The Name Jar (2 page)

Unhei stood in the doorway of her new and noisy classroom. She was relieved that the kids on the bus had gone to other rooms, but her face still felt red.

“Aren’t you going in?” asked a curly-haired boy with lots of dots on his face. “You’re the new girl, right?” he asked cheerfully.

Unhei nodded, and before she could walk away, the boy took her hand and pulled her through the door.

“Here’s the new girl!” he announced so loudly that the teacher, Mr. Cocotos, almost dropped his glasses.

Mr. Cocotos thanked him and greeted Unhei. “Please welcome our newest student,” he said to the class. “She and her family just arrived from Korea last week.”

Unhei smiled broadly and tried not to show her nervousness.

“What’s your name?” someone shouted.

Unhei pictured the kids on the bus. “Um, I haven’t picked one yet,” she told the class. “But I’ll let you know by next week.”

As Mr. Cocotos showed her to her desk, she felt many round, curious eyes on her.

“Why doesn’t she have a name?” she heard someone whisper.

“Maybe she robbed a bank in Korea and needs a new identity,” a boy replied.

On the bus home, nobody teased her, but Unhei kept thinking about her name.

“How was school, Unhei?” her mother asked when she walked in. “Did you understand the teacher?”

Unhei simply nodded. She unpacked her schoolbag and set the red pouch by a photograph of her grandma.

“I’m glad you are learning English well,” her mother said. “You must study hard, behave nicely, and get good grades to show that you’re a good Korean.”

“I will,” replied Unhei. “But … but I think I would like my own American name,” she said quickly.

Her mother looked at her with surprise. “Why? Unhei is a beautiful name. Your grandma and I went to a name master for it.”

“But it’s
so
hard to pronounce,” Unhei complained. “I don’t want to be different from all the American kids.”

“You
are
different, Unhei,” her mother said. “That’s a good thing!”

Unhei just wrinkled her nose.

Later that day, Unhei and her mother went grocery shopping in their new neighborhood. They passed Fadil’s Falafel, Tony’s Pizza, and Dot’s Deli. A big graffiti-painted garbage truck roared like a lion as it took off down the street. Nothing sounded or looked familiar—until they got to Kim’s Market. The sign was in both English and Korean.

Her mother picked up cabbage to make
kimchi
—Korean-style spicy pickled cabbage—and other vegetables and meat. She also found some seaweed, Unhei’s favorite, for soup. It made Unhei smile.

“Just because we’ve moved to America,” her mother said, “doesn’t mean we stop eating Korean food.”

At the checkout counter, a friendly man smiled at Unhei. “Helping your mother with the shopping?” he asked.

Unhei nodded.

“I’m Mr. Kim,” he said. “And what is your name?”

“Unhei,” she answered.

“Ahh, what a beautiful name,” he said. “Doesn’t it mean
grace
?”

Unhei nodded again. “My mother and grandmother went to a name master for it,” she told him.

“A graceful name for a graceful girl,” Mr. Kim said as he put their groceries into bags. “Welcome to the neighborhood, Unhei.”

That evening, Unhei stood in front of the bathroom mirror.

“Hi! My name is Amanda,” she said cheerfully. Then she wrinkled her nose. “Hi! My name is Laura. Hmm. Maybe not …” Her smile turned down. Nothing sounded right. Nothing felt right.

I don’t think American kids will like me
, she worried as she began to brush her teeth.