Chapter 3 — The Thirteenth Desk Drawer

Desk number 13 appeared in front of the classroom on Tuesday morning, tilted on a cart. The table surface is still dusty, the metal piece numbered 13 is scratched but still visible. Mr. Phuc said it was an old table that was temporarily moved to "enough seats during the inventory". The homeroom teacher didn't ask who brought it there. The whole class looked at it like an uninvited guest.

Quang Hao was the first person to try sitting. The drawer clicked open, Hao was startled and pretended to cough. A piece of cream-colored paper fell to the floor. An Khe bent down to pick it up before anyone else saw it. On the paper was written: **The first person to cry today will be the one who held the blue book.**

Before An Khe could fold it up, the sound of a chair being pulled loudly rang out. Tuong Vy stood at the door, looking at the table. She asked Mr. Phuc why the table was moved back. The teacher said the plan had changed. Tuong Vy smiled unhappily and said the plan should not be changed just because students like old things. She turned away, but as she passed the table, her hand unconsciously touched the edge of the drawer.

The first period is Math. The whole class was quieter than usual. Khoi sat down at table number 13 and opened the toolbox. He looked at the piece of paper in An Khe's hand and said: "Don't guess who's crying. Look who's trying not to cry."

That person is Minh Thu, the class vice president. The girl sitting at the front desk had red eyes from the beginning of the hour, but still tried to copy the lesson. The letter is usually the person who reminds everyone to pay the class fund. Today, she kept looking towards table number 13 and bowed her head. An Khe waited until recess to ask.

“Do you have the green book?”

Thu shook her head too quickly. "Are not."

That's the second lie. The note said that the first person to cry would be the person who held the notebook, but it did not say whether that person had made a mistake. An Khe asked again more softly. Thu burst into tears right in front of the sink, not because she was discovered, but because she tried to keep a secret for too long.

“My mother works in the school cafeteria,” Thu said. "Last year, someone said there was a lack of money in the scholarship fund. My mother was questioned because she was the one who kept the income and expenditure books. She had to take a month off work to wait for the check. I saw the green book in Mr. Phuc's room. I took it out and read it because I wanted to know if my mother's name was in it."

“Did you take it?”

“No. I just took a photo of two pages and left it.”

Thu opened the phone and showed An Khe the photo. The numbers are old, many revenues are recorded in blue ink. At the bottom of the page is the name of a scholarship fund that does not appear in public reports. Next to each student's name is the amount received, but three lines are crossed out.

Khoi looked at the photo and asked: "Where did you take the photo?"

Thu was startled because he appeared from behind. "I can't say. If you know, my mother will lose her job again."

“Is your mother back in the cafeteria yet?”

"Yes, but everyone still thinks she lost money. I don't dare say anything."

An Khe understood why Thu cried. Not because she was directly wronged, but because her mother's name was hanging in the balance in a story that no one was willing to end. She promised not to post photos or send them to class groups. Khoi recommends backing up to a memory card just for this purpose. The letter agreed after An Khe clearly wrote on paper: "Only used for verification, not made public without adult protection."

In the afternoon, the group went to the library on the first floor. The "temporarily closed" door is not locked. Inside, the smell of damp paper and floor cleaner mixed together. Bookshelves stacked askew, many cardboard boxes placed on the ground. Teacher Phuc has left, but the green book is not in the DAMAGED - CANCELED BOOKS box. Khoi took the bronze key and went to the old catalog cabinet in the corner of the room. The open book symbol on the lock fits perfectly.

The cabinet has no books. It has small card compartments, each containing a class name over the years. 11A7's compartment was pulled out, revealing an empty slot. An Khe used the phone light to look in. A piece of paper stuck inside read: **The real book is not in a place people call a library.**

Hao squatted next to the cardboard box. “Sometimes a 'broken book' is not a book.” He took out an old dictionary and turned to the page with the red ink mark. Inside there was a book loan slip with Mai's name on it, the date of the loan being twelve years ago. The book is "History of Hoang Lam School - celebrating fifty years". Book return date is left blank.

“People don't want to read the school's history,” Hao said. “But I found it in the trash.”

Khoi opened the book at the end. One page was torn, only the edge of the paper remained. At the binding there is a red thread, the same color as the tape of the recorder. An Khe looked at the slip and realized that the borrower's signature was not the same as the one in the recording, but the way the number 1 was written was very special: one long stroke, then an inverted hook.

“Mai borrowed this book,” she said. “Maybe she hid the copy in the book.”

“Or someone else borrowed her name.”

At that moment, crying echoed from the reading room next door. Minh Thu stood leaning against the shelf, holding the phone in her hand. She just received a text message from her mother: **Teacher Phuc asked mom about the notebook. Don't say you saw it.**

Thu cried out of fear, but An Khe did not ask if she was the one holding the green book. The question on paper is half correct: the first person to cry is not the wronged person, but the person who is defending an unjust person.

Khoi sat Thu down, then took water from his personal bottle. The action was so clumsy that Hao had to hold the bottle cap for him. Khoi said: "You don't need to protect your mother by hiding everything. You need adults to know."

“But who will believe?”

"An Khe's homeroom teacher. Teacher Quang. And if no one believes it, we'll write down enough so they can't pretend they haven't heard."

An Khe looked at Khoi. He always talked like he was repairing a table: find the right loose spot, replace the right piece of wood, don't cover the cracks with paint. She asked him why he knew so much about his old room. Khoi replied that his grandmother used to work at school, and he once saw her hiding a box of keys under the bed.

“Do you know Mai?”

“I know, but I don't like to say the name.”

“Have you asked yet?”

"I asked. She said there are people who are kicked out of a place but never stop belonging to that place."

When the group left the library, An Khe saw a person standing outside the side gate. That person was wearing a gray raincoat and a hat that covered his face. In hand is a green book. That person put the notebook in the school mailbox and left.

An Khe followed, but only had time to see a motorbike turn on the road behind. Khoi caught up with her and held her shoulder before she rushed out into the street.

“Don't chase.”

“You just said you have to know who took the book.”

"Know by surviving to ask. Not by running after someone you don't know."

In the mailbox, the blue book is missing. Only a piece of paper wet from the rain remained: **The book with torn pages lay below where everyone was waiting.**

An Khe looked at the bus stop in front of the school gate, where students stood crowded together every afternoon. Under the last stone bench, there is a loose brick. Khoi used a screwdriver to pry up and found half a page of the book covered in nylon. On the page is an old group photo. A girl stood in the last row, with the number 13 pinned on her chest. Her face looked exactly like the voice on the tape recorder.

On the back of the photo are the words: **Mai does not take money. Mai only knows where the money went.**

An Khe's phone vibrated. Strange number sent a piece of paper at the end of the day.

**Tomorrow, bring the photo the place where their achievements are hung. Don't trust the person in the middle.**

That evening, An Khe opened the photos on the computer and enlarged each face. The photo shows a group of students standing in front of the achievement board, with a slogan about the scholarship fund behind them. Mai stood in the front row, her hair cut to shoulder length, her hand holding a notebook. Next to her is Hoang Lam, a student who was commended for her achievements. The person standing between the two was a young teacher, his face blurred by the light.

An Khe sent photos to her mother. A while later, her mother called back, asking why she was interested in old school matters. She told me about the name Mai. The other end of the line was silent for so long that An Khe thought the call had been disconnected.

“I've heard that name before,” her mother said. “But don't get yourself into trouble.”

“Where did you hear it from?”

"At work. Back then, someone said the scholarship was lost, then everyone stopped mentioning it."

An Khe asked who was standing in the middle. Mom doesn't remember, or doesn't want to remember. She just said that things in school are often wrapped up by adults with the phrase "handled internally". That sentence made An Khe uncomfortable. Internal is a very large place, enough for all responsibilities to disappear.

The next day, An Khe brought the photo the achievement wall. Khoi was there. He did not look at the photo but at the glass frame. Behind the frame there is a gap just enough to insert a sheet of paper. Neither of them touched. They called Ms. Hanh over, then together recorded the location.

Mr. Dung, a physical education teacher, passed by and recognized the person standing in the middle. That is Mr. Phuc, who has now moved to administrative management. Mr. Dung said that year Mr. Phuc was in charge of the files, and Hoang Lam was the student representative on the fund campaign committee. Mai is at the top of the list to receive support.

“So why was Mai's name deleted?” An Khe asked.

Teacher Dung looked at the glass. "I don't know. I just remember there was a meeting after the fundraiser. After the meeting, Mai missed school for a few days."

Khoi asked the others. Each person remembers a piece: Mai argued with Hoang Lam, Mr. Phuc held a file, Mai's mother went to school, then block C was locked. No piece is enough to be true. The more An Khe asked, the more she felt the story was covered by many layers of dust over time.

In the library, she looked for old wall newspapers. Some copies are intact, some have corners cut off. The September 2010 newspaper had an article about the scholarship fund, but the list of recipients was torn out. On the last page there is a handwritten sentence: "Don't hang photos if there are no records on the back."

Khoi discovered the handwriting resembled the engravings on the table. He did not confirm that it was Mai's handwriting, but suggested taking a photo and returning the wall newspaper to its original place. An Khe agrees. Both understand that finding the truth does not allow them to destroy the things that are helping others continue their search.

In the afternoon, Ms. Hanh said the school might sell block C for a new project. If so, old records and items will be transferred to storage. An Khe looked at the photo in her pocket and suddenly understood the sentence in the piece of paper: the place where achievements are hung is also the place where a name can be hidden most beautifully.