Sam and Ben sat in a basement each interested in talking about something else. Sam’s hands were on his forehead and Ben’s on his chin.

“What if she’s not in any of my classes?” Sam moaned. “Or, like, what if she doesn’t remember me?”

“You talked to her just a couple months ago, right?”

Sam nodded, grimacing. At the grand finale of middle school he’d gotten as far as “I’ve got something I’d like to… uh… to tell you…” and then lost his nerve.

“You can’t forget someone in a couple months.” Ben looked down at his phone and decided to give telling his story another go. “It was the weirdest thing though. There I was, sitting at the bus stop, when this old guy comes up to me and says-”

“But what if we don’t have any classes together though?”

Ben sighed. “I dunno. She’s going to Nash, right?”

Again, Sam nodded. He’d been listening closely as they read off the “X person will be going to Y high” messages at graduation.

“Then you can find her after school or something.”

“But what if I don’t?”

“Then try again.”

“But what if she has last period off?”

“Then… I don’t know, find one of her friends and get her contact info.”

Sam’s hands slid down from his forehead onto his face. “No way am I asking around for her, no way.”

Ben shrugged, “Then if you don’t bump into her, you’re just screwed.”

“Easy for you to say!”

A moment of silence passed. Sam slid off his chair and onto the ground.

He sighed, “No, you’re right.” He muttered, “you’re right, you’re right.” He capitulated, “You were saying something about a bus stop…?”

“Yeah, so I was sitting there, right?” Ben continued as though there had been no other discussion. “And I had my phone out like this and I was looking through the new free stuff on the app store, right?”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, and I notice there’s this old guy standing over me looking at my screen. He had some kinda thing he was looking through, like a marble or something.”

“And he said something?”

“I’m getting there. I’ve got this guy looking down at my phone so I minimized the app store app ‘cuz there was some weird stuff in there and I didn’t want him to think I was, like… ya know? It’s then he says ‘What was that?’, and I’m like ‘What was what?’, and he was like ‘Show me what you were looking at’ or something like that. It wasn’t like ‘You’re looking at weird shit, aren’t you?’, it was more like ‘There’s, like, something interesting there’, ya know? So I pull up the app and he’s like ‘There! Mind if I look at that?’ and I hand him my phone and he looks through his weird little marble and he hands it back and says thanks and leaves.”

Sam wasn’t nearly as impressed as Ben had hoped. “That’s it?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You just saw a weird guy, that’s it?”

“Some of the best stories are guys seeing weird guys.”

“Fine, whatever. What was the weird guy looking at?”

“Ah, I almost forgot.” Ben got out his phone and poked at it for a minute. “Here it is. It was an app.”

Sam looked over at the screen. “Bod.io?”

“Yeah.”

“What even is this?”

“It says… Looks like you tell the app what you want to look like and it changes you.”

“What, like an exercise app or something?”

“Um… no, it says you’ll change instantly. And it’s got stuff like hair color and height as examples here.”

“That sounds… impossible.” Sam frowned, “How’d that even get approved?”

“I dunno. I was saying there’s a lot of weird stuff.”

“Maybe the weird old guy wanted to use it to look younger.”

Ben chuckled, “true though. Tell you what, if you can’t talk to Helen I’ll ask around for you. How’s that sound?”

“Like ‘Sam’s been looking for you’? No thanks.”

“I won’t mention your name. Just ‘Hey, any idea what classes she’s got?’ kinda stuff.”

“I guess. Maybe after I know whether she’s in any of my classes.”

----------------------------------------

Sam started the next day full of energy, steeling himself for the task ahead. He leapt out of bed, assembled himself, and tumbled downstairs for breakfast.

“Morning Dad,” he said, foraging for food.

“Mornin’,” the older man responded, pulling out his phone. “Gonna join any sports this year?”

“I said no yesterday, Dad, it’s the same year.”

“How about…” he put on his reading glasses, “...curling?”

“The one with the big stones?”

“Oh well, then how about… wait, pardon? Oh, yeah, big stones. You slide ‘em and two other guys sweep ahead of it to control it better.”

“I do enough sweeping here, I think I’ll pass.”

“Thought so.” Sam’s father scrolled down the list on his phone. He was getting near the bottom again and made a mental note to find more sports for it. “How about canoe polo?”

“I don’t think my high school’s got canoes.”

“Right. Hmm… kabaddi?”

“Gesundheit.”

A yawning woman stumbled into the room. “Good… ah… good morning.”

Sam looked up from his breakfast, “Hey Mom, you’re up early.”

“Well yeah, I… ah… I wouldn’t want to miss seeing my little boy off for his first day of classes.”

“Seeing me off to… the bus stop?”

Sam’s mother opened her mouth as if to speak and then closed it as a stumped look crept onto her tired face. She looked over at her husband, who shrugged.

“He says he won’t be joining any sports this year.”

“Of course not, he’s got to focus on his schoolwork.”

Sam had long since come to appreciate that this was the balance of things. He was a ball sat at the wedge on a teeter totter and as long as the two sides didn’t move too much he wouldn’t need to roll.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

His mother did actually walk him to the bus stop.

“Are you sure you’ve got everything? Your backpack looks light.”

“Mom, I loaded my locker last Friday, remember.”

“Orientation, right… ah… If you ever miss the bus or need a ride or anything, remember that you can just ask, okay?”

“Okay, I will.” He noticed another student approaching from a ways away and was struck with the sense of danger. “You doing alright?”

“Hmm? Yeah, why?”

“You look like you should get some rest.”

“Really? I… ah… okay, yeah. Will you be okay here?”

“Yeah, the bus should get here soon.”

“Well, if it doesn’t you remember you can just ask, right?”

“Right, Mom, I will.”

She kissed him goodbye and ambled toward the nearest nap. By the time the other student arrived, Sam had assumed the stance of a cool independent adult. Or at least he gave an attempt. The other student didn’t notice the attempt. He didn’t notice that they didn’t notice.

Into bus, out of bus, at school. Nash High had all the architectural flair of a big concrete cold war cube, painted with school colors to look more compatible with children.

Sam’s first class was chemistry. Helen was not in chemistry. They did not have chemistry together. He tried not to take this as a bad sign.

His other classes blurred into each other as each one failed to deliver on the one thing he was hoping for. The last one before lunch was a math class that he happened to have with Ben. The teacher there introduced himself and then went on to give a brief lecture on John Nash since these freshmen clearly needed to know their institution’s namesake. He gave special mention to the coordination game as an example of Nash equilibrium, and also to the red necktie he’d worn to class that day. The lecture was largely forgotten by the end of the week.

Sam and Ben had the same lunch period, so they headed down to eat together.

“Tell her yet?”

“Not yet, but there’s still time.”

Sam made sure not to mention the chemistry.

Class after class built into a crescendo of worry. He began contemplating his Tuesday schedule as a backup. This thought had him completely consumed as he stepped into his last class of the day: english 1. He picked a seat at the far side of the room from the door, about halfway between the front and back. The rationale was that he could see everyone as they entered the room. However, as he retreated into his schedule, he forgot to inspect the room.

An older, severe looking figure entered the room with an aura of impatience. She announced herself as Mrs. Doenitz and began to assign seats. Alphabetically, she uprooted students from their desks and shuffled them into new seats.

“Sam Saxon… move one seat forward.”

He kicked his backpack into position and moved.

The next name captured his full attention. “Helen Tansy, right here.”

There she was. Long orange hair. Fashionable overalls-shirt combo. Her face wore the bored expression of a highschooler but her eyes were so much like the sun that he had to look away. The rosiness of this revelation wilted somewhat when he realized she’d be sitting behind him where he wouldn’t be able to see her without spinning around and becoming obvious.

Once Mrs. Doenitz had everyone settled, she announced that introductions were the next order of business. As an example, she gave her name and summarized her many years of experience in teaching. She assured the room that their “one thing that’s interesting about you” need not be as long as hers and began at the start of the alphabet.

The parade of “I play guitar”s, “I was in a horse riding competition”s, and so on crept its way around the room. One boy offered an “I really like Star Wars”, which was met with a “I said something interesting, you got anything else?” The poor sod stuttered his way through another bit of trivia and the parade moved on. Naturally, the room became more tense as the spilling of social blood raised the stakes. Eventually it became time for

“Hi, I’m Sam. My mom is a novelist.”

He had thought this was a safe response. He had thought wrong.

“I said something interesting about you, not your mommy. Got anything else?”

“Uh… This summer I tried canoe polo,” he lied.

The teacher’s eyes narrowed, their stare drilled into his skull. “What’s canoe polo?”

“It’s… uh… like water polo… in canoes…” He hurriedly added, “It was just one time, I don’t know that much about it.”

She said something glib and moved on. He didn’t register it much as staring down at his empty desk was occupying his full attention.

By the time he recovered enough to speak again, class had ended and he’d nervously followed Helen out of the building, keeping his distance of course. She stood around for a few minutes before a blonde and a noirette flanked her on either side. At first Sam thought he’d missed his chance, but then he noticed an opening. They were all on their phones. Occasionally one would turn their screen and a small exchange of words would follow, but other than that there was no conversation to interrupt.

Sam gathered up the last of his dignity and walked forward.

“Hey Helen.” She didn’t hear. He walked closer, waved, and spoke louder. “Hey Helen,” heads turned.

“Oh, hey Sam-”

“Who’re you?” the girl with the blonde ponytail said, stepping forward.

“I’m… I know Helen. We went to the same middle school.”

His words hung in the air for longer than he would’ve liked.

Ponytail was not impressed. “Okay, and?”

He gulped, “...and I was wondering if we… uh… if she’d like to go out some time…”

This got the other one to look up. “Ha! You? I mean… no offense but aren’t you a little short?”

This got a laugh out of ponytail, “Becky, no! You can’t say that!”

“I’m not wrong though, am I?”

Helen spoke up, “Guys, I-”

Ponytail nodded, “Yeah, you’re right, we should be leaving.”

Helen tried again as they walked away, “Sasha, what do you-”

“Better luck next time, kid!” the shepherd said, giving a thumbs up that felt disingenuous.

People were still milling around him, but Sam somehow felt more alone than he knew he could. Without thinking, he found himself on a bench.

What the fuck just happened?

By the time he had half an answer to this question, he realized he’d missed the bus and phoned home.

----------------------------------------

Am I short? I guess she’s taller than I am but… does that even matter?

After an hour of staring at the ceiling, Sam got out of bed and went downstairs.

“Hey Dad, we got a ruler or something?”

“Middle cabinet.”

He brought the ruler back upstairs, realized it was too small, and went back down.

“We got anything bigger?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Like a really long ruler.”

“Like a yardstick?”

“I guess?”

“No, we don’t have a yardstick.”

He went back up and stared at it. After some serious thought, he found a way forward. By putting the ruler against the ground, marking where it came to on his leg with a finger, moving the ruler up, and then moving his finger up, he was able to get a sense of his height. It came out to a little over 5 feet.

After doing this measurement he realized he had no idea whether 5 feet meant short. After more thought came a second high level idea: he can search it. Google said the average male height was 5.6 feet, putting him a couple inches below average.

I guess I am short, he thought, scratching his head. Does that even matter though? Helen’s not even the one who said that… but it’s not like she pushed back on them… but she didn’t say it either!

He fell back onto the bed, the complexities of things sapping away his energy.

How can that matter though? It’s not like short girls are that hot either… but maybe she likes tall guys? But it’s not like she said it. And what am I supposed to do, stretch myself out?

A frown crossed his face and he sat up. Sam pulled out his phone and opened the app store. It took him a couple failed searches to remember that stupid name, Bod.io.

Sounds like something Mario would call a corpse.

Reading through the descriptions, the thing struck him as even more impossible than he had thought. An app on his phone was unironically claiming it could make someone stronger, softer, younger, or older with just the press of a button. It was obviously bullshit, but a mix of curiosity and wishful thinking guided his finger to the install button.

If it’s for free, then it’s not like it could be a scam or anything.

The app was a fairly rudimentary thing visually. The opening screen just had a search bar, a couple buttons, and a long list of sliders he could scroll through. The sliders had weird names like “androgen sensitivity” and “near/far sightedness”, not arranged in any sensible order.

The button which most stood out to him was the one which read “save body state”. When he tried to press it, it prompted him with an account registration, but after that it did something impossible. Despite not even having permission to use the phone camera, this app had produced an image of Sam’s entire body, clothes and all. A bit of swiping revealed this was a 3D model, a pinch zoom revealed it seemed to have an arbitrary level of detail.

Aside from his body, there were two buttons on the screen: “save” and “cancel”. Figuring he was about to touch the sliders, “save” seemed like the safer option.

Back on the home screen he selected the search bar. Typing “height” in limited the list to a much smaller number of sliders, one of which was just labeled “height”. All the sliders started out in the middle with the left and right bits seeming to be “increase” and “decrease” whatever the slider’s label was.

This clearly won’t do anything.

Despite the obvious futility, Sam put his finger on the “height” slider and pulled. A little number appeared next to the label and a new button reading “update” appeared at the bottom of the screen. He dragged the slider until it read 5.7 feet and pressed the button.

Nothing happened.

Despite the outcome being exactly what he’d expected, Sam was still a bit disappointed. He closed the app and set his phone aside.

Not a lot happened that night. He had some dinner, played a game, and went to bed.

That is, nothing happened until he fell asleep.

As he lay unconscious, his request was granted.