Free The Name Jar by Yangsook Choi

Through the school bus window, Unhei looked out at the strange buildings and houses on the way to her new school. It was her first day, and she was both nervous and excited.

    She fingered the little block of wood in her pocket and remembered leaving her grandmother at the airport in Korea.

    Her grandmother had wiped away Unhei’s tears and handed her an ink pad and a small red satin pouch.
    “Your name is inside,” she had said.
    My name?
Unhei had wondered.
    Again she took out the red pouch to look at the wooden block with her name carved in it. As she ran her fingers along the grooves and ridges of the Korean characters, she pictured her grandmother’s smile.

    “Is that thing for show and tell?” a boy asked Unhei, surprising her.
    Unhei looked up as more kids leaned over.
    “No … it’s mine,” Unhei answered, quickly putting the pouch back in her pocket.
    “Are you new here? What’s your name?” a girl asked.
    “Unhei,” said Unhei.

    “Ooh-ney?” the girl asked, scrunching up her face.
    “Oooh, oooh, oooh-ney!” some kids chanted.
    “No, no,” Unhei corrected. “It’s spelled U-N-H-E-I. It’s pronounced Yoon-hye.”
    “Oh, it’s Yoo-hey,” the boy said. “Like ‘You, hey!’ What about ‘Hey, you!’”
    Just then, the bus pulled up to the school and the doors opened. Unhei hurried to get off.
    “You-hey, bye-bye!” the kids yelled as she left. Unhei felt herself blush.

    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