“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Brown,” greeted Ms. Foster as she gestured to the chairs placed before the desk in her classroom. “Thank you for taking time to attend this meeting about Maya, here.”
It was January, a few days after winter break finished. I had enjoyed the last few weeks of not having to pliantly sit in a fifth grade classroom, or arguing with Mom about what I would wear in the morning. Today, I had managed to resist being put in a dress but it meant that Mom and I were still raw from bickering. We were in public now, so a ceasefire was in place. Until tomorrow morning, of course.
“To begin,” said Ms. Foster, “I would like to say that I have never had a student in my entire career who is as well-behaved as Maya.”
“Really,” commented Mom, clearly remembering the screaming match this morning.
“I’ve never once had to correct Maya. She completes her tasks without complaint and I’ve never had to correct her about classroom behavior. Furthermore, her work in class is exemplary. She usually finishes her work before I have even presented the material.”
Dad stood up a little straighter as if Ms. Foster was complimenting him directly. “Well, it’s been a difficult year, but we’re proud of…our girl.”
“Considering everything that Maya has gone through, she’s nothing short of resilient. However,” she shifted in tone, “there are some underlying issues beyond her academic performance. While Maya is exceptionally well-behaved, I’ve noted that she interacts very little with other students in the class. Often she appears to be distracted during lessons, though profoundly quiet. Is she like this at home?”
Mom nodded. “Since she returned this summer, Maya tends to spend a lot of time in her room.”
“Is she involved in any clubs? Group activities?”
“She did begin piano lessons recently,” offered Dad.
I’d only had a few lessons so far, with a music major at the community college. ‘Lessons’ was a loose term, as he merely recited chords on the page and didn’t bother to guide me much. He struck me as bored as I was sitting in elementary school. It didn’t help that the lessons were on a full size piano, which was difficult to manipulate with my ten-year-old fingers. The keyboard I received at Christmas was more proportional to me, but the difference in size made it impossible to develop muscle memory.
Besides, I wasn’t a piano player. I’d been a guitarist before my life was ripped away from me.
“I see,” mused Ms. Foster, handing them some files. “Well, I would like to share with you the results of the Iowa Test of Basic Skills I administered to the classroom before the break. It is a composite score of skills; math, reading, writing. Maya’s score was quite high.”
Dad gasped. “Ninety-seventh percentile!?”
I remembered taking these tests a month ago. Normally I burned through whatever assignment was handed to me, but not that day. The last thing I wanted was to draw attention to myself and get a perfect score on an intelligence test designed for children. I spent the testing period purposely flubbing test answers. Making sure four out of the forty math problems were incorrect. Ignoring complex vocabulary answers and using simpler ones. I even scribbled wrong answers on the margins to make it look like I struggled. It was a rare time that I was actually engaged in class.
Ms. Foster nodded. “What I would surmise is that Maya is quite gifted, but just bored with the classroom material. I have even considered the idea of moving her to a higher level, one that would be in line with her ability. Perhaps moving her into the sixth grade.”
I did a sharp intake of breath. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ms. Foster.”
Both of my parents and Ms. Foster turned their heads to me. “Why not, Maya?” she asked.
I quickly formulated an answer. “This school year has been very difficult for me, with the other kids. Adjusting to…being the girl that I am has been really hard. If I am suddenly a year younger than everyone in my class, I would stand out even more.”
They all looked at each other, digesting the salient points that I made. The reality though, is that it wouldn’t matter what grade they moved me up to; I’d still be bored as hell. As much as I hated sitting in fifth grade, at least it was familiar. With so much of my life turned upside-down, it was a comfort to have things I remembered from my old life. It was inevitable that there would be changes, but the only aspects of my life that weren’t stressful were what hadn’t changed.
“That’s…a fair point, Maya,” Ms. Foster conceded. “But what I’m concerned about is you interacting with the other children. We don’t want you to be doing nothing in class.”
“I…might have an idea about that.”
***
“Read this word right here. Spell it out if you need to.”
“L-I-N-C-O-L-N…Lincoln?”
“Correct. Now, what do you remember about him?”
Josh hesitated for a moment. “He was president number sixteen. And he was president in the Civil War?”
I nodded and pointed to the next sentence. “What does it say about him here?”
He carefully examined the sentence, silently sounding it out. “It says that he freed the slaves.”
I clapped my hands together. “Good job, Josh! Now, read the next section and see what it says about the other presidents. I’m going to check on Nick, and see how he’s doing.”
“Thanks, Maya!” Josh grinned, and went right to work reading the next paragraph as I stepped over to the next boy. It was President’s Day next week, and Ms. Foster had the class reading short paragraphs about former presidents. As per my suggestion, Ms. Foster had promoted me to a sort of unofficial teacher’s assistant. My job was to help the other students with their classwork, and she set up a table where I would sit with some of the more remedial students who needed extra help.
I had never taught anything in my old life. I was always aloof and was much more comfortable analyzing statistical data on my own than patiently explaining it to others. Despite my reservations, it seemed like the kids were responding positively to me. The boy named Nick I was currently helping listened intently as I explained the paragraph and helped him with some of the more difficult words. He was clearly happy to receive the attention from me, and he was attempting to impress me with his correct answers, which I amusedly congratulated him.
Over the last month or so, it felt like there was a new dynamic with the other students in class. Maybe it was because I was helping everyone finish their homework or that I was interacting with them more. It wasn’t friendship per say, but I did feel like I was being acknowledged as a girl and strangely enough it felt good. I hadn’t been bullied by the boys at all, and even the girls were warming up to me. It felt ridiculous, but it was nice to fit in, even if it was in my own way.
The bell rang over the intercom, and at the signal everyone started to pack away their books. Over the din, Ms. Foster called out “Everyone please put away your things and line up for lunch. We’ll be doing Valentine’s Day arts and crafts once recess is over!”
I shook off three of the boys who had a last minute question, and went to the cubbies to grab my lunchbox. As I knelt down into my bag one of my classmates, a blonde girl named Becky, sidled up to me and whispered in my ear.
“Maya, you shouldn’t be doing that.”
I pulled my lunch out of my bag and stood up. “Shouldn’t be doing what?”
She hesitated for a moment. “You’re talking to Nick a lot, and Sarah really likes him. She thinks that you like him too, which is why you’re talking to him so much.”
I raised my eyebrow, and glanced over my shoulder at Sarah, the girl Becky mentioned. She was standing with her two friends across the room, and she was glaring at me before she caught me looking and turned away. I turned back to Becky.
“Well, I don’t dislike Nick, but Ms. Foster is having me help all of the students with…wait a minute, what do you mean she thinks I like Nick?”
Becky shrugged. “You know, that you like like him. Nick was going to be Sarah’s boyfriend, but now she thinks that you want to be his girlfriend.”
My eyes bulged and my mouth went completely dry. The pit of my stomach lurched, and I gagged for a split second. I twisted my head towards Nick, standing in line with Josh and a couple of the other boys, and he gave me a friendly wave and a grin. I jerked my head back to Sarah, who once again was eyeing me with a look of contempt.
“I didn’t…I’m not…what the hell!” I stammered, and Becky gasped at my language.
“Girls,” called Ms. Foster, gesturing to the two lines forming at the door. “Come on you two, stop talking and line up!”
Becky and I got to the back of the girl’s line as we trudged to the cafeteria. I felt sick to my stomach. To actually think someone thought I was enamoured with some boy?! The idea disgusted me to my core. Then I thought about the last month, and how the boys in class had cautiously allowed me to sit with them at lunch as I had last year, since the girls were still wary of me. However, because of this little revelation I had to wonder: did they let me sit with them because they remembered me as Matthew, or was it because they were interested in me as Maya?
While I managed to avoid everyone for the rest of the afternoon, it was impossible to do so the following day, which happened to be Valentine’s. Every year our classes always had a little party where we made mailboxes and passed out little candies and cards to everyone in the class. Mom had even bought me one of those generic Valentine’s card packs for me to pass out about a week ago, which I completely brushed off.
Valentine’s morning was a regular study day, and I was decidedly curt with the boys I was helping with their math problems. I gave one word grunts, and was sharp with the criticisms if they got it wrong. I figured praising them was just asking for trouble. Unfortunately, it seemed to have the opposite effect, and they doubled their efforts to show me the right answers. Nick in particular was knocking out math problems left and right to get a positive response with me, which wasn’t going to happen.
After recess we set out our mailboxes, mine being the least energetic pink box in the entire class. I had grudgingly glued a few well-cut paper hearts to my box and dumped glitter on it. We then circulated and passed out the cards. Mine were generic and I dropped them into the mailboxes as quickly as possible while everyone else milled about and chatted.
I sat at my desk once I was finished, ignoring the festivities around me. I stared at the clock with my head resting on my hand, disinterestedly. Every so often a student would walk up to slide a card into my box, and I would mumble a thanks. Eventually, some timid footsteps approached me, and I looked up to see Josh approach me. He was carrying a slightly more prominent card, which he gripped with both hands. He looked a lot less intimidating than he did when he cornered me with his gang at the beginning of the year.
“Uh, hey Maya. Um, happy Valentine’s Day,” he said nervously. He stuck the card in the box, and quickly turned away. It was almost endearing how nervous he was. I stared at him as he hurried away. Damnit, I thought to myself, how dare he make me empathize with him.
The last person to drop a card into my box was Nick. He actually had a little bag of candy that he passed over to me. “Maya, I’m supposed to thank you for helping me with my math stuff. This is from my Mom,” he added, gesturing at the extra little bag of goodies.
I was impressed that he was actually so polite and appreciative. It actually made me feel good, deep down, but I quickly squashed whatever signal my body was sending my brain. Fine, I would grant that he was a good kid. But that was all.
“Thanks, Nick,” I said, accepting the baggie. I cleared my throat. “And just so you know, I’m happy to help, but we’re just friends, okay? I’m not looking to be your girlfriend or anything like that.”
Nick blinked for a moment. “Oh, I know that. But we can be friends if you keep helping me out. You couldn’t be my girlfriend, anyway, right?” And with that he turned to walk away.
It was my turn to blink. I stood up, calling him back. “Yeah, uh, out of curiosity, why couldn’t I be your girlfriend?” I have no idea why I felt I had to say anything.
Nick turned back and shrugged. “Well, even if you’re a girl now you used to be a boy. So you can’t be my girlfriend. Besides,” he added, scratching his head, “I think Sarah is my girlfriend. I can’t remember.”
As he sauntered away, I was stunned. I was relieved he wasn’t interested in me, but…also disappointed? Maybe even a little jealous of Sarah? No, that was idiotic. These were kids. I was glad that he wasn’t thinking of me in that way. I sat back down and crossed my arms, with too many confusing and conflicting thoughts in my head.