The pavement vibrated under my feet as I approached Danny's, the bar where I was meeting my roommate for the night. I opened the double doors and stepped into the old building; it was one of those dilapidated dive bars that was kind of a shithole but had nice drink specials. The long, narrow building looked as if it could barely hold the crowd of people I was currently wading into. Somehow, the space managed, though. Rickety wooden barstools lined the bar, which was set against the back wall. Past the bar there were booths set up all along the walls, and smaller circular tables strewn about the floor space in the back half of the building. Finally, a small stage sat all the way in the back for live shows and entertainment. As I worked my way through the crowd at the bar, the blurred jumble of chatter and laughter around the building was suddenly cleaved by the crackle of scattered applause and an ear-splitting screech of a cheer from the back of the place, near the stage. I scowled and let out an exasperated sigh as I pressed on through the crowd; of course, it was fucking karaoke night.
"Alright, everybody, our next singer for the night is Rose," the DJ cut in once the noise had settled down. "She'll be on soon, so everybody make some noise!" A few scattered claps sounded from around the building, but most of the patronage carried on as usual. Eventually, I found my roommate Ryan sitting at one of the circular tables with a couple of empty shot glasses in front of him. Clearly, he had started celebrating without me. I made my way over to him and sat down in the chair across from him.
"Finally! I told you to be here at eleven. Where the hell have you been?" Ryan asked. He looked me up and down and frowned. "And what are you wearing? I told you to dress nice, Matt!" I looked down at my gray t-shirt and blue jeans. It was the same thing I usually wore on the rare occasion that Ryan was able to drag me out to the bar.
"Relax, man, I'm only a half hour late. I just had some homework to do," I said, earning a frown from Ryan. It was a half-truth, really. I
did
have some work to do, but mostly, I just didn't really want to come out all that much. Bars weren't really my thing, and Ryan knew that. I wasn't sure why he had insisted on going out when we could have just had drinks back at our apartment. "What's wrong with my clothes?"
"Your clothes are...well, it doesn't matter now," Ryan said, with a sigh. "Look, at least go to the bathroom and fix your hair, dude."
"Why the hell should I—?" I started to protest, before shutting my mouth. The fight wasn't worth it. "You know what, fine. Whatever. I'll be right back." I stomped off toward the restroom and went inside, frowning at the sight of the graffiti plastered everywhere: the walls, the bathroom stall, hell, even the mirror had a few stickers stuck to it. Besides a single solitary stall, there with absolutely zero privacy, so, more often than not, you had to stand next to a bunch of strangers and piss in a communal urinal that was a literal trough. I went over to the sink and inspected myself in the mirror.
Ryan had a point; I
did
look pretty rough. My jet-black hair sat on my head in a tangled, wind-swept mess. I smoothed it over as best I could, but it wasn't being very cooperative. I swept my bangs out from in front of my green eyes, frowning at the bags under them. I had some stray stubble growing in on my chin, but it was too late to do anything about it now. There wasn't much else I could do besides fixing my hair. I frowned, wondering why Ryan was making me go through all this trouble when we were just getting a few drinks. Suddenly, a group of three guys swept in like a hurricane, jostling me a bit as they passed by on their way to the piss trough. One of them was blonde, another had a baseball cap on, and the last guy had a wispy mustache and patchy beard.
"Dude, my friend told me he was at a frat party last weekend, and some Polly chick there got absolutely shit-faced and gave herself eight tits," the blonde guy said, as the three of them unzipped their pants and went about their business. My ears perked up at the word 'Polly' and I immediately became intrigued.
Polly
was shorthand for Polymorph, the name given to an extremely small subset of people born with a rare genetic mutation called Cellular Polymorphism, which allowed them to manipulate their body at the cellular level, at will; what's more, each and every cell in a Polymorph's body behaved on the same level as an embryonic stem cell, providing nearly limitless potential for change. The onset of CPM naturally led to a monumental leap forward for the fields of science and medicine, but also caused a major shift in society at large as we learned to integrate Polymorphs into everyday life, affecting everything from laws, technology, and politics to the entertainment industry and beyond. The chances that any given person would be born a Polly were unbelievably rare; Polymorphs made up less than one percent of the world's population. This was the first time I had heard about anyone actually meeting one on campus. I knew Ryan was in a fraternity, and God knows he went out partying damn near every weekend; I wondered if he had heard anything about it.
"What the fuck?" the bearded guy said, his voice snapping me back to reality. "That's messed up, man. That kind of stuff just seems... wrong, to me."
"I wouldn't say that kind of thing too loud, man," the blonde guy said, his voice hushed. "People are going to think you're one of those Purist assholes."
"Woah, man. Don't lump me in with those nutjobs!" the bearded shot back. "Look, I think Pollies deserve the same rights as everyone else. All I'm trying to say is, eight tits is six too many."
"Well, the more, the merrier, I think. What did she look like? Maybe I can ask around, get her number," the guy with the baseball cap piped up.
"Jesus Christ, Mike, keep the Tabbie shit to yourself," the blonde guy said, chuckling. "Anyway, I don't think it even matters at this point. If I were her, I'd go off the fucking grid after pulling a stunt like that. Hell, she might even look like a guy now, for all we know." They were silent for a second as they finished pissing and zipped up their pants.
"Hey, you, at the sink. You that eight-boobed chick?" the guy with the cap, Mike, called out to me. All three of them burst out laughing. I just rolled my eyes and ignored them. If I was, at least I wouldn't have to worry about my damn hair. I took one last cursory glance at myself and made a last-ditch attempt to fix it. Thankfully, it decided to work with me a little bit, and I got myself looking at least somewhat presentable. Admittedly, I did feel a little better as I left the restroom and made my way back to the table where Ryan was sitting. He took a moment to scrutinize me as I approached, flashing me a thumbs-up as I settled into the chair across from him.
"There you go. Happy now?" I asked flatly, shooting him a glare.
"Yeah, thanks for asking." He said, smugly. "But, more importantly, now you're ready for your birth...date!" My glare immediately hardened into a scowl.
"Another date?! Goddammit, Ryan! You said it was going to be just you and me tonight!" I snapped.
"Well, duh! That would ruin the surprise!" Ryan said, clearly proud of himself. "Look man, this isn't going to be like the last time... or all the other times before that. She's really cool, I promise." After my fallout with my ex at the end of the last semester, Ryan decided to take my love life into his own hands, setting me up on a few different dates once we got back on campus. Each match was worse than the one before, and after his fourth disastrous attempt, I made him promise me that it would be the last. He said he wouldn't do it again, and yet, here we both were. I opened my mouth, fully prepared to give him hell, just as the next song came on, drowning the bar in sound. It was one I recognized immediately.
"Wait! This is Phoebe Bridgers. Chinese Satellite," I said. "I love this song." Ryan's eyes lit up, and a smug grin flashed across his face. I craned my head to see who was up on stage. The stage was pretty dark, so I couldn't see all that well, but the girl up on stage looked like a redhead. As soon as she started singing, my breath caught in my throat. I stared, entranced, as the girl poured her damn heart out on stage, and it wasn't until the song finally finished that I remembered to breathe.
"Holy shit," I said. "She was really good." I looked over at Ryan, and his grin widened.
"Yeah, man! That girl up there, she's—" he started to say, before I cut in.
"—got good taste, too." Ryan rolled his eyes, and he looked like he wanted to say something, but the DJ's voice suddenly rang out over the noise of the bar.
"We're going to take a short break before we get back into it, but first, everybody give it up for Rose!" A few scattered cheers broke out around the bar. Unable to help myself, I added my own, admittedly overly enthusiastic cheer to the mix then turned back toward Ryan, who just rolled his eyes at me.
"Oh my God. Matt, listen to me: Rose is the girl I set you up with," Ryan said flatly.
