing tickets for a writing class about school memories. Ngoc asked if she would show the original text or just let the students read the version with the names hidden. Ms. Mai honestly said that at first she intended to show the original text because she thought the writer's name was not important.

Phuc put the pen on the table. “For writers it can be important,” he said. “If you don't know if they agree, don't guess.”

Ms. Mai was silent for a moment then apologized. She suggests having students read passages with hidden information, then write their own memories. Ngoc created a form to use for class, clearly stating not to take pictures and not to post them online. Ms. Hanh signed for approval, and Ngoc sent the template to the class before the class.

During the class, a student asked if the story would still be true if he didn't know his name. Ms. Mai responds to the truth of an experience that does not need to be tied to identity to have value. Bao, sitting at the back of the class, raised his hand to ask why An Nhien's reports always needed the speaker's name. Ngoc felt the question touched her more than she wanted.

After class, she called her father. She talked about the permission slip and asked if the company could change the way it cites customer feedback. Father did not answer immediately. He said the old process was built to avoid fraud, but sometimes a row of names also made people afraid to tell the truth. Ngoc suggests trying two anonymous and optionally named samples.

“You're bringing school work into the company,” dad said.

“Because the company is bringing its plans to the school,” Ngoc replied, then found herself a bit tense. Father is not angry. He just told her to send the test version.

In the evening, Phuc asked if the call was okay. Ngoc said he didn't know. He didn't advise her what to do. He just asked her if she wanted to continue. Ngoc finished talking, then realized that being listened to was also a kind of safe space. She saved the new form in the public folder, set editing rights to Ms. Hanh and Ms. Mai, and only everyone else be viewed.

A former student sent an email asking the group if they had found their name in the old notebook. She doesn't want to know who borrowed the book, she just wants to know if the book is still in the library. Ms. Hanh found it, the cover had been changed but the first page still had a donation line.

Ngoc asked if she wanted to write a message. She replied: "I don't remember the content, I just remember at that time I needed a place where no one would ask why I read." The group placed a message next to the hourglass, without names.

Phuc said memories sometimes do not lie in the book but in the quiet while reading. Ngoc replied that perhaps that's why people still return to the old rooms even though there are many new places.

At the end of the day, Ms. Hanh gave Ngoc the key to the historical cabinet. Ngoc asked why her. Ms. Hanh said because Ngoc has learned to ask before touching other people's stories.

Ngoc held the key, not seeing that she was given ownership. She was just given one thing to do more carefully.

At the end of the week, Ngoc met Ms. Mai via phone call again. She asked if Ms. Mai could write one thing for the students today, what would it be? Ms. Mai thought for a long time, then said: "Don't turn kindness into a ticket for others to enter your life without asking."

Ngoc wrote it down but did not immediately put it in the message board. She asked Ms. Mai if she wanted to make it public. Ms. Mai said let the group decide how to place it, as long as her name is not attached.

Phuc read that sentence and said it was close to the rules about photos. Ngoc replied because the right to privacy does not only belong to the person being photographed; it belongs to the one who is told, the one who is helped, and the one who leaves a trace.

The group placed the message on a separate page, labeled “boundary reminder.” Bao wanted to add the sentence "If you don't take the cake, don't ask", but it was rejected.

A 12th grader asked Ngoc if he could borrow a photocopy of an old notebook to research school history. Ngoc said she would only use the part approved by Ms. Hanh and hide the individual's name. She agreed.

Ngoc realized that protecting a page is not about keeping it in a cupboard, but about deciding who gets to read it, where to read it, and what to read it for. The second floor taught her that more slowly than any skill class.