It was early June, and I was sitting in my final fifth grade class. It was nearly the end of the day; all of the students had long checked out of learning and our tests and assignments were all completed. Only a single hour came between us and summer vacation. We had spent the day cleaning out our desks and cubbies, and mostly played games and ate snacks provided by Ms. Foster. Everyone was chatting happily, though I mostly stood apart and observed quietly. After all, it wasn’t the first time I had completed fifth grade.

  I would be lying if I said I was sad about leaving fifth grade. For the past year I had been reliving my life at ten years-old, with the crucial difference of having inexplicably changed genders. To everyone else I had been some sort of medical phenomenon, but in my head I knew that I was a sort of time traveler. Everything had been the same as I remembered; the sights, the smells, the people…everything except me, of course.

  I adapted, of course. Since I knew what the future held, yet was powerless to do anything about it as a child, it was a constant struggle to stave off boredom. In all honesty learning how to be a girl was the only thing that made anything about the last year interesting. Sure, I was picking up hobbies and reading a lot, but the only thing that really kept me engaged was experiencing life as a female. It was like seeing the world from a whole new perspective, and while it led to considerable amounts of headaches, the moments when I lost myself in girlhood filled me with contentment. Something I hadn’t felt when I had been a boy in my previous life.

  One of the headaches, of course, was dealing with the social aspects of a boy suddenly transmogrifying into a girl. Fifth grade had been rough; I wasn’t on unfriendly terms with the other students, but with the exception of Randy, who had been my best friend when I was Matthew, there was a distance between me and my classmates. The boys either showed disinterest or budding attraction to me (which I hated) while the girls were always cold to me. Coupled with the fact that I had an adult intellect and memories of the next thirty years, fifth grade had been quite lonely for me. I was looking forward to our family moving over the summer.

  Ms. Foster shushed the class, who had been bouncing and cavorting, and had everyone take their seats. She pulled out a small wooden box, and cleared her throat.

  “Everyone, we have a bit of time before the final bells ring, but I wanted to have some words for you before you all have a fantastic summer.

  “I’ve watched each one of you grow this year, and I am so happy that I got to spend this year with each one of you. I want to give each of you a small gift,” she jostled the box on her desk, “and to tell everyone what you meant to me this school year. When I call your name, I would like you to stand up. First, Nicole Anderson.”

  Nicole, a slightly plump girl in the back, stood up awkwardly. Ms. Foster smiled at her, as she picked up a stack of index cards she had prepared and read off of it.

  “Nicole, you consistently made me smile with your honest nature. You’re such a creative person, and I hope that you never stop making beautiful things. I like you because you make the world a more beautiful place.”

  Nicole blushed slightly, and the class was very quiet as they listened to Ms. Foster praise her. She continued, “Nicole, I hope you continue growing. Please take this card and this small package. Congratulations for finishing fifth grade!”

  Nicole walked to the front, as Ms. Foster handed her a small envelope and the card she had read to the class. She quickly took her seat, and while she was clearly embarrassed, she had a big grin on her face.

  “Rick Bellows!” Rick stood up, and similarly Ms. Foster read her card of praises and gave him his own envelope. She went down the list in alphabetical order, giving each child their turn for her to say her compliments, and each took their small envelope. My friend Randy was praised for being kind and loyal, and even Josh (a boy who always rubbed me the wrong way) was told how strong and brave he was. Everyone was embarrassed by her words, but they all smiled in the end.

  “Maya Peterson!”

  I stood up, just as awkward as everyone who came before me. “Maya,” she started, “I knew from the moment I met you that you were special. There’s intelligence in your eyes, and a deepness you don’t see often. And what I like most about you is your strength of character, because it takes bravery to live your true self. I know you will grow into a young woman of so much potential at your new school. Congratulations on finishing Hilldale Elementary!”

  Like the rest of the students, I walked to the front to take the card and envelope. It turns out the card was trimmed with gold foil, and what she read to me was hand-written in a flowing script. The envelope she gave me was sealed, but shaking it sounded like small seeds inside. Ms. Foster finished with the last few students who accepted her words and gift, and finally Ms. Foster addressed the affected class.

  “Everyone, I want you to keep these words and always remember them going forward. And as for the envelope, inside are seeds. You can do whatever you want with them, and I hope that you will care for them and let them grow just as I’ve tried my best for you all. Have a fantastic summer!”

  Almost on cue, the final bell rang. We all got up, a bit sheepish but a little wistful. I admit I had slightly watery eyes, but I didn’t dare admit it. Some of the students made for the door, while others said a few private words to Ms. Foster. I tried to sneak out, but Ms. Foster caught me, and gave me a big hug.

  “Good luck, Maya. You’ll do wonderful things.”

  I didn’t dawdle in the hallways; I made a beeline for the front doors and hurried home. Mom and Dad had said that they had to meet and sign some papers this afternoon, so I would be on my own today since Tim and Janie were going to daycare as usual. We had started gathering moving boxes a few days before, and for the next week we would be packing in earnest for the upcoming move.

  It’s an odd thing, being in your childhood home again. Not just visiting it later, because it’s not actually yours to go back to. I was literally reliving the past and able to say goodbye properly to this little house that helped form me. I was happy that I could have the house to myself this afternoon before everything started to get packed away, and as soon as I unlocked the front door I took a deep breath and strolled through the rooms.

  This house had originally belonged to my grandparents, and happened to be the house Mom grew up in as well. When us kids entered the picture, they sold it to my parents as a starter home. I knew the eventual fate of the house: it would be purchased by an older couple who would later sell it to some single guy who would let the property fall into neglect. I drove by the house as Matthew in the 2010s and when I saw the dead grass and chipped paint, I felt sad that the house wasn’t cared for like it had been when I lived there.

  But here in 1992, it was still our family house. I soaked it all in: the brick fireplace, the dark brown trim, the wide windows looking out to the backyard. I sat at the kitchen table, listening to the clock on the wall tick, eventually strolling downstairs to the basement I had played in for so long, and into my bedroom.

  It struck me that my room was the one room in the house that was markedly different from Matthew’s memory. Same walls and furniture, but far different than it had been in Matthew’s timeline. I had sold a lot of the action figures he had owned, and months ago I had taken down the baseball posters. I still had my Lego sets, but they were packed away. Even if I didn’t really tinker with them, I could never get rid of them. My keyboard sat prominently next to my dresser, and the scatterings of girls' clothing along with various hair clips and girlish accouterments indicated that this was not Matthew’s room; this was Maya’s.

  I regarded my room thoughtfully, thinking about my changes. Whatever had happened to me a year ago was permanent, and the path of my life was diverging. I used to think that I was a man named Matthew who was trapped in the body of Maya, but what I had come to realize more and more was that I was a girl named Maya, with the memories of a man named Matthew. It was difficult to remember what being male was like, and aside from a few inconveniences, I enjoyed being female. I hated being a child, sure, but that would be temporary.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I climbed the stairs and slid open the back door to stand on our back patio. I leaned against the rail, resting my chin on my arms, and breathed in the summer air of our backyard. I remembered moving away from this house as Matthew, and it had not been a good experience. Starting middle school in a new town, Matthew had been depressed and withdrawn, not really making friends or enjoying himself in his early teens. Too many video games, not enough studying, no friends of note. Sixth grade had been a miserable experience for him.

  Now that I was Maya, I was looking forward to middle school. I wasn’t afraid this time, since I knew what was coming…for the most part. It would be a chance to start over. To leave Matthew behind and embrace being Maya. Matthew and Maya’s first ten years were identical to each other, but now the paths were separating. I decided right there that I was going to throw myself into being a girl, and that Maya’s life was going to be interesting and full of richness. I smiled as I looked at the old apple tree with the sun shining through the leaves. I was thankful to live in the past again, but anxious to move to the next stage of my life.

  From the driveway, I heard the sound of a bike pedaling into my driveway and kicked out the stand to park it. My friend Randy saw me standing on the patio through the fence, and let himself into the backyard.

  “Hey, Maya. I was surprised that you left class so quickly.” We usually walked home together from school, even before Maya existed. Randy had been Matthew’s best friend, and he was still mine.

  “Hey Randy. I just needed to do something at home. I didn’t mean to ditch you.”

  Randy glanced at the stacked boxes next to the screen door. “Ah. Moving stuff?”

  I nodded. “Something like that.”

  Randy leaned onto the railing next to me, mirroring me with his chin on his arms. “So, next week is the move?”

  “Yep.”

  “I guess we’re not really going to see each other again.”

  Matthew’s memories flashed in my head. When I moved away in Matthew’s timeline, it was just too far to keep a friendship viable. We drifted apart, as it happens with kids. “Probably not,” I answered honestly.

  We stood in silence for a few minutes, though not awkwardly. It was eventually Randy who spoke up. “Maya, just so you know, I don’t care if you were Matthew or if you are Maya, you’re still my best friend.”

  I turned to smile at him. “You were too, Randy. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about my change right away. But thanks for staying my friend.”

  Randy flashed a shy smile. “You know, I think maybe I like you better as Maya.”

  I raised my eyebrow playfully. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I guess I can say it, because you’re moving and everything.” He took a deep breath. “I think you’re the prettiest girl in school.”

  My eyes bulged. “What?”

  Randy was firm. “You are. You’re really pretty. And you’re also really nice, and I think you’re cool. I don’t care if you used to be a boy or whatever, but if you weren’t moving away I would want you to be my girlfriend.”

  My heart just about melted right there. I hid my smile in my forearms and I glanced away, blushing. A boy thought I was pretty. Obviously it was just a young puppy love thing, and I thought of him as nothing more than a sweet kid, but my body reacted unconsciously and my stomach was a flurry of butterflies. I guess I reacted the way that a girl would react, but it’s not like anything would have happened. For the first time, I actually thought about it; what would happen with Randy in the future, anyway?

  The moment I started thinking about it, a flood of Matthew’s memories surged through my brain. I remembered when Facebook was first released in the late 2000s, and everyone was searching for old classmates to add to their brand new accounts. I remembered typing Randy’s name into the window out of curiosity, but the only results I saw was his older brother. I promptly messaged him and asked about Randy, where I learned about what happened to him. When Randy graduated high school in 1999, he had gotten a girlfriend who had broken his heart. In the breakup that followed, Randy got depressed and turned to alcohol. Alcohol turned into harder substances, and apparently Randy overdosed on something in 2005.

  This horrible realization burned into my head. How had I not remembered this before!? Why didn’t I think to recall what happened to this poor kid standing next to me? I remembered feeling very sad learning about what happened to Randy in Matthew’s timeline, and while I was sad for a few days, I moved on. I hadn’t thought twice about Randy until that fateful day I woke up in 1991. Yet here he was, standing next to me on my patio, his eyes full of life and professing what he thought about a pretty girl named Maya.

  “Maya? Are you okay? I’m sorry if I sounded weird,” Randy said. “I just wanted to let you know how I felt.”

  I turned to look at him, brushing a tuft of brown hair from my face. I suddenly needed to do something for him and his dark future. Partly because he was a good kid who didn’t deserve his fate, but also because he effortlessly made me feel oddly confident about myself. Hearing him say I was pretty made me feel more feminine than I thought possible. It was a silly thing, but I still felt elated by it.

  “Randy,” I said softly, “I want you to promise me something.”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean it. It will sound crazy, but you have to remember. Do you promise me?”

  “Okay, okay, I promise to remember. What is it?”

  I gripped his upper arms. “Promise me that you won’t ever drink alcohol. You’re an amazing boy, and I want you to always remember that. But please, never ever drink or forget how great you are. Alright?”

  Randy gave me a quizzical look. “Fine. I promise.”

  “Promise what?”

  “I promise I won’t drink alcohol. Not that I want to, because that stuff smells –”

  I didn’t let him finish, because I leaned forward to kiss him. It was a chaste kiss, just with the lips, but I held it there for several seconds. I could feel him freeze through my closed eyes and his arms went limp at his sides. I stepped back, taking my hands off his shoulders and crossing my arms protectively. Randy stood as still as a statue, with a glassy look in his eyes.

  “Tell me again what you promised,” I whispered. My voice was slightly shaky.

  “I’ll never drink alcohol for my entire life,” Randy intoned, as if in a daze.

  “Remember. You promised.”

  I had done it in the spur of the moment, partly because if anything it would make him think twice about alcohol in the future because it would be tied to his first kiss. My god, it was technically my first kiss too! There were other feelings which bubbled up from my body into my brain, but while I may have entertained them for a split second in my brazen act, I quickly squashed them down once again. I was trying to save his life, maybe to thank him for being so nice, nothing more!

  We sat next to each other on the swinging bench on the patio. We gently rocked back and forth, not saying anything, but just looking at the clouds and the trees. At a certain point Randy rested his hand on mine, which I allowed. We sat like this for the better part of an hour in a sort of content silence. Eventually my parent’s car pulled into the driveway, and immediately Randy took back his hand. Tim and Janie both ran into the house, with Mom and Dad hauling a new set of empty boxes into the kitchen. They greeted Randy, who shyly greeted them back. With a tight lipped smile to me, he hopped on his bike and took off for home.

  I didn’t move from the bench for some time. I hoped that what had just happened would have a transformative effect on his future. For all I knew, enough had changed in this timeline that it wasn’t going to happen anyway. There was also a small residual amount of guilt and shame about what I had done and how it felt. I was gratified that he liked me, but at the same time, despite my eleven year-old body, I still had adult sensibilities. It may have felt good, but I had to accept that I couldn’t return any sort of affection, now or ever, despite what my body was screaming at me.

  Perhaps another piece of Matthew faded away as I sat thinking about a boy. As the sun set over our backyard fence, I felt the envelope Ms. Foster had given me. I took it out, feeling the seeds shift inside of it as I turned it in my hands. I was certain about one thing. Going forward I was Maya Peterson, and while Matthew Peterson’s memories would be a comfort, and perhaps a great boon, I wasn’t him any more. I was Maya Peterson, and I was a girl with a lot of seeds to plant in her future. Or past, as it were.