Chapter 1 — Tailor Shop at the End of Third Alley

Chau thought the new school would start with a test at the beginning of the year, not a pair of scissors. She prepared three pens, two erasers and a short introduction polite enough that no one would ask more. She wasn't prepared for the whole schoolyard to look at her as if she had just cut an honorable part of the ceremonial team in half.

In the supervision room, the vice principal did not scold. She only asked Chau to write the report by hand. Chau wrote half a page when she realized she didn't know what to call that action: mischief, helping, or a form of interference with something that didn't belong to her. She crossed it out three times and then wrote: “I saw a loose thread and thought I could fix it right away.”

The supervisor read it and asked why she didn't notify the person in charge. Chau said at that time she thought that telling an adult would be a bother. He said many problems start from people thinking they are saving time.

Ms. Thao stood by the door, listening to everything. She didn't laugh about the scissors, but she also didn't make Chau feel like a criminal. She just took a piece of fabric, put it on the table and asked Chau if she knew how to distinguish the correct cut from the convenient cut. Chau touched the edge of the fabric. My cut is oblique, the fabric is pulled, and the ribbon on the table has a straight edge already woven.

“I cut according to my eyes,” Chau said.

"People who work in the profession must cut according to the grain. The eye can be deceived by the wind, the sound of loudspeakers, and confidence."

After school, Chau walked around block B to find class 11C. She didn't ask for directions, for fear of being recognized as a newcomer. The stairs at the end of the row lead down to a small door. Behind the door is the alley, the smell of motor oil, the smell of new fabric and the sound of bicycles. Chau saw a broken road sign with the arrow facing the wall.

In class, Ngoc introduced the rules in a monotone voice like reading a station announcement. Khoa asked Chau if he knew how to sew shirts. She said she knew how to unbutton buttons, and Khoa said that was enough to be a technical director. Chau asked him if he knew how to keep his mouth shut, Khoa replied that it was a skill he was learning.

At the end of class, Ms. Thao gave Chau the project assignment sheet. The old person in charge has transferred schools, so the class needs someone to contact Mong Van shop. Chau was about to refuse, but seeing the line "the class needs someone who can walk through the back door" she agreed. She doesn't want people to think she's just good at causing trouble.

On the way to the shop, Chau missed her mother's old house. Her mother used to work as an accountant for a garment factory and always said that needles and threads were not at fault, only the person holding them was responsible. Chau never told that sentence at school, because she hated being associated with teachings that seemed right.

Mong Van Shop is not like Chau's picture. It's small, dark and full of unfinished things. A shirt hanging on the door without sleeves, a dress placed on a chair without a lock, a half-rolled roll of fabric lying on the floor. Ms. Van calls it "things waiting for people to come back".

Chau realized that her grandmother did not throw away dirty things. Each piece of fabric has a box, each button has a bag, each order has a color tag. That arrangement made her think of adults' memory: not leaving anything out, but also not always knowing where to put it.

When An gave her the nameless shirt, Chau felt her story was immediately pulled into another direction. She no longer just needs to prove she can make shirts. She had to learn why people sent a uniform to the store without leaving their name.

That night, Chau opened a new book and wrote two columns. The first column is "what is known", The following column is "just a guess". She wrote: an old shirt, purple ink, hidden seams, Tuesday. At the bottom of the page, she added: “Don't cut anything before asking.”

Near midnight, the sound of a bicycle stopped in front of the house. An sent a text message: "I forgot to mention, the person who left the shirt this morning was watching the store from the end of the alley. That person left when he saw Mrs. Van come back." Chau replied asking if he recognized it. An only sent a blurry photo of the road background.

In the photo, there is the silhouette of a gray car and a purple thread stuck on the rearview mirror.

The pull in the middle of the flag raising ceremony

Minh Chau intended to cut an excess thread.

The thread was on the shoulder of the girl's shirt in front, the white color stood out on the dark blue background, and kept vibrating every time the wind blew through the schoolyard. Chau looked at it for ten minutes, from the time class 11A3 lined up under the flagpole until the teacher in charge started reading the competition list. It was so small that no one else noticed, but to Chau, a loose thread was like an invitation.

She secretly pulled out a pair of manual scissors from her coat pocket. It was a pair of scissors lent by my grandmother, red handle, blade no longer very sharp but enough to cut paper, thread and impulsive decisions.

“Don't,” the girl in front whispered, trying to stand still as she spoke.

“There is only one thread.”

Chau leaned over and pulled her nose in. At that moment, the schoolyard loudspeaker let out a long scream. She jerked her hand. The thread broke, but the scissors also cut a small line in the blue ribbon tied on your shoulder.

The ribbon fell to the ground like a fish mistakenly cast ashore. Above the podium, the vice principal is wearing the exact same ribbon to present the emulation flag. No one understood why the girl in front of Chau turned down with a pale face. Chau understood a beat later: she had mistakenly cut the ribbon of the ceremonial team, which was passed down from the front row to prepare for the flag presentation.

The general in charge stopped reading. The whole schoolyard was so quiet that Chau could clearly hear the sound of scissors hitting the zipper in her bag.

“Who just dropped something?” the teacher asked.

Chau raised his hand. The girl in front also raised her hand, but lower. The two arms stood next to each other like two people admitting guilt for a case that no one had time to investigate.

After the ceremony, Chau was invited into the supervisor's room. The vice principal placed the cut ribbon on the table, looking at it like she was looking at an uncooperative witness.

“Did you know this is the protocol team's equipment?”

“Yes, I know after cutting.”

The supervisor coughed to hide his smile but failed. Chau's new homeroom teacher, Ms. Thao, did not smile. She looked at the scissors, then at the class transfer paper placed next to the file.

"Chau, from next week you will transfer to 11C. Your old class is preparing for the excellent student exam, and 11C needs another person to be in charge of the uniform project. You have experience at your grandmother's tailor shop, right?"

“I just know how to cut off the excess thread.”

“So start there.”

11C is located at the end of block B, near the stairs leading down to the alley behind the school. The classroom door has a piece of paper with each student's name written on it, a few have been crossed out and then rewritten. When Chau walked in, Ngoc, the class president, was using a ruler to measure the distance between two rows of desks.

“Are you the one who cuts the ribbon?” asked a male student sitting at the back of the class.

“No. I am the one who cuts the thread, the ribbon follows on its own.”

The male friend laughed. Ms. Thao tapped the ruler on the table.

"This is Chau. You will be in charge of your class fixing uniforms for this month's fair. If anyone has a torn shirt, missing buttons, or too long sleeves, please write name. Do not arbitrarily cut other people's things."

“Why did you look at me when you said that last sentence?” Chau asked.

“Because you're looking at the right person.”

At the end of class, Ngoc gave Chau a set of applications for shirt repair. There were seventeen uniforms, four dresses, two jackets and a pair of gym pants that had their hems burned off because someone dried them too close to the electric stove.

“Can you take it back to grandma's store?” Ngoc asked. “My class doesn't have a sewing machine.”

Chau looked at the list, which had Vu Khanh An's name on the last line. The guy who was laughing at the back of the class is no longer there. On the table there was only a piece of paper with measurements written in purple ink, the handwriting was so neat that it didn't look like someone had just joked about the ribbon thing.

After school in the afternoon, Chau rode her bike through the alley behind the school. Mrs. Van's shop is located behind the grocery store, the old sign says "Mong Van - get your clothes repaired immediately". The sewing machine is placed close to the window, next to a fan that spins at an angle and three potted plants that never flower.

Mrs. Van is measuring a shirt for a customer. Seeing Chau carrying a petition, she took off her glasses.

“Causing trouble at school again?”

“You were given a good job.”

“Do good deeds stick?”

“A little.”

Ms. Van did not ask further. She just pulled out a wooden chair and placed it in front of the sewing machine.

“Sit down. If you want to repair a shirt for the whole class, learn to look at the seams before looking at the wearer."

Chau holds the first shirt. The shoulder of the shirt is threaded and the neck button is a bit off. She was bending down when she heard the sound of a bicycle bell in the alley. A boy parked the car and took out a brown cloth bag from the front basket.

“Auntie Van, teacher Thao's application. Plus there's class 11C's shirt.”

Chau looked up. That's Khanh An. He looked at the scissors in her hand, then looked at the shop sign.

“Do you work here too?”

“I deliver. What about you?”

“I'm making amends.”

An opened the cloth bag and took out a uniform without the recipient's name. The shirt is folded very flat, with only a purple thread running in the chest pocket. He placed it on the table.

“This set was left in front of the store this morning. No one wrote down the name, just a piece of paper with measurements.”

Chau holds a piece of paper. The purple ink is identical to the form in class.

Below the number, there is a small line: **Tuesday, don't give your shirt back to someone who asks your name.**