Chapter 6 — Second Floor Library Girl

The page was torn from the loan book, causing the group to spend nearly an afternoon just to agree that they should not become detectives too early.

“I can ask each person,” Bao said.

Minh Chau closed the pen cap. “You have no right to interrogate students.”

“I can ask in a friendly voice.”

“If you ask anyone, it's like selling an extra package of cakes.”

Phuc put the notebook on the table. “First check the remaining pages, then ask Ms. Hanh if there is a copy.”

Ngoc nodded. Ms. Hanh said the page was torn a long time ago, but she doesn't know why. In the nearby lines are the names of students who have borrowed a number of books about family, money and careers. There's nothing so secret that it has to be torn up, unless the person tearing it doesn't want anyone to know they've read it.

Thanh Lam looked at the paper stain. “The equipment may get wet and tear.”

“The tear was straight,” Phuc said. “Some people use rulers.”

“You see?” Ngoc asked.

“At the car repair shop, naturally torn paper does not have edges like that.”

Bao touched his finger to the next page. “Or the person tearing is very responsible.”

Ngoc wanted to say don't joke, but Bao stopped laughing. It seems he also understands that this makes Ms. Hanh uncomfortable.

The group checks the book warehouse according to the remaining names. A book about the city's history lost its cover, a novel was signed by the donor, and a collection of short stories was no longer on the shelf. Phuc found the storybook in the drawer under the librarian's desk, between two boxes of chalk.

“Did someone misplace it?” Lam asked.

“Maybe,” Ngoc said.

“So why is there an ink mark on the edge?” Phuc pointed to a green line.

Bao bent down. “Fish-shaped mark.”

“Who drew fish on the book?”

“A person with an artistic soul.”

Phuc looked at Bao. “You just drew a fish on the book label yesterday.”

“My fish has different fins.”

Ngoc took out her phone to take a photo of the book's condition, then stopped when she remembered the rules. She asked Ms. Hanh first. The teacher agreed, but told her not to post photos to the group.

Friday afternoon, the school board inspected the reading room. The fan was spinning, although the sound was still a bit scary. Reinforced shelves, clean curtains, tables and chairs arranged according to zones. The rules board has six clear lines. The vice principal asked why the group didn't use sponsorship money from the Ngoc family's publishing house.

Ngoc replied: "Because this is a school project. If funding is needed, the school can make it public and let everyone give suggestions. Currently, the supplies are all from a small budget, old items and students' efforts."

The vice principal looked at her a little longer. “I could ask for more.”

"Maybe. But asking doesn't mean you should ask right away."

Phuc was checking the door lock, when he heard that sentence he stopped. Ngoc didn't look at him, but knew he heard.

The test ended with the reading room being opened for a two-week trial. The group can organize a book exchange next Wednesday. Bao was so happy that he announced he would make a poster with gouache, then discovered he didn't know where the gouache was.

“I can draw on the computer,” Lam said.

“The computers in the information room are nervous,” Phuc reminded.

Ngoc suggests using recycled paper from old exercises. She and Lam cut the cover, Bao wrote the words, Phuc edited the paper clips. The posters are not perfect but have bright colors. A drawing of Bao's bread is next to the book.

“Bread is not a book,” Lam said.

“But readers need to eat.”

“You're advertising your stall.”

“I call it community collaboration.”

Ngoc posted posters in the hallway. A group of 10th graders asked if they could bring books comics don't. Lam said it's okay, as long as it's not torn and doesn't have inappropriate content. Bao asked if he could exchange books for cakes. Phuc said no. Bao said you two are destroying commercial culture.

In the evening, Ms. Hanh called Ngoc to the teacher's room. She gave her an old photocopy of the loan book. The copy only has the first pages, but the torn page in the original is still here. Ngoc read the names of those who borrowed eight years ago. A name repeated many times: Nguyen Duc Thanh.

Ngoc was motionless.

“Your father studied in An Hoa?” Ms. Hanh asked.

"Yes."

"I remember he once donated books to the library. Back then, the reading room on the second floor was still very crowded."

Ngoc looked at the date. Her father had studied in this room, before there were publishers, before others called him by his title. She didn't know that.

“Did your father borrow any books?”

Ngoc turned over the photocopy. His name appears next to a book on the history of journalism and a family novel. The payment date column is blank on both lines.

“Dad also returned the book late?” Ngoc asked.

Ms. Hanh smiled. "Every student has paid late. It's just that some people later become so busy that they forget."

Ngoc brought the photocopy home but did not tell her father immediately. She wanted to ask calmly, not wanting to turn the story into an interrogation.

On book exchange day, the reading room was more crowded than expected. Students brought comics, reference books, novels, cookbooks and even a fish care guide. Bao created a classification table, then mistakenly placed detective stories in the "family" section.

“The character has a family,” he explained.

Lam moved back. “That's not true.”

Phuc looks after the registration desk, Ngoc guides the reading area. A 10th grade classmate brought a cardboard box containing books belonging to his older brother who had gone to work. He wanted to exchange it for exam preparation books.

“Can I change everything?” he asked.

“Yes, but we will look at each book,” Ngoc replied.

Phuc helped him choose. A book's spine was torn and he said he could re-glue it. Ngoc wrote down the name of the giver and asked if he wanted to give his name. He shook his head.

“Then write 'one brother',” Bao suggested.

Ngoc remembers the anonymous chair from another story? No, she forced herself to stop thinking. She wrote "donor not named" according to regulations.

At the end of the day, the number of books exchanged was more than the number of groups could count. Some children sit and read right on the floor because there are not enough chairs. The fan rotated slowly, the chatter grew louder, but no one complained.

Phuc gave Ngoc a glass of water. “You haven't had anything to drink since noon.”

“You noticed?”

“If the person in charge of the reading area falls down, who will line up?”

“You can call Bao.”

“I said I would sell tickets.”

Ngoc drinks water. She asked him if he had eaten yet. Phuc said there was half a loaf. Ngoc took the cake her mother wrapped and gave it to him.

“I have two.”

“I don't accept free things.”

"This is an exchange. You keep order, I keep the cake."

Blessed to receive. “You learned how to trade.”

“I learned from a difficult salesman.”

In the evening, when everyone left, Ngoc checked the book. A new page was written at the end, not her or Phuc's words. Small text: "There are people who have borrowed books to know they are not the only ones."

Ngoc gave it to Phuc.

“You write?”

"Are not."

"Tell?"

“The word Bao is bigger.”

They looked at each other. Ms. Hanh said it could be a message from a student. Ngoc wants to keep it but is afraid of turning it into an exhibit. Phuc suggested taking a photo and putting the notebook in the closet and don't ask anyone.

“Don't you want to know the writer?”

"Wanted. But they chose not to sign."

Ngoc nodded. She sees the principle of privacy as not only being used when taking photos. It is also used when a person leaves something behind without wanting to be named.

Before locking the door, Phuc checked the lock. He touched the edge of the lock and saw a new scratch.

“Someone broke open the door?” Ngoc asked.

"Not sure yet. But I have to tell Ms. Hanh tomorrow."

Ngoc recorded the incident in the incident book. She didn't panic, but there was a small ripple in her heart. The second floor has just become a place many people want to enter. Not everyone who walks through the door comes to read.

The next morning, Ms. Hanh asked the group to check the key again. One key is defective, but no one knows who did it. Phuc recommends using a key receipt book and only delivering it to the person named in the calendar. Bao asked if writing too much would make people feel suspicious.

“The process is not an accusation,” Ngoc said. “It helps me know who to turn to if there is a problem.”

Lam added a line: "Do not keep keys overnight unless assigned."

Phuc looked at Ngoc. “See that little ripple?”

"See."

“Don't let it become a bigger fear than everyone else.”

Ngoc nodded. They are open as usual, but put a suggestion box next to the librarian's desk. A 12th grader wrote that he felt the new lock made his room safer, but wanted a way to report problems anonymously. The group created the paper form without their names.

At the end of the day, Phuc found a scratch that had been there before, only clearly visible because of the change in light. Ms. Hanh confirmed that the old latch was hit when moving the cabinet. Ngoc crossed off the suspect list, but kept a note to let everyone know the conclusion had changed.

“Didn't you delete the old version?” Bao asked.

"No. Delete will act as if I never suspected."

Phuc said: "Even recording how you are wrong is also a form of honesty."

Ngoc felt that sentence could make the room less scary than any new lock.

After editing the key receipt book, the team held a short orientation session for new operators. Phuc reenacted the situation of losing the key, Lam showed how to record the time, Minh Chau checked the list and Bao played the role of the person who forgot to return it. Bao played his role so realistically that Ms. Hanh had to remind him to give him the key.

Ngoc explained that recording incidents is not about finding people who will be fined immediately. It helps the team see if there are system errors or not. If keys are often held overnight, the duty schedule may be too late; If a lot of books are missing in one area, the instructions may not be clear.

A 10th grader asked if he could see the incident book. Ngoc said the compilation is public, but private names are protected. She asked what if the problem was caused by me. Response: "If you report it early, others can help fix it before it gets big."

Bao raised his hand: "What if I spill the cake on the register?"

“Newspaper,” Ms. Hanh said.

“What if the book is sticky?”

"Newspaper."

“If the cake is delicious?”

“Still reported.”

Ngoc includes that example in the instructions. She knows good procedure sometimes requires a silly question for people to remember it.

At the end of the week, the locks are changed. Ngoc holds the secondary key, Phuc holds the technical key, and Ms. Hanh holds the main key. Three people signed the minutes. No one holds everything, and that makes Ngoc feel more secure than having someone absolutely trustworthy.