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ear.
    “I miss everything,” I said. “This place is so different. Everything is so new. I don’t like it. My school is horrible.”
    “It’s only been a few days,” he soothed. “Give it time. You will find friends; you will get used to it. You’ll see.”
    I nodded silently. He told me he loved me. I wiped the tears from my eyes and hung up. My mother was standing behind me.
    “Vikram?” she asked. I nodded. My bottom lip trembled. I expected her to come toward me and comfort me the way she always did. But she shook her head, turned around, walked into the kitchen, put the kettle on for me.
    I went upstairs to get ready. I put the stiff dress and panty hose I’d worn yesterday in the back of my closet and pulled out a pair of denim jeans—still new, crisp, and dark blue—a simple cotton tunic shirt, and a pair of flat leather sandals. I peered into the mirror, ran my tongue self-consciously over my braces, and tucked a few stray wisps of hair back into my braid. Sangita came out of the bathroom, showered and dressed, in a pair of khakis and a plain red T-shirt. She looked much more comfortable than I felt. Around her wrist were prayer beads, wound trendily. With her still-damp hair left loose and falling over one eye, a thin black cord around her neck, she looked almost American. She looked like one of them.
    Outside school a short while later, I stood, frozen. It was harder today than it had been the previous day, when I hadn’t known what to expect. Here, now, I was filled with dread at being teased again, at having people laugh and whisper behind my back, at feeling left out of everything.
    “Come, didi ,” Sangita said, pulling me by the hand. “We’ll be late. Let’s go.” I wished I had even a fraction of her enthusiasm. I tentatively let her lead me inside.
    In English class I settled into my seat, lifted my book bag, and pulled out the copy of Beowulf that Mr. White had given me. Charlie, the mean boy from the cafeteria yesterday, turned to me and grimaced, as if my mere presence had completely ruined his day. I tried to block him out, to forget he was even there, and concentrate on my lesson.
    I was relieved when the bell finally sounded. I started packing up my things. I looked up and noticed two girls walking toward me. Sasha was the pretty blond one and Magali beautiful and black, with a mass of dark ringlets, but both memorable to me only because of their meanness. They were both slender and petite, and wore the low-waist jeans that seemed to be the favorite look at this school, held in place with thick belts. Magali’s pants had a tear near the knee, although it looked as if it had been put there on purpose; and Sasha’s golden hair was even shinier against a turquoise scarf around her neck that appeared to have been made from confetti. I had a nervous smile on my face. But they were approaching me, looking friendly. They were probably coming up to say hello and to ask if I needed anything. Maybe they would befriend me, like Amy had done with Sangita. Perhaps things wouldn’t be so bad after all, just like Vikram had predicted.
    They were both standing right in front of me now. I beamed up at them, about to stand up and shake their hands.
    “Here,” Sasha said, dropping a small white-and-orange box on my desk. “You could probably use this.” She and Magali snickered and walked off. I picked up the box. It said on the top, CREAM HAIR REMOVER FOR THE FACE—FAST, LASTING RESULTS.
    I glanced up and saw Sasha and Magali standing by the door, both staring straight at me, huddling close to each other and laughing. My whole body had suddenly become ten degrees hotter. I put the box in my bag, waited until they had left the doorway, and then made my way out. I spent the rest of the day praying I wouldn’t see them again.
    Sangita met me on the steps at the end of the afternoon. She was chatting amiably with a red-haired girl.
    “Hi, didi ,” she said. “This is my friend Amy.”
    The