It was mid-march, and I was sitting in my social studies class, idly paging through The Butterfly Manifesto, which I had named the innocent looking notebook filled with accurate information about the future and my plans for what to do with them. I had just finished our quiz on the state capitals, and as usual I finished much faster than my classmates, leaving me idle as was routine at this point. However, today there happened to be two things that were on my mind. The first, and most pressing, was the next period, which was gym class. We had been doing our swimming unit for the past few weeks, and while the class itself was fine, it was before and after that bothered me.

  The locker room had been a source of anxiety since middle school started, and until this point it had not been a problem. Just a quick change into the gym uniform followed by dodgeball for an hour. Changing for swim class, however, was more involved. I was nervous about undressing in a room full of girls, but I was terrified of having to shower with them. The first time I did I held a towel in front of me the entire time, though I noticed that everyone was just as pensive about having to shower together. It got a little easier over time, but I still dreaded it.

  The other thing on my mind troubled me more than a measly shower. Today was March 15, which in Matthew’s timeline was his wedding anniversary. As Matthew, I had been married to my wife Catherine for about seven years before I was mysteriously transported back in time and into a female body. She was always a point of pain in my memories as Matthew, and it made me sad that the man who would grow up to be her husband would never exist.

  Catherine had an entry in The Butterfly Notebook, which I was currently fingering. Catherine grew up in Chicago, where she would eventually meet Matthew and was only a few days younger than Matthew was. This meant that currently she was eleven just like I was, and somewhere in the Chicago area. She had a string of retail jobs in her twenties, but what worried me was what I remembered about her youth. I never learned the details, but when she was thirteen she suffered bouts of depression, culminating in a suicide attempt. If I was going to make positive changes in my life because of my foreknowledge, I wanted to do the same for her, but I was at a loss as to how.

  Before the bell let out on this particular day, my teacher reminded the class about a program called Student Letter Exchange. It was a program between various schools and states. Apparently, any student could match up with a student from across the country and become pen pals. Prior to email and chat rooms, writing letters was the only way to meet other kids from other places. As the teacher tried to sell the disinterested class on this program, a light went on in my head. Catherine would have been the kind of girl that would have enjoyed having a pen pal, so why couldn’t it be a friendly girl from Minnesota named Maya?

  For the rest of the school day I pondered how I could make it happen. The quandary even managed to take my mind off of the locker room, because I was stumped as to how to connect with her all the way down in Chicago. I had few resources at my disposal; If I wanted to implement any of the plans I had written in The Butterfly Notebook I was going to need cash. As it happened, one of my revenue streams was happening today, and it involved the University of Minnesota.

  My case had been of great interest to the multitudes of medical professionals involved. In the beginning, they had conducted a battery of tests, but all they had found was that I was a normal, healthy girl despite being born male previous to that. I was a medical curiosity, and we had had numerous biologists and doctors contact us to participate in studies, but Mom had always declined for my own good. I had adjusted to being female quite well, and she thought it best to just move forward.

  At the beginning of the year I heard that scientists were still contacting my parents to request my cooperation for long term studies of my condition, and a bell went off in my head. I convinced my parents that it would be good if I was constantly monitored for my health, since the official story was that I was some sort of intersex person at birth, but metamorphosed later in life. It would be important if scientists followed my progress. Of course, I wasn’t going to do it for free.

  Essentially, twice a month Mom and I went in for physicals downtown, where researchers analyzed everything about me to track my progress and see if they could detect anything abnormal. Of course I knew it was nothing biological, but they didn’t. I felt a little guilty that I was fleecing them for cash, but I was determined to use this money for something positive. The research compensation was fairly good, especially for a kid like me, and it went straight into a bank account that I asked my parents set up for me.

  Like most of my sessions, today involved me sitting while they took various samples, recorded my weight and proportions, and checked my physical health. Mom sat next to me in the examination room with a magazine while the nurse used the measuring tape on me. I stood still while she took the measurements of my torso, but when she reached for the pen and clipboard, her elbow brushed against my chest, causing me to cry out in pain.

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

  “Oh, I am so sorry, my dear!” she apologized. “I hope I didn’t bump you too hard.”

  I gripped my chest, wincing. “It’s fine. You didn’t hit me hard, it’s just really tender.”

  While the nurse made a quick note on her clipboard, I saw Mom looking at me sternly and appraisingly. I never liked when she had that look in her eye.

  “We’re going to stop by Dayton’s on the way home, I think,” informed Mom as we walked out of the clinic and to the car.

  “Okay,” I replied. “Are we going to look at clothes or something?”

  “Mm hmm,” murmured Mom. “I think it’s time to look at training bras.”

  I groaned. “I don’t need one of those! I don’t even have boobs!”

  “Not yet,” she replied, not noticing me flinch, “but that’s not what they are for. Today wasn’t the first time I’ve noticed how sensitive your breasts are.”

  “Ugh, don’t say breasts…”

  “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Maya. A training bra can give some much needed protection, and if you’re anything like me you’re going to need it.”

  I huffed again, having once again no choice in the matter. Granted, I had been having issues with my chest for the longest time. The slightest touch could be excruciating. But growing breasts wasn’t something that I was prepared for yet, nor something I wanted to acknowledge would happen to me. I did take note of Mom’s generous bust size; if she was any metric, I was in for trouble. I was definitely not ready yet.

  The two of us entered the girls’ section of the store, and into the brassiere section. While I was fine with the girls’ clothing section, this section was a bit too much for me. Mom knew my chest size, and quickly was able to locate an appropriate bra for me that had ample padding. It fit just fine, but I still felt embarrassed trying it on.

  Once we selected a handful of the bras, we poked through the racks seeing if there was anything that caught our eye. As we did so, a well-dressed woman approached us. “Donna? Donna Brown?” she asked tentatively.

  Mom looked up from the racks. “Yes, that’s my – Marie!? Marie Thompson?”

  The two women laughed and immediately hugged. “I thought that was you! Oh my god, how long has it been?”

  “Ten? Eleven years? College seems like centuries ago. How have you been, Marie? You look wonderful!”

  “Oh, I am wonderful. And who is this lovely young lady with you?”

  “This is my daughter, Maya. We’re just doing a bit of shopping today.”

  Marie had a quizzical look on her face. “I might be mixed up, because I swear you had had a baby boy the last time we saw each other.”

  “No no, that was Maya,” Mom pivoted coolly. I kept a tight, if not awkward smile.

  Marie chuckled softly. “Well, it really has been too long if I can’t even remember that much. What are you doing now? We have to catch up. There’s an amazing restaurant upstairs and it is my treat. I will not take no for an answer!”

  Mom quickly agreed, and I was dragged along with the two old friends as we sat around the table of the aforementioned restaurant. While they caught up with each other’s lives I sat pliantly and sipped my coke. It turns out that Marie was a marketing executive for Dayton’s, which happened to be one of the larger chains at the time. She helped publish the seasonal catalog, and by all accounts was quite successful.

  Marie kept smiling at me as they conversed. “I can’t get over how lovely your daughter is, Donna.”

  “You have no idea, Marie!” Mom said as I blushed.

  “I have to tell you, and please don’t think I am crazy, but have you considered modeling?”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

  “I only ask because we’re always on the look out for a variety of children for the catalog, and I really think that Maya has that presence. If you were interested, I could at least give you an audition slot – we’re having one next weekend for our summer line.”

  “Well,” murmured Mom as she twisted her mouth thoughtfully, “It would have to be Maya’s call. What do you think, dear?”

  I smirked. “How much does it pay?”