Chapter 1 — The Thirteenth Desk Drawer

The day An Khe moved to class 11A7, her homeroom teacher placed her in the last desk next to the window. It's a position no one competes for: the sun shines directly on the notebook at noon, the rain pours through the glass every time the wind is strong, and behind is a warehouse door that always creaks. She pulled out a chair, sat down, put her bag on the table and tried to remember the names of the twenty-nine people she had just met. At that moment, Quang Hao turned down from the upper table and asked her if she knew that this school used to have a table with the number thirteen.

An Khe thought he was joking. Hao pointed to the space next to the wall, where there were twelve tables arranged in two rows. "Desk number thirteen used to be there. Suddenly it was taken away last year, but every morning I hear the drawer opening." He said with too much seriousness, then turned away before she could ask more. Her new tablemate is Tran Minh Khoi, who is bending over to fix a table leg with a thin steel wire. Khoi didn't look at her, just said: "Hao likes to scare people."

“What about you?”

“I like tables that don't vibrate.”

That was their first conversation. Khoi spoke little, his writing was small and straight, his uniform always had a stain of wood dust on the wrist. He took on the job of repairing tables and chairs for the equipment room after school, because Mr. Quang said he was good at it. An Khe didn't know how to respond, so she opened the book. The first Literature period passed with the sound of the ceiling fan going out of rhythm. When she turned to the assignment page, a piece of cream-colored paper fell out of the desk drawer.

There is only one sentence on the paper: **Don't ask why table number 13 was taken away. Ask who benefits.**

An Khe read three times. The handwriting is not like Khoi's handwriting. She turned around, but he was using a ruler next to the table. The piece of paper was gripped so tightly that the corners were wrinkled. She's not the type of person who likes secrets. At her old school, she was dragged into a group chat and then became the one blamed when a message was screenshotted. From then on, An Khe learned to stay out of all rumors. But the question on paper is not the same as the rumor. It was like a door was opened just as she entered the classroom.

At recess, she brought the piece of paper to the teacher's desk. The homeroom teacher was grading the papers. After listening, she just said it was a prank by a previous class student. "A7 has a lot of stories. Just study for a few weeks and you'll get used to it." She was about to put the paper in the trash, but An Khe asked: "Did table number 13 really exist?" The teacher stopped writing. It was only for a second, but An Khe saw it. The teacher took the paper back, folded it in half and placed it under the stack of notebooks.

"There's an old set of desks. The warehouse has moved away. It's no longer related to our class."

Khoi heard the last sentence from the door. He didn't interrupt, just held the toolbox and walked by. In the hallway, An Khe chased after him. “What do you know about table number 13?”

Khoi stopped in front of the stairs. The light from the canopy fell on his face, making his already dark eyes even more unpredictable. “Know it's heavier than other tables.”

"Why?"

"Because there is an extra layer of wood in the drawer. No one can open it with a normal key."

“Have you opened it yet?”

Khoi looked at her for a long time, then said: "No. But someone doesn't want me to try."

In the afternoon, class 11A7 received notice that building C would be inventoried to prepare for sale for a cooperative project. The old classroom, equipment warehouse and first floor library are on the list to be relocated. Teacher Quang said everyone didn't need to worry, but Hao immediately asked where the repair club would go if it was sold. The teacher said the school was considering a plan. Khoi bent down over the toolbox, tightening the steel wire until his fingers bled.

An Khe saw it and gave him a band-aid. Khoi accepted without thanking him. He just asked her if she still had the piece of paper.

"Have."

“Don't show it to anyone.”

“Even you?”

“Especially me.”

The warning made An Khe uncomfortable. She intended to throw the piece of paper away, but at the end of the day she still put it in the inside compartment of her purse. When class ended, she went back to get her bag and saw the storage door behind the classroom ajar. Inside are old tables covered with canvas. One is located close to the wall with an arc-shaped scratched wooden surface and a piece of rusty metal left on the table leg: **13**.

Khoi appeared behind her. “I told you not to look.”

“You said don't open the drawer, I didn't say don't look.”

“Just by looking at it, people know what they're looking for.”

“Who knows?”

Before Khoi could answer, the sound of a key rang in the hallway. He pulled An Khe behind the canvas and bowed low. Teacher Quang walked into the warehouse with a man wearing a blue shirt, holding an inventory sheet. The man looked around, stopping at table number 13.

“Does this still have papers?”

“No. Removed from the list.”

"Then move out first. Don't let the students see."

An Khe held her breath. Khoi put a finger in front of his lips, but she could still hear the sound of him grinding his teeth. The man pulled the cloth, looked closely at the table and then left. When the warehouse door closed, Khoi released his hand.

“You heard clearly,” An Khe said.

“Hear what?”

“The desk has no papers left, but someone wants to hide it.”

Khoi looked at the metal piece number 13. He spoke slowly: "Twelve years ago, there was a student named Mai who was forced to drop out of school because she was accused of taking the class's scholarship money. She sat at this table. After she left, the drawer was covered with an extra layer of wood. The adults said it was to keep things from being stolen."

“Where do you know this from?”

"My grandmother used to work as a janitor in Block C. She said Mai didn't steal money. She saw an adult take a notebook from the desk drawer before Mai was kicked out."

“And now the school is about to sell this building.”

"YES."

An Khe took a piece of paper from her wallet and placed it next to the number 13. The two things were unrelated but seemed to be waiting to be placed next to each other. In the hallway, the sound of students running down the stairs rang out and then faded away. Khoi picked up a small flashlight and shined it under the table. A faint engraving appeared: **If there's still someone who remembers, don't let them call it old news.**

An Khe felt cold on the back of her neck. She originally intended to live peacefully at her new school, go to school, do her homework, and not get involved in any secret groups. But the words on the wood did not give her the feeling that she was entering a game. It's like a request from someone who has waited too long.

Khoi rolled up his sleeves and took out a small paper knife from his pocket. “Tomorrow I will remove the wooden layer.”

“I'll go along.”

“I don't agree yet.”

“I haven't asked your opinion either.”

Khoi looked at her. For the first time, the corner of his mouth inched up into a very thin smile. “The new class president doesn't seem to like staying out of rumors.”

“I just don't like other people deciding what is called the truth.”

As they left the warehouse, An Khe heard a small noise from the table behind. The drawer looked like someone had just pulled it out and pushed it back in. She turned around, but the cloth remained still. On the dusty background, there is another piece of cream-colored paper.

**Tomorrow, the first person to lie will be the person standing near the window.**

An Khe looked towards the classroom. The window at the end of the row is open. The homeroom teacher's shadow was printed on the sunlight, standing next to someone she had never seen before.

The person standing next to Ms. Hanh is a boy who is a little taller than the other students in the class. His white shirt has been ironed but the cuffs have pencil marks. He didn't look into the window. He looked at table number thirteen as if he recognized it from a long time ago. When Ms. Hanh called, he turned back, nodded slightly and pushed the wheel of the table close to the wall.

“I'm Khoi,” he said when An Khe asked. "If a drawer is stuck, don't yank it hard. This desk tends to make people impatient."

An Khe tried pulling. The drawer can only open part way and then stops. She looked at him, he took out a thin steel ruler from his pocket. With just two movements, he pried open the curved wood, replaced a screw and pulled out the desk drawer. Inside there was nothing but chalk dust, a button and the smell of old wood.

“Do you fix desks for the whole school?”

"No. I'm in the technical club. Ms. Hanh asked me to bring it up."

“Why this table?”

Khoi looked towards the end of the hallway. “Because there is no other table that fits.”

The answer was so normal that An Khe found it suspicious. People often use normal reasons to cover up something unusual. She put her bag in the lower compartment, but did not put away the pencil she was holding. On the edge of the table are faint engravings, only visible when the sunlight shines through: a letter M, a dot and the number 13.

The first lesson passed with the sound of chalk and questions about the old school. An Khe gave a short answer. She didn't want to say that her parents had just moved house after a long argument, that the new school was just a temporary solution, or that she always felt like she was sitting in someone else's seat. During recess, Tuong Vy pulled her down to the cafeteria and named each teacher by nickname. Khoi stayed in class and used a towel to wipe the ink stains on the table leg.

Before school ended, Ms. Hanh told the class not to arbitrarily go into the warehouse behind block C because that place was awaiting inspection. An Khe wrote down the instructions in the notebook, but her eyes stopped at the wall clock. The minute hand stood near the number thirteen in a strange way, as if the whole room was deliberately reminding her of that number.

That evening, she opened her bag to look for math books. A piece of cream-colored paper fell to the floor. On the paper there was only one sentence: "There are tables that are moved so that people forget who once sat there." No signature, no date. An Khe read it three times and then folded it.

She was about to throw it away, but in the hallway there was the sound of rolling wheels. The sound was slow, heavy, stopping right in front of her door. When An Khe opened the door, there was no one. There was only the smell of rain and a trail of wood dust extending up the stairs. She looked at the piece of paper in her hand, thinking for the first time that the new school might be waiting for her to do something she didn't know the name of.