A few days later, Minh found himself wandering around the school's garden, a quiet retreat tucked away behind the bustling buildings. The soft hum of the city was distant here, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the occasional chirping of birds. It was a peaceful space, offering rare tranquility amidst the frenzy of Westerdam. As Minh strolled, he encountered Long, a classmate he had briefly met during the orientation. He was leaning against a stone bench, casually scrolling through his phone.
"Hey, Long," Minh said, trying to break the silence.
Long looked up and smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Hey, Minh. Just taking a break. You need anything?"
Minh hesitated for a moment before answering. "I was just… exploring the garden. I didn't know we had a space like this here."
Long shrugged. "Yeah, most people don't come by. It's kind of hidden, but it's nice, right? A good place to think, or just get away from everything."
Minh nodded, feeling a flicker of connection. "Maybe I've made my first friend here," he thought, as they continued chatting, the conversation flowing easily. Long seemed easygoing, and for the first time since arriving, Minh felt a little less like an outsider.
The rest of the day went by uneventfully, and Minh found himself enjoying the afternoon nap he managed to sneak in after lunch. But as he woke up, still feeling the fuzziness of sleep, his eyes scanned the floor under the desk and his heart sank—his shoes were gone.
Confused, Minh checked his surroundings. After a brief search, he realized his shoes had mysteriously ended up in the women's restroom. The realization hit him like a cold wave. He would have to ask someone to retrieve them.
He sighed in exasperation and walked toward the nearest girl, Ngọc Lan, who was quietly organizing her books at her desk. "Hey, Ngọc Lan," he said hesitantly. "Could you… uh, help me? My shoes are in the women's restroom, and I… I can't exactly go get them."
She looked up at him with an almost puzzled expression, but after a beat, she nodded. "Sure, I'll go get them," she said, before heading to the restroom to retrieve his shoes. Minh felt a mix of relief and embarrassment.
Minutes later, Hải, one of the notorious troublemakers in the class, approached Minh with a grin plastered across his face. His eyes sparkled mischievously, and Minh could tell right away that something wasn't right.
"You're not gonna believe this," Hải said, his laughter barely contained. "It was me. I hid your shoes. Pretty funny, right?"
Minh felt his face flush with anger, his patience already fraying. "Why did you do that?" he demanded.
Hải shrugged nonchalantly. "It's just a joke. Lighten up."
Minh's temper flared. He couldn't understand how someone could be so careless with someone else's dignity. "You think this is funny? You ruined my day!"
Without thinking, Minh stood up and shouted, "You did it, Hải! You took my shoes! What's wrong with you?" His voice rang through the classroom, startling everyone.
The teacher, Ms. Julia Peterson, and the headmaster's wife, who was observing the class that day, turned their heads in unison. Ms. Peterson's sharp eyes fixed on Minh, but it wasn't just her gaze that made him uncomfortable—it was the headmaster's wife's disapproving stare. Minh could feel everyone's eyes on him, the tension in the air thick as he stood there, seething.
That evening, after a somewhat uneventful dinner, Minh sat in his room, trying to shake off the embarrassment. The music from his speakers played softly in the background, but the moment continued to nag at him. Suddenly, the phone rang.
It was Hải's mother.
"Hello?" Minh's mother answered, her voice polite but firm.
"Is this Minh's mother?" came the voice on the other end, sounding frazzled. "I'm calling about the incident with my son's shoes. Minh is causing trouble for my son, and I don't appreciate how he's making things worse for Hải."
Minh's mother's expression turned cold. "It was Hải who hid his shoes, and Minh was only standing up for himself," she replied, cutting off the other woman. "You don't need to worry about Minh. This is your son's fault, not his."
The phone call ended soon after, and Minh's mother hung up the phone, her expression hard to read.
She turned to Minh and said, "Don't let it get to you. It's Hải's fault, not yours. You don't have to worry about what his mom says."
Minh sat quietly for a moment, the weight of the conversation sinking in. He was grateful for his mother's support, but the incident left a bitter taste in his mouth. What kind of school was this?
As he lay in bed later that night, he thought about the differences between his old school and Westerdam. At his old school, the kids were less dramatic, but more cutthroat. Here, the students were kinder—most of them, anyway—but it felt like there was always something else lingering beneath the surface. The way some students seemed to manipulate their way through situations, the way their parents hovered over them as if they were fragile. Minh couldn't figure out which felt worse: the harshness of his old school or the constant discomfort of this one.
But one thing was for sure—his parents were the difference. They weren't overprotective, didn't hover, and certainly didn't try to control every aspect of his life. He felt lucky in that regard.
Despite everything, he felt a little better, knowing that at least his parents understood him. And with their support, maybe he could find his way through all of this, no matter how uncomfortable it got.