For days after Jake broke up with me, I holed up inside of my room. I could barely summon the energy to delegate Butterfly Capital business, and fortunately most of it was out of my hands beyond confirming and initiating tasks. If Karen sensed anything wrong on my end, she kept it professional as she updated me on relocation details. Apparently she had closed on an appropriate property on my behalf, and while it was described to me I really wasn’t in the mood to hear anything. Once I finished my tasks for the day, I either numbly played on my keyboard or crawled back into bed.

  For the first week or so I was afraid of socializing, anxious that Jake would be at whatever party I was invited to. My friends called to check in, as word had gotten out about the breakup, but I just wasn’t in the mood for people. Erin would encourage me to get out, but I politely declined. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between us to hold off on sex, but regardless she was ever-present and visited me every day.

  At a certain point, when I was absently plucking away at my guitar, I tried to approach the situation rationally. It had been ridiculous to suggest escalating sex with Jake, and even more so to offer to bring him to Chicago with me. As much as I cared about Jake, I had to admit that he had been a buffer; a way to ward off the legions of high school boys who might be interested in me. He was one of the few students who acted older than his years, and he was always nice. There was a safety in that niceness that I missed.

  I missed having him as a friend. That, and as a lover. I wasn’t sure which I missed more, because I loved having sex with him. To be rejected after discovering that side of myself made me feel like a failure. However, I knew that it would have to end somehow this summer, as I had too many responsibilities. I could never be someone’s wife and I could never have children. Not only did the idea of being pregnant repulse me, my knowledge of the future and my wealth meant that I could never have an equal partner. As much as I tried to rationalize everything, it didn’t make me feel much better.

  I eventually did open up to Mom, who had patiently waited for me to approach her. She immediately consoled me, suspecting what had happened. “He was always such a nice boy,” she said when she took me out for lunch one day. “You’re a wonderful girl, Maya. And you have so much to look forward to, even if it doesn’t seem like it right now.”

  I grudgingly accepted Mom’s words, and when we returned home Dad was piddling around the garage. “How was lunch, girls?” he asked.

  Mom put her arm around me as we walked into the garage. “Maya just told me that she and Jake broke up.”

  “I’m really sorry, sweetie,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “He was a good kid. Good hand at the paddle. Filled that spot Tim and I had on the boat perfectly.”

  I knew it was stupid, but it still stung that I was never invited to go fishing with the men of the family. Sure, I didn’t want to go fishing, but Matthew went every summer in his timeline. In a way, Jake took my spot every time they went north to the Boundary Waters since apparently girls are incapable of rowing. I excused myself to my room, and as I started removing my earrings my phone rang.

  “Maya Peterson,” I snapped into the receiver. “Go ahead.”

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Peterson. This is Peter Vance; I’ve been helping coordinate the domain sales from Northern Trust, and I’m calling to inform you that I’ve been placed on permanent retainer for Butterfly Capital. I’ll be handling your legal strategy and compliance as the LLC's primary counsel, as well as your personal lawyer going forward.”

  “It’s nice to officially meet you,” I said as I grabbed out of my ledgers. “I appreciate you taking on the responsibility for Butterfly Capital, Mr. Vance. However, before we get into the contracts and escrow, there is an intensely private matter which might be prudent to discuss now. Under the strictest lawyer-client confidentiality.”

  There was a tonal shift in Vance’s voice. “Absolutely. How can I help you?”

  I explained to Vance the circumstances of my gender change, something I hadn’t said out loud for years. Obviously I didn’t mention the time-traveling stuff, just the story that the doctors came up with about my intersex condition. That I was mistaken for male for much of my life, which was a tale I hadn’t spun for many years. I assured him I was completely biologically female, despite my early years. I could hear him taking notes over the receiver.

  “So essentially, Mr. Vance, what I need is a scrub of my legal history. I want every medical, school, or vital record that references Matthew Peterson eliminated with prejudice. I don’t just want an amended birth certificate; I want it reissued to say ‘Maya Elizabeth Peterson’ so that anyone who investigates will find nothing but the records of a girl born in Minnesota. Is this a service you can provide?”

  There was a short pause. “This will require time and substantial resources. Sealing state records, petitioning school districts…but I believe it can be done. I’ll handle this immediately.”

  It occurred to me that this was more substantial than replacing Matthew on a boat; this would be his legal death and erasure. It had to be done, however; I couldn’t have people discovering I lived as a boy for the first ten years of my life. I had to focus on the next few years, and that meant refocusing on Chicago. Even if I was still hurting.

  By the time September arrived, I had emerged from my isolation only to watch my friends move on one by one to their respective schools. UChicago didn’t start until later that month, which meant I would be the last one to leave. Erin herself left for Michigan before Labor Day, which was a very tearful goodbye followed by a promise to keep in touch. Soon it was just me left as I made my final preparations for my own journey to university. Well, I should say Karen made the preparations, and it seemed that there wasn’t anything she couldn’t do.

  Karen requested a forty-eight hour buffer to finalize the apartment, so we left Minneapolis Wednesday morning for a family trip to the Wisconsin Dells. We only had a couple of days, so I tried to lose myself in the moment and not be a CEO or an incoming freshman. I was just a daughter and a sister soaking up the noise and the chaos. I intended to milk the day to keep us in that warm family bubble as long as possible. But Friday morning arrived anyway, and we loaded up the car for the final leg of the trip.

  We arrived in Chicago on Friday afternoon. The address Karen gave Dad led us to Lake Shore Drive to a classic limestone fortress in the Gold Coast, sitting directly across from Oak Street Beach and Lake Michigan. The doorman was expecting us, and a team swarmed our car to begin unloading our baggage before Dad even put it in park.

  We were led past the main desk to a discreet elevator bank in the back. The manager inserted a key, the doors slid shut, and we rose silently. When they opened with a soft ding, it wasn't into a hallway. It was into a small, private vestibule with a stairwell opposite. There was only one door to the right, which led to my unit. The manager unlocked it, and we stepped inside to my home for the first time.

  The silence was immediate and heavy. The floors were polished hardwood that led into a massive living room ahead, furnished with plush, cream-colored sofas and a large-screen television that Tim immediately fawned over. To the right lay a library paneled in dark wood, featuring a fireplace and a large window that shared the same commanding view of the lake as the living room. There were tastefully-framed posters of several bands I mentioned to Karen as well as a sizable vinyl collection.

  We walked further in, passing through a narrow butler’s pantry lined with glass cabinets. It led to a kitchen that looked like it belonged in a magazine; gleaming professional-grade appliances, granite countertops, and a breakfast nook with a view of the city behind it. Mom opened the massive refrigerator, gasping at the full stock of fresh produce, milk, and my favorite snacks. Even the bathrooms were like spas, boasting deep soaking tubs and stacks of fluffy, high-thread-count towels.

  Dad was wandering around, running his hand along the trim. "Good lord," he muttered, looking up at the hand-painted wallpaper. "Northern Trust really takes care of their interns, huh?"

  Mom stopped dead in the center of the kitchen. She looked at the six-burner stove, the custom cabinetry, and then at me, panic rising in her eyes.

  "Maya," she whispered, her voice tight. "This isn't a dorm. This isn't even a normal apartment. Who pays for this? Does the program cover all of this?"

  "It's part of the package, Mom," I said, trying to keep my voice casual.

  "No," she shook her head, backing out into the foyer. "This is a palace, Maya. People don't just give eighteen-year-olds apartments like this. What do they want from you? Is this... legal?"

  "Mom, it's fine—"

  The elevator chimed again behind us, saving me from the story I was about to construct.

  “Welcome to Chicago, Peterson family!” exclaimed Thorne as he stepped into the foyer.

  “And welcome home, Ms. Peterson,” echoed a forty-something woman dressed professionally in a gray pants suit who I immediately identified as Karen. She took my hand.

  ‘It’s so nice to finally meet you, Karen,” I said earnestly. “This apartment is absolutely gorgeous.”

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Karen smiled. “I’m so pleased, Ms. Peterson. I do have a few points to go over with you about building procedures, but rest assured I will help you get acclimated over the next few days. I’ve arranged for grocery deliveries every Wednesday, and the cleaner will be in on Mondays and Thursdays. Oh, you must be Donna!”

  Mom stepped into the foyer, a wash cloth in hand. “Karen, nice to meet you. This apartment…it’s like a dream. It feels like too much…”

  “Well, only the best for a client such as Ms. Peterson, Mrs. Peterson,” assured Thorne. “I wanted to personally greet Maya before her orientation week at UChicago, and please do not hesitate to contact me if there is anything I can do for you.”

  Karen and Mr. Thorne walked me and my parents through many of the security protocols, and Dad was a bit shocked that we had to phone downstairs if we wanted the driver or wanted something delivered. I listened closely to everything, knowing that I would have to make all of the protocols routine. Karen delivered ledgers and security fobs which I was instructed to keep in my purse at all times. Apparently security measures were initiated the second I walked through the door.

  She also unveiled a Nokia 8810 cell phone, to which I almost squealed. Re-living through the 90s in real time made me yearn for the convenience of smart phones, but in 1999 this was the closest I could get. It was pre-programed with every contact number I needed, and linked to the pager I already carried. Thorne and Karen excused themselves succinctly, assuring they would be in contact if anything else was needed on their end. We thanked them as they excused themselves, and for the rest of the afternoon we marveled at the apartment and watched movies on my pristine DVD player.

  Mom managed to ground herself the only way she knew how – by cooking. She bypassed the high-end convection settings on the stove and simply boiled water for spaghetti, filling the luxury space with the familiar, comforting smells of garlic and oregano. We ate at the dining area by the bay windows looking out at the vast, dark expanse of the lake and the distant twinkling lights of Navy Pier, pretending for a moment that we were just having dinner at home, only with a much better view.

  That night, the sleeping arrangements shook out easily. Tim claimed the office, tossing his duffel bag onto the sleeper sofa. I gave him strict orders not to touch my Mac Pro the staff had installed today. Mom and Dad took the guest suite, and Janie bunked with me in the master bedroom since it was the only space left. I tried to soak in the gravity of my new life, lying in a king-sized bed in a Gold Coast palace, but it was hard to feel like an adult when my little sister was spread-eagle across the mattress, kicking me in the shins every time I drifted off.

  The following morning after Mom made breakfast, we called downstairs for a car to take us to the University of Chicago campus. Dad was a little miffed that he couldn’t drive us himself. My driver introduced himself as Robert, and had been expecting the call and had our full itinerary from Karen. He drove us to the campus in record time, where we were scheduled to check into Snell-Hitchcock Hall, a gothic monolith of limestone like something out of a movie. Unlike the other families who were hauling suitcases into the manor-like front doors, we simply walked in after Robert dropped us off.

  We went to the front desk to pick up the O-Week packet along with my ID card and UChicago swag. I had been assigned to Hitchcock House, but the Resident Head was momentarily confused when I didn’t have a dorm assigned to me. We explained that I was an affiliated non-resident of Hitchcock, and they were happy it was one less starry-eyed freshman that they had to help find their room.

  We explored the cavernous building, locating the facilities and the Green Lounge. Mom and Dad were clearly stunned by the Ivy League feel of the area, and even I was overwhelmed by everything. Since we weren’t unloading or unpacking anything, we grabbed lunch down the street before crossing the main quad to Rockefeller Chapel to the convocation ceremony for the Class of 2003. I marched with the rest of the students to the pews as our families watched from the side. The president and the dean gave speeches in the massive cathedral, and I was surprised at how serious it was. I remembered Matthew’s convocation speech being a lot more fun and light at his school.

  The ceremony finished with bagpipe music blaring, and I said goodbye to my family as they split off to spend the rest of the day downtown while I was ushered to the mandatory House meeting. Mom and Dad gave me big hugs as Robert paged with the pick up spot. Mom, Janie, and I sniffled a little bit while Dad and Tim remained stoic, and I assured them I would see them at the apartment tonight.

  Back at Snell-Hitchcock, all of the freshmen of my House were introduced to the Resident Heads and Advisors. A few of the students introduced themselves in the bustle, commenting that they hadn’t seen me unpack and complimented my outfit. I felt a little out of place, but I tried to assure myself that everyone felt this way. Still, I didn’t migrate to the dorm areas when they returned to continue unpacking and instead meandered to the Green Lounge.

  It felt more like a private club than a dorm lounge, with tiled floors and grand wooden moldings. Various students sat on the leather chairs socializing nervously, though I was relatively collected if a little aloof. It seemed like a lot of students had already introduced themselves. While I wandered, I heard the distinct strum of an acoustic guitar. More specifically, a tune being butchered on a guitar. I followed the sound through the cavernous hall, and found a gaggle of students grouped around a boy with frosted hair working his way through what vaguely sounded like Wonderwall.

  I took a seat with the rest of the circle, smiling politely at everyone. The boy made eye contact with me, and with a confident smile attempted the final bridge, though I could hear the flup. No one else did, apparently, and they clapped approvingly. He leaned in towards me with a bit of a swagger.

  “I saw you check in earlier, but I didn’t see you with any suitcases. Name’s Dave, what’s yours?”

  “Maya,” I replied, “I’m from Minnesota.”

  “Cool. You live in Hitchcock?”

  I shook my head. “No, but I am assigned to Hitchcock House.”

  Dave nodded coolly. “Any requests?” he flexed as only an eighteen year old boy could.

  “I actually play. A little.”

  Dave gave a dismissive smirk. “You play, huh? I think they set this out for anyone to come and play, so it’s not the best guitar in the world.”

  “Well, I can take a crack at it,” I suggested, and waited for him to relinquish the guitar. He shrugged and acquiesced, unable to deny the pretty girl’s request while people were watching.

  I adjusted the strap as I took a seat, quickly checking the neck. I took a moment, listening to the low E string and tuned it down to a D while everyone watched in anticipation. Dave nodded approvingly. Once it was ready, I flipped my hair back feeling a little bit of the Masked Maiden energy once again. Without glancing at the fretboard, I started strumming to Everlong, which everyone recognized immediately. The acoustics were absolutely perfect in this room.

  I wasn’t a great singer, but I could carry a tune, and for this song, the hushed, breathy vocals worked in my favor. My right hand locked into the driving, relentless rhythm while my left hand navigated the chord voicings that I inherited from Matthew’s years of practice. I scanned the room as I played, noticing that students were wandering in from the halls and leaning against door frames. The circle around us tightened, drawn in by the sudden shift in energy.

  I hit the chorus, digging in harder with the pick, and I could feel Dave and every other guy in the room hypnotised as I played and sang. When I let the final chord ring out, dampening the strings with the palm of my hand, the silence in the room was heavy despite the audience tripling in size. It lasted for a full beat before the room came out of their trance, murmuring approval.

  “Holy shit,” Dave breathed, breaking the spell. “You… you’re really good.”

  “Thanks,” I said, pushing back my hair and smoothing my dress.

  I was bombarded by requests at this point, and I acquiesced to a couple more before I set down the guitar. Practically every guy tried to position himself to talk to the long-haired girl who just brought Hitchcock hall down, though I had to ward them off a bit. I strategically didn’t want to start chatting with boys until I had a group of girls as a buffer. When they called Hitchcock house for dinner at Bartlett Dining Hall, I migrated with everyone and sat with a group of friendly-looking girls. We all introduced ourselves, and when the after-dinner speeches were finished I followed them all to one of the women’s floors where we continued chatting and breaking the ice.

  It was around nine o’clock when I pulled out my phone to signal for a ride home. Robert was en route immediately, though I was disappointed that I had to sneak out to catch my ride while the rest of the girls were getting ready for their first night at Hitchcock. The ride up Lake Shore Drive was quick once again, and I was let into my building and to my apartment where my family was happily digging through bags from FAO Schwartz and Nike. They peppered me with questions about my evening before we headed to bed, with Janie already snoring in my bedroom.

  My family was set to make an early start Sunday morning, and Mom fixed us one more breakfast before they hit the road. The morning was melancholy, with the grounding realization that this would be the last time the five of us would be together for some time. Despite remembering Matthew’s college send-off and mentally preparing for adulthood for years, I was inwardly dreading what was about to follow. It was one thing to calculate the variables of independence; it was another thing entirely to know they were going to drive away and leave me alone.

  After Mom cleaned up, and we stalled long enough, I called down to the desk, and the valet brought Dad’s car around to the front entrance. We took the private elevator down in silence, the soft ding of the doors opening into the lobby sounding like a gavel falling. The Sunday morning air was crisp, and the lobby was quiet and stoic. The doormen loaded the luggage into the trunk with practiced efficiency, leaving us with nothing to do but the hard part.

  Janie hugged my waist, burying her face in my stomach. "I'm going to miss you, Maya. When will you be home? I miss you already.”

  I laughed, smoothing her hair. "I’ll be back for Thanksgiving. Be good, kiddo."

  Tim stood looking down at me and trying to act casually. He reached out and gave me an awkward hug. “Bye, sis. Have fun at school.”

  “Thanks, Tim,” I answered with my face buried in his chest. I still hated that he had several inches on me and over fifty pounds. Call it vestigial male pride.

  Dad gave me a bear hug and held me tight before fiddling with the car door. Mom was the last to hug me, and it was a few minutes before she finally let go.

  “Maya, be sure to call home tonight once you get back. I know you have your protocols, but I still want you to call.”

  “Yes, mother.”

  “And make sure to smile! You’re such a beautiful girl and I’m sure that you’ll make a lot of friends. And don’t sit on your computer all day!”

  “Yes, mother!”

  “I love you,” was the last thing she whispered in my ear before giving me one last peck on the cheek before Dad shushed her into the car. I waved to them as they pulled out onto Lake Shore, turned a corner, and headed back up to Minnesota. I took a deep breath before heading into the lobby, where the doorman let me onto the elevator and back into my apartment. It was still in slight disarray from my family’s occupation.

  I sat at my bay window for some time, watching the clouds over the lake and the waves brush the shore indifferently. Mom had boiled one last pot of tea before she left the kitchen, and the smell was slowly fading from the apartment as I sipped and pondered. I had spent over eight years of my second life preparing for this little ivory tower, and I was finally here. Chicago was at my fingertips, but the silence was something I hadn’t considered.

  I shook my head. No time to get nostalgic. I had a busy week of orientation ahead of me, and I needed to get ready before the function at Hitchcock this afternoon. Time waits for no one, even for a girl like me.