After the end-of-year trip, May passed so quickly that no one even noticed.
The entrance exam for tenth grade was getting closer.
A countdown calendar appeared on the classroom board.
Thirty days.
Then twenty-five.
Twenty.
Every time someone walked past it, the whole class let out another sigh. An looked at it too.
But the thing she thought about most wasn’t the exam. It was where she would go after it. Her parents had told her some time ago. After An finished ninth grade, the family would move somewhere else for work. An would go to high school there. She wouldn’t be transferring in the middle of the year. She wasn’t leaving right now. She still had her final days at this school. She still had the exam. She still had after-school tutoring. She still had the flame tree in front of Building C. And she still had Khang. That was exactly why An didn’t know when she should tell him.
One afternoon, after tutoring, An stayed in the classroom to finish her work. The room gradually emptied. Chairs scraped across the floor. Shoes scuffed along the hallway. The teacher called a few students back to retrieve their things. Khang was still sitting in the back. He was checking his old camera. An turned around. “Not going home yet?” “Not yet.” “What are you doing?” “Checking the battery.” “What are you taking pictures of tomorrow?” “Not sure.” Khang closed the camera’s battery compartment. “Maybe nothing.” An looked at him. “That’s weird.” “Yeah.”
A moment later, Khang asked, “Have you picked a high school yet?” An froze. She looked at the pen in her hand. “I think so.” “Which one?” “One where I’m moving.” Khang fell silent. “Oh.” An didn’t know why that one word made the room feel quieter. She hurried to add, “But not yet.” “Yeah.” “After the exam.” “Yeah.” “I’ll still be going to school here through the end of the year.” Khang nodded. “I know.” An looked at him. “You’re not going to ask anything?” “No.” “Why not?” “Because I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to.” An fell silent. She’d thought it would be hard to tell him. But when she finally did, it was strangely simple. Only that simplicity left her feeling a little sad.
That night, An sat with her mother at the computer to look up information about her new high school. It was in another city. It wasn’t very big. It had three classroom buildings, a library, and a sports field out back. The school’s website showed photos taken in summer. In them, the flame trees blazed red. An looked at them for a long time. “Isn’t it pretty?” her mother asked. “Yeah... it is.” “You’ll go to school here.” An nodded. “Yeah.” Her mother continued talking about enrollment dates, paperwork, where they would live, and everything they needed to prepare. An listened. But her eyes stayed on the photo of the schoolyard. She wondered: Would anyone there get to school seventeen minutes early, too? Would anyone like sitting in the back and pretending not to listen in class? Would anyone bring along their dad’s old camera? An gave a quiet laugh. She thought she was being silly. She’d only looked at one photo, and already she was thinking about things that had nothing to do with it. She shut down the computer. But the image of that school stayed in her mind.
In the days that followed, An began paying closer attention to everything at her old school. Not because she was leaving right away. But because she knew her time here was limited. She noticed the corner chipped off the blackboard. The ceiling fan that rattled every afternoon. The classroom window that always stuck when it rained. The third desk in the left-hand row, carved with a little star. She’d never paid attention to those things before. Now they seemed worth remembering.
One day, Khang caught An looking at the ceiling fan. “What are you looking at?” “Nothing.” “Here we go again.” An smiled. “I just suddenly noticed how old it is.” Khang looked up. “Yeah.” “They’ll probably replace it someday.” “Maybe.” An fell silent. Khang took out his camera. Click. An turned toward him. “You’re taking a picture of the fan?” “Yeah.” “What for?” “To look back on later.” An laughed. “You really are weird.” “So are you.” “How?” “Lately, you look at everything like you might never get to see it again.” An froze. Khang lowered the camera. “Sorry.” “It’s okay.” She looked out the window. “I’m probably just overthinking.” Khang didn’t say anything else. He didn’t ask more. But from that day on, An noticed that he, too, started looking at everything a little longer.
One weekend afternoon, An went alone to the flame tree in front of Building C. The yellow ribbon was still there. Its color had faded a little. She gave it a gentle tug. It was still secure. An took a pen out of her bag. She meant to write another line. But then she changed her mind. There were already too many unspoken words beneath the branches. She didn’t need to add one more. “Were you going to tie on another one?” Khang stood behind her. An turned around. “No.” “Then why bring a pen?” “Forgot I had it.” “You forget things a lot.” “Yeah.”
They stood together beneath the flame tree. A little later, Khang asked, “Does your new school have a flame tree?” An thought for a moment. “Yeah.” “Any tree like this one?” “Probably not.” “Yeah.” He looked up at the ribbons. “That’s good.” An turned to him. “What’s good?” “No other tree could be like this one.” He said it casually. As if it were obvious. An lowered her head and smiled. “You’re getting weirder and weirder.” “And you still listen.” “Because I’m polite.” “Yeah.” “Don’t laugh.” “I’m not.” But he really was laughing.
That afternoon, they walked home together. The road from the school to the gate was the same as always. The drink stand at the alley entrance. The banh mi shop. The old wall covered in vines. Nothing had changed. It was just that An knew that in a few months, when she walked down this road, she would no longer be a student at this school. She would wear a different uniform. Carry a different bag. Walk a different road. Meet different people. And begin a new chapter.
But for now, she was still here. There were still the school bells. There were still after-school tutoring sessions. There was still Mai Chi calling to her from the far end of the hallway. And Khang was still walking beside her, his old camera swinging against his chest. So An didn’t want to think too far ahead. She just wanted to live out the days she had left. As if this summer would last forever.
On the other side of summer was a new school. And on this side, a flame tree was holding on to an unspoken word for her. An knew she still had time. At least until the day the exam was over.