Chapter 5 — Second Floor Library Girl

Rumors at An Hoa school do not run on foot, but can arrive at least two classes before the rumored person.

Wednesday morning, Bao placed a piece of paper on Ngoc's desk. On the paper was a drawing of a crown, underneath it was written: “Second floor girl — possibly the lost princess.”

Ngoc looked at Bao.

“You draw?”

“I only accept deliveries.”

“Who sent it?”

“The source cannot reveal.”

“You just carried the paper around the classroom.”

“I am an unreliable source.”

Minh Chau took the paper and folded it. “Say, if you're free, go check the library registration board.”

“I'm doing social work.”

“You are making other people uncomfortable.”

“Two things can be the same.”

Ngoc didn't feel too concerned about the rumors until a 10th grader asked her if she was famous. She said no. She asked if she had a multi-story house. Ngoc replied that her house had two floors, but did not know what the question meant.

At break time, Thanh Lam looked for her in the hallway. Lam did not give the paper, just asked directly:

“Are you Nguyen Duc Thanh's child?”

Ngoc did not answer immediately.

Lam continued: "I'm not asking to embarrass you. It's just that yesterday I saw you using a pen similar to the one An Nhien gave away at the book fair."

“A pen that has many users.”

"Correct."

“So why do you ask?”

"Because you avoid answering questions related to money. Normal people do the same, but you do it like you've been rehearsed."

Ngoc looked at the school yard. Other students were lining up to buy water, laughing and chatting, jostling together under the canopy. She didn't want to make Lam the person who had to keep the secret for her. But she wasn't ready to let the whole class know.

“I am related to An Nhien's family,” Ngoc said. “But I moved here so I wouldn't be treated like that.”

Lam was silent. “Are you really family?”

"YES."

“Are you going to buy the whole school?”

Ngoc laughed. "Are not."

"Good. Because the reading room is being repaired with Bao's money from selling rice paper."

“I know.”

Lam looked at her, his suspicion still gone but softer. "I didn't tell anyone. But if you hide it, the rumors will write the rest themselves."

“I don't know what to say.”

"Tell the truth, if you don't want to say it, say you don't want to."

Ngoc remembers the conditions her father set. Don't lie if asked directly. She didn't lie, but she wasn't completely honest either.

In the afternoon, the group continued to repair the reading room. The fan has just been installed, but rotates slowly as if thinking. Phuc holds the ladder, Bao holds the tool box, Lam checks the electrical wires according to the worker's instructions. Ngoc posted the rules board. A group of students passing by saw the line "Don't take photos of others without asking", so they stopped and read it.

“Can I take pictures of the board?” a friend asked.

“Okay,” Ngoc said. “But don't take a picture of the person standing in front of the board.”

Bao raised his hand. “What if my face falls in?”

“You are responsible.”

“My face has the right to appear.”

“The right to appear is not greater than the right of others not to be photographed.”

Phuc turned to look at Ngoc. “This line was written by you?”

"YES."

"Good."

“Just two words of praise?”

“I'm saving my profits to use when selling cakes.”

That evening, an anonymous account posted to the block's chat group: "I heard that there was a young lady from the publishing house who went to school pretending to be poor and even stole the library job to get pictures." The post did not have Ngoc's name, but included a photo of her cleaning shelves. The corner of the photo shows a canvas bag and shoes.

Bao sent photos Take screenshots for the group. Messages come continuously. Some people defend it, some say if you're rich you should sponsor it, some ask why you have to pretend to be poor.

Ngoc read each line, feeling her chest heat up. She wanted to call her father, wanted to ask An Nhien's media department to handle it, wanted to ask the school to delete the post. But Phuc sent a message first:

“Don't answer when you're angry.”

Ngoc typed: “What do you think you should do?”

Phuc: "Ask Ms. Hanh. The post uses photos from the library, we need to see who took them and if they violate the rules."

Ngoc: "What about me being a member of An Nhien's family?"

Phuc was silent for a long time then sent: "Do you want to talk?"

Ngoc looked at the question. He did not ask if she was right, nor did he ask how much money her father had. He asked her what she wanted to do.

“I want to tell the group first,” she replied.

“So tell me.”

“What if everyone turns away?”

"I do not know."

“Can you comfort me a little?”

“You won't die from a conversation.”

Ngoc looked at the screen, both annoyed and amused. “Your way of comforting is very bad.”

“But realistically.”

“I need both.”

“Then I will buy you cake tomorrow.”

"Free of charge?"

"Discount."

“You are such a salesman.”

The next morning, Ms. Hanh called Ngoc, Phuc, Lam and Minh Chau to the teacher's room. She saw the post. The photo was taken from the end of the hallway, it's unclear who took it. Ms. Hanh will ask the group administrator to delete it because she posted photos of students without permission, but rumors cannot be deleted with the click of a button.

“How do you want to handle it?” she asked.

Minh Chau said it should be announced in class. Lam agreed but asked Ngoc to speak in her own way. Phuc did not comment, just looked at her.

In the afternoon, before going to the second floor, Ngoc stood in front of class 11A3. Bao was holding a pen. When he saw her, he immediately sat up straight. Ms. Hanh gives you a few minutes.

“I heard a rumor about myself,” Ngoc said. "I'm from An Nhien's family. That's true. I transferred to this school because I want to learn how to live and work on my own. I don't want people to see me as someone who can solve everything with money. I don't hide it because I want to trick anyone. I just don't know when to say it."

The whole class was silent.

"I will still be on duty at the library. If people think I'm using it to make pictures, I can withdraw. But if I withdraw, the room still needs someone to clean, so I want everyone to give their feedback with specific things, not just by text message."

Bao raised his hand first.

“If you are a young lady, can you sponsor rice paper?”

Minh Chau hit his arm. “Is this a serious question?”

“I'm reducing stress.”

Another friend asked: "Do you really want to do it? Or will your parents force you to?"

Ngoc replied: "Originally it was an agreement with my father. But staying at the library is my choice."

Thanh Lam asked: "Are you planning to use An Nhien's name to ask for money for the reading room?"

"No, unless the school decides to make it public and allows it. All expenses must be clearly stated."

Phuc asked the last question: "What if some people still don't believe?"

Ngoc looked at him. "I won't force them to believe. I'll just do my part, then let time answer."

Bao nodded. "Sounds like a long shot. I like plans that don't make me run."

The whole class laughed lightly. The air is less tense. Ms. Hanh thanked Ngoc, then reminded everyone not to share other people's photos or personal information.

After class, Phuc waited for her on the stairs. He gave her a small loaf of bread.

“Discount,” he said.

“How much reduction?”

“A smile.”

“You take the license fee smile?”

“Not enough to live on, but enough for today.”

Ngoc received the cake. “When did you know about it?”

“Since Lam asked. I heard it.”

“Why don't you ask me?”

“Because you don't want to talk yet.”

“Aren't you curious?”

"Have. But curiosity is not a license.”

Ngoc looked at him for a long time. Phuc turned around and pointed to the stairs.

“Let's go up. The fan on the second floor today sounds like a tractor.”

“Do you always change the subject when you say nice things?”

"I do not know."

“You should study.”

“I'll ask someone with experience.”

Ngoc followed him. The rumors have not disappeared, but have changed shape. It is no longer a story someone else wrote alone. The second floor still has dust, the fan still makes noise, and sometimes she still wants to use money to fix things quickly. But now, she has a group of people who will ask her what she's doing before guessing for themselves.

That night, Ngoc called her father. She said she told the truth to the class. Dad wasn't angry, he just asked her if she wanted him to call the principal to protect her. Ngoc said there was no need. She wants the school to handle the post according to regulations, without turning the conversation into an adult fight.

“You're learning to stand on your own,” Dad said.

“I'm learning not to stand alone.”

Father was silent, then said that was what he heard. Ngoc turned off the phone, opened the library book and wrote a new line: "The right to know does not mean the right to ask everything."

The next morning, Phuc read that line without joking. He placed a leaf-shaped paperclip on the table.

“What gift is this?” Ngoc asked.

“Paper clip.”

“I know.”

“To hold the pages you don't want to fall.”

Ngoc held the clip and saw that it was cheap but clean. She didn't ask where he bought it. She just stuck it in the notebook, right on the page with things they didn't know.

The next day, the rumor was no longer mentioned publicly, but Ngoc knew it was still in the eyes that stayed longer than usual. A classmate asked her if she could get her father's autograph. Ngoc said she did not ask. She asked if it was because dad was too busy. Ngoc replied because she did not want to turn the classroom into a place to solve personal problems.

Minh Chau heard her and pulled her out into the hallway. “You don't need to answer everything.”

“I know.”

“You're trying to make people understand too quickly.”

Ngoc looked at the bulletin board, where someone had written the word "rich" on the reading room poster. She took it down, didn't tear it. She posted a new sheet next to it, clearly stating the source of the supplies and the group's name.

“I can't control what they think,” she said. “But I can leave the information standing there.”

Phuc came and gave her a paperclip. “Don't hold it all with your hands.”

Ngoc clipped the poster to the board. The scribbled text remained on the old sheet, but now it sat next to a brightly lit data panel. She did not erase the mark of discomfort; she puts it in a broader picture.

At night, Ngoc opened the reading room door alone for ten minutes and then locked it. She didn't do anything major, just turned on the fan, checked the lock, and stacked three misaligned books. When she went down, she texted Phuc: "There's nothing new today."

Phuc replied: "So that's a good thing."