Chapter 2 — The owner of the car shop behind the school gate

The thirteen wrench did not mysteriously disappear. It was in the spare parts box of class 10A2, along with three nuts, a piece of rubber and a "temporarily borrowed" note.

Vy discovered it at the beginning of recess, after Khoa opened each drawer and asked Uncle Tu if the garage camera recorded anyone entering the tool room. Uncle Tu said the camera could only film the corrugated iron roof and half of the phoenix tree, and the room's door was covered by an old advertising sign.

“So no one took it?” Vy asked.

“Maybe someone can borrow it,” Khoa replied. “Two different things.”

“You talk like a lawyer.”

“I speak like someone who has been convicted of a lost pump.”

Vy looked up. Khoa did not explain further. He just wrote in the book: “Wrench 13 — currently at 10A2 — paid by Friday.”

“No punishment?” Vy asked.

“What is the fine?”

“No more lending.”

“So the person who needs their car repaired won't have the tools because someone forgot to write the date.”

“What if everyone did that?”

“Then fix the system.”

Khoa pulled an old whiteboard out of the corner. The board has indelible ink stains, but the bottom is blank. He wrote four columns: tools, borrower, date taken, date returned.

Vy looked at the board. “Just four columns?”

“Do you want to add a photo of your ID card?”

“I just want to know where the tools are.”

“So four columns are enough.”

In the afternoon, Ms. Van allowed the club to open for a trial hour. There was no launching ceremony, no new sign, just a piece of paper posted at the gate: "If you have a problem with your bike, stop by and ask. No equipment fee, the borrower writes it himself." Vy wrote the words herself, Khoa edited the commas. He said a notice needs to be clearer than an advertisement.

The first person to arrive was an 11th grade girl with a yellow bicycle. The bike bell didn't sound, but she just needed to fix the chain because it slipped every time she went uphill. Khoa asked what you tried. You said you poured cooking oil into the chain. Vy burst out laughing, but quickly closed her mouth when she saw you blushing.

“Cooking oil creates dust,” Khoa said. “It's okay, everyone tried one way before knowing another way.”

He instructed you to clean the chain, put it back in the cassette and try pedaling. Vy gave the towel and held the steering wheel. When the chain ran smoothly, the girl thanked her and asked if she could borrow the toolkit for the weekend.

Vy pointed to the board. “You write down your name, type of equipment and return date.”

The female friend looked at the text and asked if she needed a phone number. Faculty said no need, just class name and a way to contact the club. Vy added the technology department's desktop number, not the student's personal number.

The second person is a 10th grade boy who lost his pedal. The third person was Uncle Tu, who brought his niece's old car in because the brakes were too close. By the fourth person, Vy had motor oil on her cuff.

“Your shirt is not protective gear,” Khoa said.

"I know."

“So don't wipe your hands on your shirt.”

“I don't wipe.”

“You just wiped.”

Vy looked at the black stain on her shirt. “That's an alibi.”

Khoa turned away, but the corner of his mouth moved slightly.

At the end of the hour, there were eleven questions, six repairs, two tools borrowed and one pump discovered an air leak. No one pays. One friend wants to leave two cookies as a thank you. Khoa refused, then saw that his friend was sad so he accepted one, telling him to save the other one for the next person on duty.

Vy records the data. She did not write “huge success”. She wrote: "There is a need; need more instructions for chain errors; hand pump needs gasket replacement."

Khoa read it through. “Don't you know how to write funny sentences?”

“Data doesn't need to be fun.”

“Readers need it.”

“Then you add one more sentence.”

Department of music pen, write under the board: "Today someone came home with a car that no longer made noise."

Vy looked at the text and did not delete it. She realized he didn't hate the story; he just hates stories that use other people as proof of a good person.

After closing the door, Vy called her father. He asked how the first day at school was. She told about the wrench, the golden cart, and the tool loan sign. Father asked her if she had used any budget.

"No. The pump needs to have its gasket replaced, but I haven't bought it yet."

“You can ask the technical department to send you a new set.”

“No. I will write it down in the proposal.”

“It's a small gasket.”

“But if you ask right away, you won't know if the school can buy it on its own or not.”

Father exhaled. “You're turning a gasket into a moral test.”

“Dad turns everything into a contract.”

“I don't talk to you to argue.”

"Neither do I. I just want to do my assigned work myself."

Father was silent, then asked her if she needed someone to take her home. Vy looked out the school gate, where Mrs. Man was pulling the curtains of the car repair shop. Khoa bent down to pick up a screw that had fallen at his feet.

"No need. I'll go home myself."

She turned off the phone, feeling her chest a little tight. Khoa looked over.

“Is your father angry?”

“You heard that?”

“You said it loud enough for everyone to hear.”

"My father isn't angry. He's just not used to hearing me refuse."

“Rejection also needs to be corrected properly.”

“Are you going to teach me?”

“I was going to say the pump could be fixed if the gasket was replaced.”

Vy followed him to the shop behind the gate. The shop was smaller than she thought, with only a canvas roof, a wooden table and a row of hooks to hang inner tubes. Mrs. Man was counting change, when she saw Vy she smiled.

“Are you Khoa's new friend?”

“No,” Khoa said.

“I just help the club,” Vy corrected.

Mrs. Man looked at her oil-stained wrist. “A woman who can get her hands dirty like that is more trustworthy than someone who just stands around taking pictures.”

Vy heard that sentence and looked up. Mrs. Man did not know about her video, or knew but did not care. Khoa gave her an old towel.

"Wipe it off. Don't let my mother think I'm bullying the new student."

“You are not strong enough.”

“I fix your car, not your character.”

Mrs. Man burst out laughing. Behind the school gate, the sound of a car bell, the sound of a bag zipping, and the sound of two people arguing softly mixed together. Vy looked at the way home, then looked at the air leak pump placed on the table.

Day one doesn't feel like a test. It was like a car that didn't know where it was going, but someone pumped the tire and asked if the valve was loose.

That afternoon, Vy returned to class to pick up her forgotten notebook. The hallway near the garage is deserted, only the sound of a broom sweeping dust can be heard. She saw the club notice blown by the wind and falling into the ditch. On the piece of paper, Huy wrote a very large sentence: "Anyone can learn to repair cars." Vy picked it up, smoothed out the folds, then added with a red pen: "But no one has to study alone."

Since when did Khoa stand behind you? He didn't ask who wrote that line, just said that the registration form was missing the section "allowed to take photos". Vy was surprised. Khoa explained that there are people who don't want their faces to appear in promotional articles, even if they just come to replace the brakes.

“Have you ever been photographed?” Vy asked.

"Many times. People like pictures of hands with oil on them, because it looks real. But no one asks if that hand wants to appear."

Vy saw those words and made Huy, who was arranging posters in the other corner, stop. She suggested removing illustrations of real people from the registration form, using only images of tools. Huy was a bit sorry, but deleted it immediately.

A tenth grade student came to ask if his car had a noise in the steering wheel. Khoa said to check the tightening force, not to guess by ear. Vy held a flashlight and looked at each screw. She discovered a gasket installed upside down. Khoa shows how to mark the position before disassembling. The little boy followed suit, then reassembled it himself.

When the car ran smoothly, the boy asked if it always took all day to fix the car. Vy said sometimes it only takes ten minutes if you know the right place. Khoa added: "But to know the right place, it sometimes takes a year."

It's about to rain. They gathered tools into cabinets, cleaned floors and recorded what was used. Vy suggested that each shift have five minutes at the end to return items to the correct compartment. Huy said those five minutes would make everyone leave late. Quynh Chi replied that if she didn't spend five minutes today, she would spend an hour looking for her tomorrow.

Vy locked the door and checked the handle twice. Outside, Khoa pulled Mrs. Man's car out of the puddle. She asked why not use a motorbike. He said there were days when mother wanted to hear the sound of the chain more than the sound of the engine.

Vy didn't understand completely, but she liked how he didn't explain too much. A sufficient answer sometimes makes people want to observe more, instead of jumping to conclusions.

Before leaving the gate, Vy asked Khoa a question she had kept since morning: "What if a person doesn't have money to buy spare parts?" Khoa said first we have to check which part can be repaired, then find a safe replacement, and finally consider contributing. He didn't promise to give everything away for free, because the shop also had to live.

Vy recorded the way he spoke, without romanticizing it. A place that helps others cannot rely on kindness alone; it needs to know the limits so as not to overpromise. Khoa locked the shop and gave her the tattoo mending class schedule. Vy put it in her notebook, thinking for the first time that she would return not because of the lost wrench, but because she wanted to understand how a broken car could drag out an entire school day.

Khoa looked at the calendar and said that the first class would not have an exam. Vy agreed, then wrote next to it: "come to learn, not come to prove."

Quynh Chi read the text and added: "Those who don't know are even more welcome." Vy maintained, because a good class must start with the feeling of not being laughed at.