Going through sixth grade for the second time in my second life ranged from mundanity to moments of elation. While it wasn’t as restrictive as elementary school, since I changed classrooms every period, it still remained woefully boring for me. There were good parts about middle school, however. I was openly living as a girl, and no one thought differently about it. Every day I was becoming more comfortable being female, and my middle school career was already more successful than Matthew’s had been in my previous timeline. I had a lot of friends, and was quickly getting a reputation as a model student.

  One area that signified my growing contentment as a girl was my clothing. I decided to embrace being a girl, but there was no way that I was going to adopt the hairstyles and fashions that were in vogue here in 1992. Colorful sweaters and frizzy hair with short bangs were not going to be a thing with me. I decided on a look that was simpler and more classic, not to mention a bit more ahead of the curve fashion-wise. I usually wore pleated or A-line short skirts (never denim) with a short-sleeve top of primarily solid colors and no patterns. I liked wearing headbands, and always made sure that the color of my hair band matched my top.

  I made a game out of choosing a particular color for a top that matched my mood for the day. If I was feeling fresh, I chose green. If I was feeling calm, I went with blue. If I was feeling a bit agitated, I wore red. Mostly though, I wore black tops, because I black meant I was disaffected and resented having to go to middle school every day. Plus I looked good in black. As it got chillier, I would wear stockings under my skirt. I could have worn jeans, but I really wanted to underscore the fact that I was a girl. Perhaps I felt I had to prove my girlhood, even if it was just to myself. Also, I really liked wearing skirts. They were just so much more comfortable, once I got used to them.

  That being said, I was getting noticed. It was subtle; I would be walking by and boys would turn their heads, and I thought it was strange that I was getting smiled at so often until I realized why. I didn’t enjoy the attention, but I was forced to concede that it was the price of being well-groomed. As far as the girls, there were many in my grade who were clearly stuck-up, and early on they honed in on the new girl in class as someone they could pick on. It didn’t work; I already had a circle of girlfriends, and my sense of style and intelligence came off as confidence and they immediately backed off. I tried my best to be friendly to everyone, and I think I was well-liked by most everyone. All in all, Maya was far more popular than Matthew ever dreamed of being.

  By November, I had mostly straight A’s, but I was disappointed to see a B for Home Economics. It was the one class that I couldn’t coast through using Matthew’s knowledge, and I was all thumbs making anything. In my previous life I had hated cooking and avoided it like the plague. Still, I was irked by the single blemish on my report card, which only inspired Mom and Dad to insist I help in the kitchen for practice. I resented having to do chores like this while my brother Tim was excused. As Matthew I had never been expected to do kitchen chores.

  About a week before Thanksgiving break, I was in my room practicing a Chopin piece on my keyboard when Mom knocked on my door. “Sweetie, do you have a minute?” she asked.

  “Sure, Mom,” I said, taking off my headphones. “What’s up?”

  “I just got off the phone with Grandma Lola. When we go to Wisconsin for Thanksgiving, you’ll be staying at her house for a few days afterwards.”

  Grandma Lola was my great grandmother on my mother’s mother’s side. She lived in the small township in rural Wisconsin where she raised all of her children, including my grandmother. Grandma Lola was the matriarch of the family; born in the middle of the Depression, she was a small woman, but fiercely independent. She dropped out of high school in order to get married, and loved being a wife and mother, and later grandmother and great-grandmother. She was a tough old lady, and even though she was more of a guest than a host at family events these days, the family sort of galvanized around her.

  It was a thing that girls in my family, from my mother and aunts to distant cousins, would all spend time at Grandma Lola’s. My mom herself spent many of her summers with her and her cats in her little yellow house. It’s not that Grandma Lola didn’t like boys – she always said that she liked boys too much and it got her into trouble – but Matthew was never particularly close to her and was never extended the invitation, much like the rest of my uncles and distant male cousins. Even Janie, when she was old enough, would eventually stay at her house and would be very close to her.

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  “I’m staying at Grandma Lola’s for the break? Why?”

  “I was on the phone with her,” she smiled, “and we were talking and she said that she would like for you to take your turn and stay with her. It’ll be good for you.”

  “But I was going to go to Erin’s cabin after Thanksgiving! I’ve never stayed with Grandma before, why now?” I knew the answer as soon as the words left my mouth.

  “Well, you are her granddaughter, after all. And she wants to get to know the ‘new you’ since I told her that you were very comfortable…as yourself.”

  “Great,” I rested my cheek in my hand. “You mean because I’m a girl, I have to go stay with her and her houseful of cats.”

  “Don’t say it like that. She just wants to spend some time with you. And don’t pout like that, young lady. You’ll have a great time!”

  I wasn’t sure about that, but as an eleven year-old kid I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. When the break started our family made the drive to Wisconsin. We happened to be the farthest away, as all of my mother’s cousins were spread out around Wisconsin. When we arrived at my great uncle Jimmy’s house, there were already a dozen cars parked in the driveway and the street. We trudged through the snow and knocked on the door.

  Besides my grandparents and my uncle Trevor’s family, the house was full of my mom’s aunts and uncles as well as many of her distant cousins. Most of the boys in my family were athletes like my brother Tim, and Matthew had always been the odd duck out. Now that Matthew was Maya, I was even odder. There weren’t any girls my own age: a couple in high school or around Janie’s age, so I was pretty much ignored by them all. But I wasn’t ignored by Grandma Lola, and was called over to her. She was a very thin woman with a short curl of gray hair, and she was seated on Uncle Jimmy’s massive armchair. Today, it was Grandma Lola’s throne.

  “Maya, dear, come see me,” she said in her wispy, yet firm, Wisconsin accent. “I’m so happy you’re staying with me this weekend,” she said, leaning forward and giving me a hug.

  I returned her hug dutifully. “Hi, Grandma Lola.”

  She took my cheeks into her hands. “Oh my, you’ve become such a pretty young lady. And I’m glad to see you’re wearing a dress, the last time I saw you you were still dressed like a boy! It looks darling on you.”

  My cheeks pinked a little; I had just picked out a long, plaid brown dress, not thinking that much about it. But I did appreciate the compliment.

  “Come,” she said, standing up and taking my hand. “Let’s go see if they need any help in the kitchen.”

  As Grandma Lola led me away to the kitchen, I cast glances over to my brother and my male relatives, who were all gathered around the TV. Once again, I resented suddenly having to do chores just because I was a girl. Not that I wanted to watch football anyway, but it was the principle of the thing!

  Grandma Lola, along with a couple of my aunts and Grandma Jeannie were busying themselves getting the food ready. Grandma Lola volunteered to get the potatoes ready, and brought me with her to the table to help. She was chatting with me as we mashed them, asking about school and such. I answered mechanically, struggling with the masher. Grandma Lola would occasionally try to correct me, but I still didn’t like doing it.

  After a few hours of doing whatever tasks Grandma Lola instructed me on, Thanksgiving was finally served. The gravy Grandma Lola had made was as good as I remembered it, and I had forgotten how good of a cook she was. In Matthew’s timeline, advanced age had eventually prevented her from household tasks, but in 1992 she was old, yet still mobile. Once dinner winded down again, most of the family migrated to the den to continue watching the game, and before I could sneak away Grandma Lola recruited me to help her clean up.

  Grudgingly, I helped my grandmothers and aunts scrub the dishes. I noticed that Mom and the older female cousins had managed to avoid dish duty and were happily watching football. I was a bit miffed, but Grandma Lola did let me finish early and slipped me the first slice of apple pie. The ladies joined me at the table once everything was put away, and we all sipped tea and chatted. Well, they chatted; I was wolfing down pie. They occasionally asked me questions about school and such, but I felt very much out of place.

  The evening came, and my family started getting ready to hit the road. Dad pulled out my suitcase from the trunk and hauled it inside. Mom kissed me goodbye, ensuring that I will have a good time and that I would see them on Sunday. I was noticeably skeptical, but Mom ignored the frown on my face. I waved as they pulled out of the driveway and headed back to our house. I sighed as I waited for the rest of the family, one by one, headed out the door and back to their homes.

  Eventually, it was just Uncle Jimmy’s family and Grandma Lola left in the house. “Come, Maya,” Grandma Lola said as she rested her hand on my shoulder. “We should get going soon. The cats will need to be fed soon.”

  I just hoped they didn’t enjoy the taste of eleven-year-olds.