pH Balance

After a not-so-brief hiatus, the last story of 2024 concludes here

part III: freja

“I already checked all of campus, even the far buildings on the North Side,” Freja said. “Aside from a few dance teams practicing outside the Rec center, campus is pretty empty.”

“Dance practice?” Steph said hazily. “At this hour?”

Amani and Steph had just gotten to Berkeley and pulled up to the College of Natural Resources, a 30-minute walk from Freja’s apartment, on the other side of campus. Amani was ready to jump in and search but Steph was still only half-alive from his earlier activities at Stanford.

Freja ignored Steph and addressed most of her next sentences to Amani. “I waited til you guys were here to tackle Frat Row. My friends are going out tonight, and I warned the ones who are still desperate enough to go to frats to keep an eye out for Seth.”

Amani nodded. Steph looked like he was about to throw up.

“I thought we could cover the frats my friends aren’t going to be at first, then double back and check their work.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Amani said. “Maybe we can wait for Steph to throw up so we don’t get kicked out for defacing frat property.”

“I’m fine,” Steph said weakly.

“Hey Steph?” he looked up at Freja. “I know it’s been awhile since you’ve been in college but there’s no harm in pulling trig.”

He made a face at her, which she thought was his substitute for a comeback.

Until he turned around and threw up.

—

“Does this frat have a volleyball court?” Amani asked. The noise of the party grew louder as they approached the large, red-brick mansion.

“Yeah,” Freja said, leading them up the stairs. Steph held Amani’s arm for support. Even though some of the color returned to his face after he vomited, Steph still felt weak at the knees. This was the closest they’d physically been since the breakup.

“Try your best not to step in the sand.” Freja made a face. “It’s disgusting.” At the top of the steps, they were met by a shrimpy-looking boy sitting on the red brick ledge at the top of the stairs. From the way he was wavering, Freja could tell that he’d probably had a couple beers while on Door Duty.

“Stop,” he held his skinny, pale palm out to the three of them. Freja took a look at the volleyball court behind him. Nobody was actually playing volleyball, of course, but the sand pit was full of partygoers.

“I’m going to have to ask you to wait here until there’s enough of you to do a consent talk,” the Shrimp said, raising his voice above the party noise.

“What’s a consent talk?” Amani whispered to Freja, who was about to answer when a group of six giggling freshmen girls in tiny black tops, light-wash jeans, and white sneakers clomped up the stairs.

“Okay,” the Shrimp said as he jumped off the ledge. “Does anyone here know the five pillars of consent?”

One freshman with chrome nails and a matching handbag shot her hand up. “Enthusiastic!” she squealed.

“That is correct—you must ensure that consent is given enthusiastically, much like this young lady answered my question,” he winked at her, and the girl blushed. Freja scowled—there were few things slimier than flirting during a consent talk you were giving drunk.

“Anyone else?” the group was silent for a few moments. Then, the Shrimp started peddling for answers like an auctioneer. Anxious to get inside the house to start looking for Seth, Freja raised her hand.

“Revocable, conscious, verbal and ongoing,” she said in a calm, measured tone.

The Shrimp let out a low whistle.

“Someone’s done their homework,” he replied with a grin. Freja fought the urge to spit back a nasty reply and just shrugged instead. It was the cookie-cutter consent talk that all frats were now required to give after the administration was pushed to do something, anything about sexual assault on college campuses. These consent talks, when taken seriously, were the equivalent of removing a drop in the bucket of the gargantuan issue of sexual assault.

But most times, these talks were not taken seriously. Instead, they were given and received by people who went through the motions and rarely changed their behavior after the talk was finished.

Freja was familiar with the talk and its ineffectiveness. The Shrimp let them all pass—except for the brunette with the chrome nails. He caught her hand as she walked past him.

“I’m gonna need your phone number—just in case I need your help giving one of these talks”

“Come find me inside once you’re done at the door,” she said with a suggestive smile, letting go of his hand to give his shoulder a squeeze. Freja resisted the urge to grab Steph’s barf bag.

After the girls made their way inside, Freja stepped forward. She was careful to keep her distance but could still smell the beer on the Shrimp’s breath.

“Ah, I see Honor Roll also wants a piece of the action,” the Shrimp grinned. “Don’t worry—there’s enough of me to go around.” Steph snorted and was elbowed in the ribs by Amani.

Freja fought the urge to yell at the boy and instead asked her question in a measured tone.

“Actually, I was wondering if you’ve seen this boy come through here tonight.” she held up her phone with a picture of Seth from a couple months ago. The Shrimp raised an eyebrow.

“Isn’t he a little young for you, Honor Roll?” Freja felt her cheeks redden and hoped the Shrimp was too thick to notice.

“Yes, he is. He’s in high school but more importantly, he’s missing.” Freja said firmly.

“Miss, are you insinuating that we allow underage partygoers on the premises?” the Shrimp asked, crossing his arms. “I shouldn’t allow you in just for making a claim like that”

“If everything is as above-board as you say it is, then you won’t mind if we take a look inside”

“Go right ahead, Honor Roll,” he put his hands up on the ledge and hoisted himself back on his perch. “And if you get tired of chasing after your little high school boyfriend, you know where to find me.”

Freja made a dramatic show of shuddering, and then looked back at Amani and Steph. Steph had a little more color in his cheeks but still gripped Amani’s arm; she gave Freja a thumbs-up with her free hand. The three of them skirted the volleyball court, keeping an eye out for Seth.

They split up to search the inside of the house: Amani and Steph went upstairs, while Freja went down. The inside of this frat was like all the other frats: sticky floors, unmanned solo cups, and bottles of champagne positioned next to cases of shitty light beer. After searching the rest of the first floor, Freja headed down to the basement, doing her best to avoid conversational advances.

“Hey, did we have a class together last semester?”

“Cute top, where’d you get it?”

“Can you step aside? My friend has to yak”

She texted Amani and it seemed like they both found nothing. They agreed to meet outside, at the front door. On her way out of the basement, Freja passed by a boy throwing up into his bare hands.

After she found Seth, she was never setting foot in a frat again.

—

They trudged their way to the next frat, which was a block away. They found themselves face to face with a beefy brick on door duty.

“Who do you know here?” the Brick bellowed.

“Seth,” Steph mumbled. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Amani shot him a look. He was at least able to stand on his own now but hadn’t regained his mental faculties yet.

“What?” the Brick’s question sent little flecks of spit towards Freja’s face.

“We’re looking for this kid,” Freja said, showing him the same photo she showed the Shrimp. Although the Brick seemed more sober than the Shrimp, he seemed like he had half the patience and twice the alcohol.

“I haven’t seen him”

“Can we go in and check?”

“Not if you don’t know a brother.”

Freja grew increasingly impatient. With a guy like this, keeping your cool wouldn’t get you anywehre.

“He’s missing you dipshit! The kid is in high school—we’re not interested in your stupid party, we just want to find our friend.”

“Ain’t no way that a high school boy made it into our party”

“Then what’s the harm in us having a look around?” Freja motioned to circle past the guy, but he blocked her path with surprisingly fast speed, given his heft and drunkenness.

“Football?” she ventured.

“Rugby,” the Brick answered, cracking his knuckles. Freja looked back at Amani and Steph, the latter of whom was puking in some bushes. Amani turned away from him but still kept a hand on his back, rubbing it in small circles.

“Alright, rugby,” Freja said, with her hands on her hips. “I’m going to come back here in half an hour. You let me know if you see this kid.”

“Can you text me the photo?” Freja looked at him, surprised that he was willing to help. “You’re gonna need my number for that, aren’t you?” he let out a snort.

“Just think of him like a Kirkland Signature Timothée Chalamet,” Freja replied. “You got this.” She patted him on the shoulder.

Before the Brick could reply, a horrible, jarring noise filled the air.

Freja looked at Steph and Amani. Steph slowly raised his head and looked towards the noise. The frat next door had a fire alarm. People — most fully drunk and half-naked—came out of the house. Few ran out panicked, but most stumbled out and seemed as confused as Steph was.

“Loud,” Steph said, frowning, covering his ears. Freja watched the parade of people exiting the house: ruddy, sweaty boys in light-colored button down and girls in jeans and slightly different versions of the same black small top.

Freja slumped against a tree and ran her fingers through her hair. She was about to close her eyes for a moment when she heard Amani’s voice.

“Seth?” she shouted. Freja snapped back to attention and scanned the crowd for the lanky boy with curly hair.

And then she saw him, the same as a few hours ago, except with a puffy redness covering one of his eyes. She rushed over to meet him.

“What happened?” Freja asked, resisting the urge to hold his beaten face in her hands.

“Big brother…” Seth trailed, looking over at Steph, who was peacefully asleep with his hands over his ears, not even five feet from his vomit. “I was following in your footsteps.”

“Let’s go home,” Freja said, squeezing his shoulder. They walked over to Steph and Amani. “Can you handle getting Steph back on your own?” she asked Amani.

“I’ve handled Steph for three years—and seen much, much worse,” Amani replied with a smile.

“Heard.”

And so the Cohen brothers went their separate ways, Seth on a walk back to a mildewy apartment on College Ave. and Steph, after spending another hour unconscious slumped on Amani’s shoulder, back in the RAV4 to Palo Alto.

epilogue: Seth

“This is a big decision, sweetie.” Seth’s mother said, rubbing his shoulders. “You can take your time.” He was hunched over the kitchen table, head in his hands, staring at his laptop. His screen was split: on the left, an acceptance from Stanford. On the right, from Berkeley. His mom was right—he did have time—but there was only a few weeks until the official intent to register deadline.

Since receiving both acceptances a few weeks ago, Seth sat at the kitchen table every night. He had both emails open on the screen, just like today. Steph, along with his parents, found out minutes after each letter had been opened. Eventually, he’d called Freja and Amani to tell them the news.

It had been over a month since the three of them had watched Seth stumble out of that frat. Seth had his own little adventure that night. Soon after leaving Freja’s apartment, he came across a professor walking a fluffy white dog. She was dressed in athletic-fit trousers and a matching jacket. Though she wore the same sneakers as his mother, she was at least ten years older, with curly white hair that went past her shoulders.

The dog immediately took a liking to Seth, and the professor invited him on their stroll through campus. He chatted with her as they walked up through South Campus, past the International House and Memorial Stadium. They eventually made it up by the Greek Theatre. He was surprised by how quickly she walked, never losing her breath while regaling Seth with stories about campus life and how it changed over the past forty years. When she smiled or laughed, Seth saw her crows’ feet crinkle, evidence of a life filled with light and laughter.

They parted ways up near Memorial Stadium, where the professor headed for her house in the Berkeley Hills and Seth turned around to go back to Freja’s. He reached for his phone for directions—the battery was low, but he probably had enough juice to make it home. He was on track to reach there in less than half an hour if he cut through Frat Row.

As he walked past the party mansions, he watched the parade of college students on the streets and in backyards. He found them fascinating: observing their body language, reading their faces, and catching snippets of conversation. Every so often, he would look at groups and wonder: who these people think they are to one another? And how accurate are their perceptions?

When Seth was looking into one of the frat courtyards, he saw something amiss among the scattered solo cups, beer cans, and other generic detritus. There was a lone boy in the corner. He appeared to be hiding. Intrigued, Seth moved closer to the low red brick wall that surrounded the courtyard.

The small, stocky boy with the wrestler’s build heaved and vomited into the dirt. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Seth moved closer, thinking of a way to help him. It looked like the boy might vomit again.

He didn’t—he coughed up blood instead. Seth saw the dark flecks against the white wall and knew it couldn’t be anything else. Seth broke out into a jog, rushing towards him, but stopped abruptly once he saw a large, hulking mass move towards the boy in the corner.

“Turner,” he growled. “Get the fuck back in the house.” The boy—Turner—appeared not to hear anything and continued to breathe deeply and heave occasionally. Seth knew he had to do something. He had to.

Seth took a deep breath and walked towards the threatening voice, a voice that belonged to a body that was at least a head taller and a hundred pounds heavier than his.

“Can’t you see he’s sick?” Seth asked incredulously. He didn’t know where he found the courage to stand up to a man built like a fortress who could probably throw him all the way to Palo Alto.

“Can’t you see he’s sick?” The Fortress mimicked in falsetto, then in his regular voice added, “Now get out of here before I make you.” He turned his attention back to the cowering boy in the corner.

“Turner!” the smaller boy turned to the larger one and wiped his mouth again. Seth could see the flecks of blood on his palm. “You sicken me,” the Fortress spat.

“Just let him go home,” Seth said firmly, raising his voice in a hope to attract the attention of another bystander who could make sure no harm came to Turner and Seth.

“Pledge Turner isn’t going anywhere,” the Fortress growled. His eyes flashed with the dangerous deliriousness caused by a near-deathly cocktail of substances. The mix of alcohol and other drugs amplified his every intrusive thought and animal instinct. “And neither are you.”

He lunged at Seth, his first step slightly off balance; but the Fortress corrected his stance, his athletic training and adrenaline kicked in quickly to overpower the drugged haze. He clenched his fist and swung.

Seth was too shocked to feel when or where fist met face. He only knew enough that he had to run. People were looking but were too scared or drunk or apathetic to intervene. Seth had about a five second headstart, an advantage he was sure to lose quickly to someone who seemed to be a collegiate athlete.

And then, just as the Fortress was about to have him by the collar, Seth saw the fire alarm.

And he pulled.

There had been no more fights, no more excitements since then. Only prom, which was, unlike the movies, drama-free.

And then, this. The split-screen kitchen-table quandary, as his dad liked to put it. But today was the day. He was ready. He waited until his dad finished grilling and his brother came home from walking the dog. Then, with all parties present, Seth closed the laptop and said:

“I have come to my decision.”

This Month’s Top Five

• Veggie Quiz 🥦 – such a fun quiz to take
• Espresso Martini from La Factoría ☕️ – we went there while the power was out :0
• National Museum of African American History and Culture 🧠 – great music exhibit, have to come back for the rest
• “Juno” by Sabrina ✨ – still not as good as “Espresso”
• Jade City 💚 – a great mob-fantasy-family drama with epic fight scenes