Chapter 18 — The Thirteenth Desk Drawer

Block C escaped the demolition order, but has not been completely retained. The school board requested a new plan within a month. If the project cannot be proven to be safe and useful, the building can still be converted into a parking lot. An Khe heard the news from Ms. Hanh and immediately dragged Khoi to the club room.

“We have exactly four weeks left,” she said, writing three words on the board: “Keep.”

Khoi looked at the board. “Keep it for what?”

“So that people have a reason to come in, not just because it holds a table.”

The original idea was to turn block C into a reading room and community archive. But the old construction documents are missing, the electrical system needs repair, and the rear roof leaks when it rains heavily. Tuong Vy made a list of things to do, then discovered the list was four pages long. She still folded it, saying: "Long doesn't mean it can't be done. It just means it has to be divided into smaller parts."

Students divided into each class to ask for autographs. They don't ask to keep things the same. They proposed keeping the house frame, renovating the classroom, opening a file cabinet and using one room as a free reading space for students. Mai's story is the reason they started, but the plan isn't just for Mai.

One afternoon, Hoang Lam appeared at the school gate. He did not enter building C. He stood next to the black car, talking to the principal. Rumors spread faster than a test. Someone said he would sue. Someone said he transferred the money back. Some people said he just wanted to regain his honor.

An Khe met him when leaving the library. Hoang Lam is much older than the photo in the file, his hair is gray at the temples, his shoulders are slightly hunched. He looked at the document box in her hand.

“You were the one who found those things?”

"You and Khoi. But those things were already here."

He smiled faintly. “People often think of finding as ownership.”

“I don't own anyone's story.”

Hoang Lam did not respond. He asked if Mai was at school. An Khe said yes, but she couldn't take him to see him if Mai didn't agree. He nodded, saying he just wanted to send a message: he submitted an explanation, admitting that he received money to replenish funds and correct records. He did not deny error, but asked to testify about the people involved.

“Why are you speaking now?” An Khe asked.

"Because before I thought staying silent was the way to protect my family. Then I realized I was just teaching my children that the stronger person has the right to rewrite the books."

An Khe doesn't know how reliable that statement is. She wrote it down, but didn't promise to use it. When she told Mai, she let Mai decide whether to meet or not. Mai thought for two days and then said she would meet in a public place, with Ms. Hanh there.

The meeting took place in the tea shop opposite the school. Hoang Lam apologized, but Mai stopped him.

"I don't need you to say you're sorry. I need to know which records have been changed."

He gave a list. There are three sets of documents, each signed by a different person. Master Phuc is not the only one who knows. But Mai also did not let him push all the responsibility to his superiors. She asked him what he did after seeing his name crossed out. Hoang Lam said he was silent, then promoted.

“Then you understand,” Mai said. “Silence also has a pay scale.”

The meeting ended after forty minutes. Mai does not forgive. She only agreed to let him testify if all documents were turned over to the school board.

Meanwhile, the group of students completed the design of building C. Khoi drew the electrical diagram, Tuong Vy calculated the costs, and An Khe wrote the introduction. She describes the property as a place that holds memories but does not turn memories into dust. She recommends a long table where students can read, write, and ask questions; Next to it is a storage cabinet with open compartments, anyone can submit a story if they want.

On the day of the presentation, it rained heavily. Water flooded the hallway, but the council still came. The parking lot project representative said the land brings clearer benefits. Tuong Vy raised her hand and asked how that benefit was calculated if students no longer had a free place to study after school? One parent asked why old documents had to be kept. Mai, sitting at the back of the room, replied that a school not only teaches students to remember answers, but also teaches them to recognize which questions have been forgotten.

At the end of the session, the council did not immediately approve it. They requested a safety inspection and allowed the student group to complete the plan in three months. It's not a victory, but it's a door that hasn't been closed yet.

Khoi and An Khe stood under the porch looking at the rain. He asked her if she was tired. She said yes, but if you're tired and can still walk, there's no need to stop.

Khoi took out a small key from his pocket. "The key to the storage room. Miss Hanh let me keep it."

“What are you going to do?”

"Open every afternoon. If you want to live in the house, someone must come in."

An Khe held the key and felt it was cold in her palm. The door to Block C had not been opened wide, but for the first time in twelve years, someone was standing in front of it with the intention of entering rather than locking it.

The three months of appraisal were uneventful. The west roof has cracks, almost all of the electrical system must be replaced, and the estimated budget has increased. Demolition advocates say it's proof the building is out of date. The student group was also confused at times. Khoi calculated and recalculated and discovered that keeping the entire building would be too expensive, but if keeping the reading room and file warehouse, the cost would be within the repair fund's ability.

An Khe wrote the plan in three stages. Phase one reinforces safety, phase two renovates the reading room, phase three opens the community archive. She does not use words like “symbolic” or “permanent.” She only wrote down the deadline, who was responsible and how to check.

Tuong Vy and her father went to each room to measure the emergency exit. Her father is no longer on the council, but he volunteers as a technician. Father and son argued many times. One day he said she didn't understand financial pressure, she replied he didn't understand the pressure of someone being forced to believe an unread proposal. After that, both were silent, then continued measuring.

A heavy rain caused water to leak into the warehouse. Everyone ran to deliver documents. Mai also came, rolled up her sleeves and carried the cardboard box. Khoi placed a pot under the roof, Tuong Vy called a worker. An Khe discovered an old file with smudged ink and immediately took a photo before drying it. Hard work makes everyone dirty, but no one calls it "invisible costs".

The Council held a second consultation session. This time, the students weren't just talking about Mai. A junior classmate suggested having a desk to study at night for students who don't have a quiet place at home. Another friend wanted to save a former student's story. Parents suggested opening a financial skills class. Block C begins to have a future that does not depend on the past.

One project manager still objected, arguing that the reading room would not generate revenue. An Khe asked the school if everything needed to generate revenue. He said finances are realistic. Mai replied that memories were also real, they just couldn't be put into a spreadsheet if one tried to erase them.

Finally, the council votes. The plan to retain part of block C was approved with a narrow vote. The newly adjusted project no longer bears the name of sponsor Hoang Lam. Funding for repairs comes from the school budget and community funds, and is not tied to personal promotion conditions.

Khoi opened the warehouse door with key number 13. He added an instruction sheet: "Documents do not tell the story themselves. Readers must check the source, date and author's rights." An Khe read and said this sentence was long. Khoi says what is right is sometimes longer than a slogan.

On the first day of trial opening, only seven students came. One child asked if the reading room was required to be silent. Tuong Vy said she was allowed to speak quietly, as long as she did not speak on behalf of others. The group laughed.

Block C is not as beautiful as the new center on the advertisement. There were damp spots on the walls, the stairs still made noise, but the windows opened and the afternoon light fell exactly on table number thirteen. A place that isn't perfect, but someone is willing to fix parts of it, is often more durable than a place built to cover up all the old spots.

In the first weeks, the team sets up an on-call schedule. Every afternoon there are two students opening the door, a teacher in charge and a document taker. No one is allowed to take out documents arbitrarily. The regulations may seem cumbersome, but after so many papers disappearing, people understand that being careful is a way of respecting the person who wrote it.

Khoi put a rubber pad under the table leg to prevent scratches on the floor. He said that if one day the table has to be moved, the person moving must write down the old position. An Khe teased him for caring more about things than people. Khoi replied that he didn't argue back, so he needed someone to remember him even more.

Mai visits the reading room at a time when there are no students. She looked at the operation book and suggested how to record the visitor's name. She said people who have had their records misused will always see the risk before others. An Khe asked if that was tiring. Mai said yes, but turning experience into rules would be less tiring than keeping it in your head.

Block C gradually started laughing. One group of students used a long table as a group study area, another group repaired bicycles in the side yard. The reading room no longer had the look of an incident. It becomes a part of new life, but still keeps an open desk drawer to remind people not to see normalcy as a reason to forget history.