It was a Friday in October, and the entire student body was in the gymnasium for our Homecoming pep rally. The band had started to play, and the girls on the cheerleading squad were moving into their formations and lining up for their routine. Unfortunately, I was on the sidelines sitting with the football team. Though I was in uniform, I had the unfortunate addition of a leg brace as an accessory.

  It had been a rough week. My ankle wasn’t broken, but it had a nasty strain and I had to make sure that I stayed off the leg while it healed. Strangely enough, despite me having to hobble around it had actually been a reprieve from all of the stresses in my life. Once I stopped beating myself up for injuring myself, everyone had been very helpful. Jake had been especially doting on me; he sat in his football uniform dutifully holding my crutches as I sat next to him on the bench.

  Erin and the rest of the squad members all pitched in, and I still didn’t miss practice even though I simply had to sit and watch. Even student government was accommodating to me, and I got excused from some of the more mundane responsibilities as treasurer. It wasn’t just people at school who were helping me; when Roger and the rest of the band heard I injured myself, all of the drama melted away and even they were being considerate. I saw the guys on the other side of the gymnasium, all the way in the back with the rest of the so-called slackers. We had a gig on Saturday for a college party, and the guys actually carried me onto stage and let the Masked Maiden sit on a folding chair. It was decidedly non-punk, but I still rocked it.

  Not for the first time did I surmise that the reason everyone was being so nice to me was because, well, I was an attractive girl. I had noticed this for years since waking up in the past as Maya that girls tended to get a lot of support, much more than Matthew ever got. It was annoying at times, since occasionally people would treat me too delicately, but now that I was stumbling around on crutches it was definitely a perk. If all I had to do was smile and be pretty to get my bags carried for me, it was well-worth the other inconveniences of being female.

  It was another week of lurching around on crutches before my ankle felt well enough to put weight on it. I probably could have done so earlier, but admittedly I was eliciting sympathy and enjoying the break from everything. I was even able to monitor my Marvel debt purchase from earlier in the year and re-track my upcoming Apple purchase. I had been squirreling away earnings for months, and I was setting up the sale of a couple of my positions to prepare for Apple purchase in December. It was going to pay off big time, and I am sure that everyone would call me nuts to invest in Apple so vigorously in the year 1997. However, the Butterfly Manifesto, my prophetic little notebook, knew what Steve Jobs had in store.

  November passed by swiftly. For the last few games of the football season, the coach decided to have me stay off the rigorous routines and had me man the megaphone. I still had the boomiest voice on the squad, though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little on edge about doing handsprings again so I was glad I didn’t have to. Since practice wasn’t so physically taxing, it made it easier to continue our regular gigs at The Whole. Mike, the manager, had been talking to me a lot more after the gigs, though it always had to be as we were packing up our equipment and heading out the door to make curfew.

  “Excellent show, Maya,” said Mike on our last set before Thanksgiving break. “Not that I’d expect anything less from you.”

  I couldn’t help but be flattered. “Thanks Mike,” I replied as I helped Barry wrap up the cords backstage.

  Mike glanced over his shoulder, where Roger and Carl were hauling cases to the backdoor. “You and me, we’ve got something special. Wouldn’t you say?”

  I tilted my head slightly. “Oh, um, sure Mike. We really appreciate the support you’re giving us. We’re definitely finding our voice.”

  “Well,” said Mike as he leaned in, “I think you’re finding your voice, but you know that you outclass these guys. You should think about what I could do for you.”

  I raised my eyebrow with a tight-lipped smile. “Um, sure Mike,” I said as I stepped away from him. “Anyway, I should help Barry. I’ll see you after the holidays.”

  Mike flashed a peculiar smile, one that I didn’t really recognize. “Sounds good, kid. See you next week.” He hovered for a few moments, then quickly turned and went through the curtain.

  I thought a lot about what Mike said over the holiday, about how he thought I was better than the rest of the band. I didn’t think I was a dynamo or anything, I just happened to have a lot more practice than a normal sixteen year-old girl ought to have. I couldn’t help but think that maybe he was right, that I had more to offer that everyone else. On the other hand, it was a lot like my sudden financial genius. It wasn’t real, and I was simply manipulating time and information.

  It continued to be on my mind when we went to Wisconsin for Thanksgiving with the Browns. It was a pleasant holiday as usual, and it was a nice reminder that being able to relive the past with my family was a true gift, even more so than stocks and guitar riffs. I spent a lot of time talking to Grandma Brown and Grandma Lola in the kitchen while the rest of the family watched football, with heapings of womanly advice whether I asked for it or not. This year also marked the first year that I got to sit at the adults table. Maybe I was because I was eager to help out in the kitchen and they fast tracked me. Matthew had sat at the kids table until college.

  Thanksgiving break was a nice breather for me to refocus on my upcoming Apple purchase. I was obsessive about checking the price everyday, and I knew how important this one trade would be. It amazed me that people could only go by the newspaper everyday back in the 90s, and it always felt that I was starved for information. I couldn’t remember the exact price to watch for; I told myself I would give it until at least mid-December or buy at twelve cents a share, whichever came first. I found it funny that back in 1997 everyone dismissed Apple as a washed out company. I liked being one of the only people in the world who knew what a safe bet it was.

  It happened on Monday, December 15th. The price had been wavering around eleven and ten cents a share for days, so I decided to pull the trigger when I got home from school that afternoon. I told Dad to take a sick day that day, explaining that I was going to make a profitable purchase for his account, and at this point the modest amount of money I had made in his account assured his faith in me. He had been tinkering in the garage all day when I phoned Mr. Henderson at the brokerage.

  “Hey Dad,” I called out as casually as I could through the door to the garage. “I’ve got Mr. Henderson on the line.”

  “Sure thing, sweetheart.” Dad rubbed his greasy hands on a red cloth as he entered the entry way taking the phone from my hand as he did so. “Bill! How are you doing? Good, good. Alright, so it’s the usual thing. Yes, I give consent to let Maya handle this. She has my full permission. Great, here she is.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” I said sweetly. “Go ahead and get back to the car. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  Dad winked at me and handed the cordless phone back to me. “Knock ‘em dead, Maya!”

  Dad closed the door behind him, and I retreated back downstairs to my room. “Good afternoon, Mr. Henderson,” I said, shifting into business mode.

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  “Good afternoon, Miss Peterson. I take it today is going to be a big day? The sell-offs from Dell and Microsoft were finalized on Friday. We’re looking at about $610,000 liquid cash, not to mention what has accumulated since June.” I heard Mr. Henderson take a breath as his voice took on a hint of anxiety. “All in all, that’s a little over one million. This is quite an amount for our firm. You’ll be outgrowing us soon. Now, tell me what you’re thinking.”

  I took a breath. “I want to put this to work immediately. On the custodial account, I want to instruct the immediate purchase using this amount for shares in Apple Computer, Inc. Ticker symbol APPL.”

  There was a long pause on the other end. “Miss Peterson, do you realize that is a seven-figure position we’re committing to an unstable stock? I mean, we can do it; the volume is there, but this kind of conviction…it’s astronomical. I have to advise that you would be wiping out your entire cash stock. You’ve made some very genius plays, but you really need to understand the risk I’m running here.”

  “I understand the risk. I would like to execute the order immediately. Also,” I added, checking my notes, “I would also like to authorize the purchase on my father’s account of four thousand for the same purchase of Apple Computer.”

  I heard some keyboard tapping on the other side of the line. “Alright, it should be a few days to purchase all of the positions, but the orders will be placed today. I just hope you know what you’re doing, Miss Peterson.” His voice seemed to go up an octave, and I could almost hear him sweat into the receiver.

  “I appreciate that, Mr. Henderson. I’ll be in touch this week.” I hung up the phone, feeling my clammy hands contrasted with the coolness of my voice. I had just performed a one million dollar transaction at sixteen! A wave of dizzying confidence hit me as I picked up my Butterfly Manifesto and opened it to my Apple page. I checked off the boxes next to APPLE STOCK PEAK, DECEMBER 1997(?) BEFORE BIG RUN. This was definitely a wave I was going to ride for the next couple of years before the really big pay off. Setting the notebook aside, I lay back on my bed with my hands behind my head, grinning wildly.

  The next day I had a spring in my step from when I drove to school with Erin in the morning to when the end of the day bell rang. No one around me suspected that I was a million-dollar stock trader, let alone a secret punk rock star. I certainly didn’t look like a punk rock millionaire. My good mood continued as I arrived at Roger’s place with my guitar to change into my outfit and to do my makeup. Once my black eyeliner was applied and my black t-shirt was on, the Masked Maiden was ready to rock.

  There wasn’t a huge crowd at The Whole that night, since it was a Tuesday in a Minnesota winter, but there was definitely some flair coming from me. I even spotted Mike in the back nodding approvingly as we did our set for the evening. By the time we ended the night with my guitar solo in Static Kiss, the adrenaline was thick in the air and I was panting through my black mask. What patrons we had cheered and clapped as we took our bows.

  After the set, I was still glowing when I was in the new green room Mike had cleared out a couple of weeks ago. We used it mostly to store our cases, but I asked if I could remove my eyeliner before we took off for the suburbs. I was busy rubbing the wet-wipes on my eyes when I heard the door open behind me. A hand touched my hip from behind and I turned with a jolt.

  Mike was standing there, with that same smile that unnerved me before Thanksgiving. “Gave you a bit of a fright, didn’t I?”

  I glanced away, unconsciously crossing my arms in front of my stomach. “Yeah,” I stammered, “I just needed a minute to take off my makeup before we take off.”

  Mike took a step forward, backing me up against the mirror and looking down at me. I could smell beer on his breath. “You know, I’ve never met a girl as talented as you. You could go far, if you wanted. And I could help you.”

  He reached out to touch my hip again, but I shifted to my right. He shifted in return, edging me into the corner of the room. “I really appreciate you helping the band,” I breathed, “but I think I should really get going...”

  Mike stepped forward again, pushing me to the wall. “There’s no rush. I’m thinking maybe you could help me just like I’ve been helping you.”

  In a flash, his hand reached out and gripped my left breast. I genuinely panicked, and the blood drained from my face. “Please, Mike, I have to go.”

  “I really think you should stay and help me out,” sneered Mike as he took his other arm and shoved me against the wall. I tried to push back, but he didn’t even budge. I screamed, before his hand went from my breast to my mouth.

  Mike pressed himself against me, and my head struck the brick wall as I hyperventilated against his sweaty hand over my mouth. I tried again to push back, but he was heavier than me and I was off balance. I tried to shriek as he eased himself on top of me, and I was powerless to do anything. Oh god, what is he going to do to me? I screamed inside of my head.

  The door opened again, and over Mike’s shoulder I saw Carl casually munching on a bag of chips. His eyes landed on us, and Mike immediately got off of me in a huff. Once freed, I bolted towards Carl, grabbing on to his confused, cheese-stained arm. “Uh, what’s going on?” Carl asked through a mouthful of food.

  Mike frowned, waving it off. “I was just talking to Maya, no big thing.”

  “We have to go, now,” I shrieked, and I slid past Carl to the door and to the stage where Barry and Roger were packing up along with the remnants of the guests for the evening.

  Barry saw my tears. ‘Maya, is everything okay?”

  I buried my face into his chest, sobbing, much to his confusion. I felt his hand go awkwardly to my shoulder. “I need to go,” I cried, “I need to get my stuff and I need to go. Please!”

  Roger curiously approached us, but questioned nothing. “Barry, bring her out to the van and stay with her. I’ll grab her stuff and get Carl too.”

  Less than five minutes later I was sitting in the back of our van, hopelessly crying into my hands as Barry sat with me. Roger and Carl carried our gear as quickly as they could, making sure that they handed my guitar directly to me. Carl even handed my black facemask to me, which I crumbled into my grip. There was no sign of Mike by the time we hit the road out of downtown and back home. I could still feel the ghost of his hand on my chest.

  Between sobs I tried to say what happened, and to their credit the guys merely nodded and said little. Roger swore under his breath, and I could see him glaring at the windshield from the passenger seat. There was a wordless acknowledgement that we would not be going back to the venue ever again, with the guys even affirming that “it wasn’t even a good setup anyway” and “it was bullshit that they kept us on Tuesdays this whole time instead of giving us a weekend slot.”

  I had calmed down by the time I got home, and thankfully my parents were upstairs in the kitchen and didn’t see me come in. I nonchalantly called out that I was home before rushing down into my room and locking the door. I had no more tears by then, and I merely flung myself onto my bed and buried my face into my pillow. Countless thoughts entered my head through fear and helplessness.

  Everything I was to this point, from the secret lives to the genius financial moves meant nothing. It was all dust. I wasn’t some gifted guitar player, I was just some pretty girl who was just asking to be taken advantage of. God, I could have been raped tonight, because I wanted to be on stage and show off. To pretend to be some Masked Maiden and to take advantage of the fact that time travel allowed me to have ten years of practice that a sixteen year-old girl shouldn’t have.

  I rolled onto my back, glancing over at a few financial documents I had carelessly left sitting out from the stock sales for this week. Yet another example of me pretending to be talented. I wasn’t anything special, I was just masquerading as a girl with decades of knowledge in my head that I was using to cheat Wall Street. No one would ever take me seriously because at the end of the day I was just some pretty face. I had been so confident, and after a few disgusting moments I felt like dirt.

  I was wrong. I still had some tears left as they began to stream down my cheeks in the dark.