When he first read her name tag, Selvam’s first instinct was to say that her name meant family, until she stood up in front of the class to introduce herself as Ohona, the new student from India.
‘Her voice is pretty.’ Selvam thought as she recited her name perfectly without a single stutter or even a hint of nervousness.
Her accent held a sense of warm familiarity. She pronounced the consonants of words the way his mother did: a gentler emphasis, unlike the harshness of American English; her voice had a slight ring to it, as if whenever she spoke, Selvam could hear a faint hum of bells in the back of his mind.
The spectacle of this new girl was all the rage among the entire fourth grade. Her exotic origins made her seem all the more foreign and interesting to the crowd of nine-to-ten year-old boys and girls. During morning Recess, Selvam recalled witnessing a group of girls, donned in pink from head to toe, generously inviting Ohona to play with them, but she, much to Selvam’s surprise, politely declined the offer and pulled out a book. The girls, in response, scoffed and walked away, flipping their hair and muttering amongst themselves about how ‘weird the new girl was’.
Ohona did not so much as flinch at the snobbishness of those girls. In fact, Selvam thought he might have just barely caught the hint of a smile flashing across her face before it settled into a blank expression that his mother, too, wore whenever she sat down to read a book. 
When the bell rang and called the students back to their classrooms, word had already begun to spread that the new girl rejected an invitation to hang out with the coolest girls in class. When the girl in question came into the room, the class erupted into whispers, which ultimately were not silenced until Mrs. Blanchard called the class to attention to proceed with their English lesson.
During the lesson, Selvam frequently stole glances at Ohona. He thought about how brave and strange it was of her to have shown such little interest in the friendship of the girls dressed in pink. The other girls in the class would give up their lunch money or their Wall-Ball turns to become friends with Solona, Ciena, and Courtney. They were all pretty, popular, and blonde. Which, in Southern California, most girls wished to be. Selvam didn’t quite understand why, though. But he did look up to Ohona since she seemed to be above such nonsense.
Selvam squirmed through Science and nearly fell asleep in Language Arts, so when the bell for Lunch rang, he sprung from his seat and raced to the Cafeteria. This lunch was only for fourth graders, which he was grateful for.
He opened his lunch box to find his favorite vegetable samosas, which he excitedly dug into.
“Ew! What is that?”
Selvam looked up from his lunch to see Solona, Ciena, and Courtney standing around Ohona, who had also brought a packed lunch.
“It’s curry with naan bread.” She answered blankly.
“Oh. My. Gosh. It looks disgusting.” Exclaimed Courtney.
“It looks like throw-up” cried Ciena.
“Come on, girls. Let’s go eat our sandwiches somewhere else.” Smirked Solona. They walked away.
Ohona looked at them and back at her food, then back at them, and to her food again. She frowned, covered the Tupperware, pushed it away and opened her book.
“Hey.”
Ohona looked up. Selvam had approached her.
“If it makes you feel any better, I love that kind of food. My mom makes it for me all the time.”
Her lips curved upwards. “Thank you.”
“Do want to try one of my samosas?”
“Sure.”
Selvam sat beside her.
“I’m Selvam”
“I’m Ohona.”
“I know.”