Neighborhood.

[Soapy]

Highlight Game: January 26th, 2025 - McKale Center, Tucson, Arizona

---

UCLA | 40 | 37 | 77
ZONA | 30 | 33 | 63

Starting Lineups
(So) Dylan Andrews - G - Jaden Bradley (Jr)
(Jr) Skyy Clark - G - Caleb Love (Sr)
(Sr) Kobe Johnson - F - Carter Bryant (Fr)
(So) Eric Dailey Jr. - F - Trey Townsend (Sr)
(Jr) Tyler Bilodeau - C - Motiejus Krivas (Fr)



G Dylan Andrews, Sophomore: 11 pts, 2 reb, 2 ast, 2 stl, 4-7 FG, 3-6 3PT
G Sky Clark, Junior: 0 pts, reb, ast, 2 stl, 0-2 FG, 0-1 3PT
F Kobe Johnson, Senior: 23 pts, 5 reb, 2 ast, 3 to, 9-20 FG, 4-13 3PT
F Eric Dailey Jr, Sophomore: 6 pts, 7 reb, 0-0 FG, 6-8 FT
F Tyler Bilodeau, Junior: 7 pts, 2 reb, 3 ast, 2-3 FG, 3-3 FT
F Keshawn Chase, Freshman: 12 pts, 6 reb, 10 ast, stl, blk, 4-9 FG, 4-8 FT

G Caleb Love, Senior: 7 pts, 5 reb, 5 ast, 1-6 FG, 1-3 3PT, 4-4 FT
F Trey Townsend, Senior: 6 pts, 8 reb, stl, 3-13 FG, 0-1 3PT
C Motiejus Krivas, Freshman: 14 pts, 5 reb, stl, 7-10 FG

---

January 28th, 2025
(14-5) #24 USC at #6 UCLA (16-5)
@

USC | 35 | 30 | 65
UCLA | 30 | 39 | 69

USC G Desmond Claude, Junior: 18 pts, 5 reb, 2 stl, 6-15 FG, 3-9 3PT, 3-4 FT
UCLA F Keshawn Chase, Freshman: 15 pts, 6 reb, stl, 2 blk, 3-10 FG, 0-3 3PT, 9-11 FT

---

February 2, 2025
(16-5) #6 UCLA at Washington (7-10)
@

UCLA | 40 | 27 | 67
UW | 50 | 30 | 80

UCLA F Keshawn Chase, Freshman: 2 pts, 3 reb, 2 ast, 1-4 FG, 4 fouls
UW G Luis Kortright, Senior: 18 pts, 2 stl, 3 to, 5-8 FG, 2-3 3PT, 6-8 FT

Upcoming Schedule vs. Utah (10-10), at Arizona State (12-11), vs. California (12-7)
Season Stats 15.1 PPG, 4.1 RPG, 2.9 APG, 1.1 SPG, 1.0 BPG, 1.1 TOPG, 2.2 FPG, 49 FG%, 43 3PT%, 84 FT%

[Caesar]

Vic done put a baby in his side bitch? Nasty work.

Also, 2 points

[Soapy]

Vic done put a baby in his side bitch? Nasty work.

Also, 2 points

she just got the runs bro

Double-double as a backup big off the bench with ASSISTS and then 15 points in a close win over the rival but wanna talk about the one down game

[Soapy]

Stay Dangerous - Episode 12
Keshawn circled the dining hall once more, still undecided between the hamburger station that was beginning to gather a crowd or the lonely salad bar. He opted for the salad bar, topping the bowl of lettuce with some croutons, cheese and dressing to split the difference between the two options. He walked back to the meat carving section, adding two more slices of beef tenderloins before returning to his table by his lonesome. Stefan was at rehab — or at least he was supposed to as his return-to-play date was nearing — and Tommy often opted to have lunch in his room. The rest of the team were mostly seniors or transfers that Keshawn seldomly saw on campus, let alone hung out with them.

Keshawn was on his third bite of his salad, still pondering if he made the right decision, when he could feel someone hover him. He looked up from his plate, earbuds still in his ear, to spot a familiar face that he couldn’t quite place.

"Sorry to bug you,” she said as Keshawn took off one of his earbuds, “You’re Keshawn, right?”

He continued to size her up, desperately hoping her name would pop into his head or at the very least, where he knew her from. He had done his fair share of frolicking in the summer but thought he had kept it classy enough that he’d surely remember every co-ed he’d been with.

"Yeah,” Keshawn nodded, covering his mouth with his hand.

"Obviously,” she threw her head back, “I don’t know why I ask that, trying to be break the ice, I guess, but it only made it even more awkward since I obviously know who you are.”

Keshawn forced an awkward laugh to force the silence.

“And of course you don’t know who I am because why would you,” she rested her plate on his table, “Don’t worry, I’m not sitting here.”

The silence lingered this time as Keshawn sat there more confused than when the conversation started.

“I’m Tamara, Nadia’s friend?” she continued, flashing a smile once Keshawn nodded.

“Oh yeah, you were like at the protest and stuff, right?”

“I guess there could be worse things to be known for,” she tilted her head from side to side, “Anyways, we’re having a party and since Nadia is a complete baby and won’t do it herself, I thought I would invite you.”

“Oh,” Keshawn placed his fork down. He hadn’t spoken to Nadia since that Thanksgiving dinner at Coach Bronstein’s. They’d seen each other on campus, of course, offering the occasional head nod or polite smile. Most of the time, Keshawn was the one initiating the brief and frankly awkward interaction but on a few occasions, Nadia would be the one to first flash a quick smile that would quickly dissipate as they crossed paths.

“Yeah, sure, when is it?”

…

The bass throbbed through the floorboards of the VIP section, vibrating up Gayle’s legs and settling as a nervous tremor in her stomach. Below, the club was modestly packed, a sea of moving bodies that had been growing by the hour. Lamont had pulled in some favors for her first appearance as an artist, purchasing drink tickets and giving them out to help attract patrons to the nightclub to see Gayle perform for the first time. Her solo track had began garnering some organic buzz in the city but Lamont felt it needed that push that helped turn a song into a local hit.

“You good?” Lamont’s voice, smooth and steady as always, cut through the pre-show jitters tightening her chest.

Gayle forced a smile, adjusting the strap of her sparkly crop top. "I’m perfect. I’m just about to rap in front of all of these people that didn’t come here to hear me rap.”

He chuckled softly. "Don’t nobody care who you are until they do. You have to start somewhere, Gigi.”

She nodded, taking a deep breath, trying to mimic his composure. "I keep forgetting I’m Gigi now.”

He gestured towards the stage door. "Exactly. If Gigi bombs, leave Gigi here and walk out that door as Gayle. If Gigi turns this bitch up like I know she can, your own momma might start calling you that, girl.”

His confidence was contagious, or maybe it was just the adrenaline finally kicking in. Gayle nodded again, firmer this time, squaring her shoulders. She strode towards the stage, the roar of the crowd intensifying as the spotlight found her.

The first few bars felt forced as the booming speakers were louder than Gayle — or Gigi — as the crowd barely noticed she was on the stage. Once the drums kicked in, it caught the attention of more patrons who began turning their head towards the stage and with each head that was turned, Gigi’s voice got louder and louder, eventually overtaking the background vocals. By the third verse, she was beginning to feed off the crowd’s energy who despite not knowing the lyrics, were fully into it.

The second track went by in a blur of bright lights, booming speakers, and chanting fans who had recognized parts of the song from either their Spotify playlist, local radio or more likely from TikTok as Lamont had worked his magic to get it in the correct algorithms. At the end of the second track, Tay Dizzle had made his way onto the stage, a stack of money in his hands and a couple thousand around his neck, looking the part of a rapper.

His presence came with a surge, many within the crowd instantly recognizing his face and if they didn’t, the rapper starter kit that he donned let them know that he was someone they should know. Then came the moment. The beat switched, the familiar opening synth melody of their collaborative track began. Tay launched into his first verse, letting the background vocals do most of the work as he was more focused on throwing money towards the crowd. He alternated between throwing money and leaning down to take a sip from his Styrofoam cup that rested by his feet.

Gayle tried to remain in the moment, focusing instead on the crowd and waiting for the cue for the verse to begin. She was in her element, the nervousness replaced by pure exhilaration. The crowd might not have shown up for her but they were with her now as she began her verse, closing her eyes to let the lyrics flow out naturally.

As she moved into the hook, something fluttered past her face. Then another. Green bills rained down onto the stage around her feet. Confused, she faltered for a split second, glancing towards the source. Tay stood at the edge of the stage, a wad of cash in his hand, peeling off bills and tossing them at her with a leering grin.

“Yeah, shake that ass!” he yelled over the music, his voice amplified by proximity. “Earn that money, bitch!”

The music felt suddenly distant, muffled by the ringing in Gayle’s ears. Rage, hot and swift, eclipsed the adrenaline. She stopped rapping mid-verse.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Gayle spat into the mic, the background music still playing as the DJ looked at both of them with confusion, unsure if this was part of the performance having never worked with them before.

He just laughed, tossing another bill. “You heard me. Dance, bitch.”

Gayle dropped the microphone with a clatter that echoed through the suddenly silent club. “I look like a fucking stripper to you, nigga?!” she shoved him hard in the chest.

Tay stumbled back, surprised by her ferocity, but his smirk quickly returned. "Ain’t that where I met you, bitch?"

Her right hand flew, a closed fist connecting with Tay’s jaw with a satisfying crack. It wasn't a knockout blow, not even close, but the surprise and force of it sent him staggering backward a few steps, his eyes wide with disbelief before hardening into pure fury. Security guards, alerted by the sudden violence and the dropped mic, surged towards the stage from the wings, pushing through the stunned DJ.

But before they could reach them, as Tay lunged forward, murder in his eyes, Gayle lunged too. Not at him, but at the ostentatious diamond chain glittering around his neck. Her fingers closed around the heavy links, yanking hard. There was a sharp snap, and suddenly the air glittered as dozens of diamonds skittered across the stage floor like scattered ice chips.

“My chain, bitch!” Tay roared, momentarily distracted by the loss of his jewelry.

That split second was all Lamont needed. He vaulted onto the stage, bypassing the stunned security guards and getting straight between his two artists. “Tay! Tay, chill! Not here, man!” he yelled, putting his hands firmly on Tay’s chest, trying to hold back the much larger man who was now vibrating with rage.

Below them, the club had erupted. The initial shock gave way to a feverish excitement. Phones shot up everywhere, tiny screens recording the mayhem unfolding on stage. A chant started, low at first, then building into a gleeful roar that bounced off the walls: “WORLDSTAR! WORLDSTAR! WORLDSTAR!” The flashes illuminated the scattered diamonds, Tay’s furious face, Lamont’s desperate attempt to maintain control, and Gayle, standing defiant amidst the chaos, breathing heavily, her eyes locked on Tay’s, the broken remnants of his chain still clutched in her fist. The beat had long since died, replaced by the soundtrack of a career potentially imploding.

…

Keshawn found himself pinned against a sticky wall, nursing the same plastic cup of flat soda water he’d been holding for the past hour, watching the ebb and flow of bodies under the dim, colored lights. He recognized maybe three people, none of whom he felt compelled to speak to. Tamara had greeted him enthusiastically when he arrived, dragging him inside before disappearing back into the throng. He’d circled the main room twice, looking for a familiar face – that familiar face – but hadn’t seen her. Now, resignation had set in. He was just counting the minutes until he could slip out unnoticed. Another five minutes, maybe ten.

Someone bumped hard into his arm, sloshing the last dregs of his soda onto his hand. He sighed, wiping his hand on his jeans just as a figure detached itself from a nearby cluster and navigated towards him. It was Nadia. She looked as out of place as he felt, her simple dark sweater and jeans a stark contrast to the glittering tops and ripped denim surrounding them. Her hair was pulled back, and her expression was tight, strained.

She had to lean in close for him to hear her over the pulsing music. "Hey.”

"Hey," Keshawn replied, his voice barely audible even to himself.

"Listen," she sighed, "I'm really sorry about Tamara. I didn't ask her to invite you. She just… does things."

Keshawn shrugged, the movement restricted by the bodies pressing in around them. "It's cool.”

Nadia offered a small, fleeting smile. "I’m not really into parties." She gestured vaguely at the crowded room, the flashing lights, the overwhelming noise. "I didn’t even know she was for real about inviting you until she just told me like a minute ago. I don’t know, I guess she thought we would have ran into each other but I’ve literally been in my room the entire time.”

A shared understanding flickered between them. "Not much of a party guy my self," Keshawn admitted, feeling a fraction of the tension ease from his shoulders. "Not really my scene."

"We can agree there," she confessed, rolling her eyes. "Just seems…pointless.”

He chuckled, a genuine sound this time. "Maybe that is the point.”

They stood in silence for another moment, an awkward pocket of stillness amidst the chaos. The music shifted, a new track with an even heavier bassline dropping, rattling the pictures on the wall Keshawn was leaning against.

Nadia visibly winced. "You know what?" she said suddenly, her eyes meeting his with a spark of decision. "I'm starving. And I could really go for some pancakes."

Keshawn blinked. "Pancakes?"

"You don’t know that they serve breakfast at the hall at night?" she questioned, “Come on, you’re not living right, Keshawn or is that like against your diet or something?”

“I’m a wholesome man,” he teased, “I’m in bed by then.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed, “So is that a yes on the pancakes or?”

“I’m more of a waffle guy,” Keshawn smiled, “But you lead the way, I’ll follow.”

[Soapy]

Highlight Game: February 6th, 2025 - Pauley Pavilion, Los Angeles, California
(10-11) Utah Utes at #8 UCLA Bruins (17-6)

---

UTAH | 26 | 51 | 77
UCLA | 32 | 53 | 85

Starting Lineups
(Sr) Mason Madsen - G - Dylan Andrews (So)
(Jr) Mike Sharavjamts - G - Skyy Clark (Jr)
(Sr) Gabe Madsen - F - Kobe Johnson (Sr)
(Sr) Caleb Lohner - F - Eric Dailey Jr. (So)
(Sr) Lawson Lovering - C - Tyler Bilodeau (Jr)



G Dylan Andrews, Sophomore: 2 pts, 3 reb, 1-3 FG, 0-1 3PT
G Skyy Clark, Junior: 0 pts, 2 ast, 0-3 FG, 0-3 3PT
F Kobe Johnson, Senior: 20 pts, 6 reb, 2 ast, 5-18 FG, 3-12 3PT, 7-8 FT
F Eric Dailey Jr, Sophomore: 6 pts, 4 reb, 2-6 FG, 1-2 3PT
F Tyler Bilodeau, Junior: 3 pts, 7 reb, 2 stl, 1-5 FG, 1-4 FT
F Keshawn Chase, Freshman: 21 pts, 7 reb, 7 ast, 3 to, 5-8 FG, 11-12 FT
G Lazar Stefanovic, Senior: 18 pts, 6 reb, 2 stl, 6-11 FG, 4-7 3PT, 2-2 FT

G Mike Sharavjamts, Junior: 30 pts, 2 reb, 10-13 FG, 6-8 3PT, 4-4 FT
C Lawson Lovering, Senior: 7 pts, 15 reb, 3-9 FG, 0-3 3PT
F Ezra Ausar, Junior: 12 pts, 4 reb, 5-9 FG, 1-3 3PT, 1-1 FT

---

February 9th, 2025
(18-6) #8 UCLA at Arizona State (12-13)
@

UCLA | 36 | 41 | 77
ASU | 40 | 28 | 68

ASU F Basheer Jihad, Senior: 16 pts, 14 reb, 6 blk, 7-17 FG, 2-5 3PT
UCLA F Keshawn Chase, Freshman: 3 pts, 6 reb, 5 ast, 2 to, 1-8 FG, 1-3 3PT, 0-2 FT

---

February 13th, 2025
(13-9) California at #5 UCLA (19-6)
@

CAL | 39 | 32 | 71
UCLA | 39 | 45 | 84

CAL C Lee Dort, Junior: 13 pts, 11 reb, 4 stl, 6-12 FG, 1-4 3PT
UCLA F Keshawn Chase, Freshman: 4 pts, 2 reb, 2 stl, 2-3 FG, 5 fouls

Upcoming Schedule at Washington State (13-7), vs. #9 Arizona (17-4), at Utah (10-13)
Season Stats 14.1 PPG, 4.3 RPG, 3.1 APG, 1.1 SPG, 0.9 BPG, 1.2 TOPG, 2.1 FPG, 48 FG%, 42 3PT%, 83 FT%

[Soapy]

Stay Dangerous - Episode 13
Stefan held the ball close to his chest as he jabbed with his left leg, bringing the ball with each movement in an effort to get Keshawn to bite. The promising freshman kept his hands back and remained in a defensive posture, not leaving any space between the two of them.

On the third jab, Keshawn swatted at the ball, jarring it loose. Stefan was able to recover it and tried to attack from his right side but Keshawn cut him. He countered with a behind the back dribble going left but Keshawn was there too. Stefan eventually settled for a jumper that clanked off the rim, the sound of the ball bouncing on the hardwood echoing throughout the arena.

The two would continue to go at it for the next few minutes before Wells, one of the trainers, blew his whistle.

“On the line, Parker, let’s finish this up.”

Drenched in sweat, Stefan slowly walked to the baseline, dapping up Keshawn as they crossed paths. While Keshawn rested on the bench, Stefan began his series of sprints, designed to test his level of conditioning as part of his return to play protocol. The roles had been reserved just a few weeks prior when it was Stefan sitting in the stands, heckling Keshawn as he went through the paces.

Luckily for Keshawn, it was a hand injury that sidelined him and the conditioning test was a mere formality while for Stefan, each sprint was taking a toll on his healing ankle.

“That wasn’t no damn thirty seconds,” Stefan complained as Wells blew his whistle for the next sprint, “Ain’t no way!”

“Stop trying to buy time, Parker! Get running!”

“Nah, you cheating me, man!” Stefan exclaimed, his voice beginning to fill with indignation, “That wasn’t no fucking thirty seconds!”

“I’m not arguing with you today, man. Either get running or I’m going to start my clock and fail you. It’s up to you.”

Keshawn stood up from the bleachers, readying himself to join Stefan for his last few sets of sprints, hoping his presence would serve as motivation.

“Let’s knock these out, Stef,” Keshawn approached Stefan, who was still bent over, trying to catch his breath.

“Fuck that,” Stefan waved him off, “This hoe ass nigga trying to play me!”

"Always something with you,” Wells shook his head, pocketing his whistle as he turned around, heading for the coach’s office.

“Come on, Coach. He’s only got a couple left,” Keshawn pleaded, “He’ll knock em out.”

“No, the fuck I won’t,” Stefan shook his head as he also began walking away from Keshawn, “This shit is some bullshit.”

…

The silence in the cramped apartment hallway was thick, broken only by the muffled sounds from behind the closed bathroom door. Andrea chewed on her thumbnail, her eyes darting between Gloria and the peeling paint on the doorframe. Gloria leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed, her usual easygoing expression replaced with a taut line of concern. Neither spoke. The air hummed with unspoken anxieties, a stark contrast to the usual boisterous energy of their shared space.

The click of the lock turning echoed louder than a gunshot. The door creaked open, and Jessica stood framed in the doorway. Her vibrant personality seemed to have leached out of her, leaving behind a pale, hollow-eyed version. Her lower lip trembled, and her eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were red-rimmed and brimming.

Before either Andrea or Gloria could utter a word, a choked sob escaped Jessica. Tears spilled down her cheeks, carving paths through her makeup. She stumbled forward, and instinctively, Andrea and Gloria rushed to meet her, their arms enveloping her in a tight embrace. Jessica buried her face in Andrea’s shoulder, her body wracked with shuddering sobs that seemed to shake the very foundations of their small group.

…

Rommel cruised slowly down the block, his eyes, sharp and practiced, scanned the row of dilapidated bungalows. He’d been circling this part of Fat Stacks’ turf for the better part of an hour, looking for anything that stood out and then it finally did.

Mid-block, a house sat even more derelict than its neighbors. The paint, perhaps once a cheerful yellow, was now a sickly, peeling mustard, revealing patches of rotted wood underneath. One window was boarded up with mismatched planks, another was cracked like a spiderweb. The yard was a wasteland of overgrown weeds and discarded trash – fast food wrappers, empty beer bottles, a deflated basketball. But it wasn’t the state of disrepair that caught Rommel’s attention; it was the traffic.

It had been relatively quiet before when Rommel first began circling but now there was a steady stream of figures shuffled up to the front porch before disappearing inside. They moved with the desperate, twitchy energy of those chasing their next fix.

This had to be it. Stacks was too flashy to live in a shithole like this, but it was perfect for a trap house, a low-key spot to move his product.

Rommel pulled over a block past the house, parking under the shade of a wilting tree. He watched in his rearview mirror for another five minutes, confirming the pattern. He picked up his phone, dialing Dro’s number who picked up on the third ring.

“Yeah?”

“I told you the motherfucker wasn’t that fucking smart.”

“Talk to me.”

“Shitty little house on Tacana, this gotta be it. Real fucking busy too.”

A pause on the other end. Rommel could almost hear Dro processing the information, his mind working. “You sure?”

“Either that or the motherfucker got a big problem on his hand. I done seen four, five fiends walk in that bitch in the last couple minutes. Ain’t no way Stacks letting another nigga run dope like that in his territory.”

“Aight, Blood, let me know if he shows up.”

“You got it,” Rommel said. The line clicked dead. He tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and settled in, his gaze fixed on the distant, dilapidated house, a silent sentinel in the simmering Los Angeles heat.

…

Angela sighed, pushing a stray braid back from her forehead. She and Paige were sprawled on the worn rug in Paige’s living room, surrounded by textbooks and half-empty coffee cups.

“I just… I don’t know, Paige,” Angela said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s like Vic and I are living on different planets sometimes.” She picked at a loose thread on the rug. “We’ve always been different which is what I liked about him but now it just feels like he’s out there, doing his thing, and I’m here, trying to do my thing. And the space between us just feels… bigger every day.”

Paige nodded slowly, her gaze sympathetic. “Long distance is a bitch.”

“It’s more than just the distance, though.” Angela’s brow furrowed. “It’s like… we’re changing. Or maybe he’s changing. Or I am. I don’t even know anymore.” She let out a frustrated huff. “Even when we are together, it just feels…not the same.”

Paige tilted her head. “You think he’s seeing somebody out there?”

Angela shrugged, a knot tightening in her stomach. “I don’t know, I don’t think so? I know every girl thinks their guy is different but I don’t know, I feel like I would know. He’s a terrible liar and besides, the girls he be around are too fucking messy to keep their mouths quiet. They would throw that shit all in my face.”

“You ain’t lying about that,” Paige laughed softly, “Me and my nigga, we got an understanding.”

Angela looked up, curious. “What kind of understanding?”

Paige cackled. “I wasn’t about to put my pussy up on a shelf for no four years. No, ma’am. And I knew he wasn’t going to not fuck nothing for the months we go without seeing each other so we just kept it real.”

“Y’all are open?” Angela’s eyebrows shot up.

“I don’t know about open open,” she responded, “But if we meet someone, and there’s a vibe… it’s cool. Just don’t let that shit blow up into something else and we don’t tell each other about it.”

Angela stared at her, trying to process this. “And that… works for you?” The idea felt alien, almost scandalous compared to the fierce loyalty she’d always associated with love.

“Mostly,” Paige admitted with a small, wry smile. “It’s not perfect. Sometimes it’s weird. But it’s better than the alternative, you know? The jealousy, the suspicion, the constant wondering. This way, there’s a level of trust. We’re choosing to be together, even with the distance, and even with the… options.” She looked at Angela. “I’m not saying it’s for everyone. But for us, it helps manage the pressure. Takes some of the angst out of it.”

Angela was silent for a moment, considering. The thought of Vic with someone else, even with her permission, sent a pang of something sharp and unpleasant through her. But then, was the current uncertainty, the gnawing doubt, any better?

“I don’t think I could do that,” she said finally. “I’d be thinking every night he’s with someone.”

…

Keshawn’s knuckles rapped against the cheap wood of the apartment door. He’d gotten the call from Andrea an hour ago, a rushed, garbled message about Stefan being drunk with the homies. The wrong kind of homies, to Andrea at least.

The door creaked open a few inches, revealing a sliver of a dimly lit living room. A young woman with tired eyes and a baby perched on her hip peered out.

“Yeah?”

“Uh, I’m here for Stefan,” Keshawn said, trying to keep his voice even. “His girl said he was here?”

The woman’s eyes flickered over him, taking in his UCLA gear. “Who you?”

“Keshawn. I’m his teammate.”

She chewed her lip for a moment, then sighed. “He ain’t here. He was, but he left with Baby Nut and them. Said they was going to the store.” She gestured vaguely down the hall. “Probably still out there, drinking our rent money.”

Keshawn thanked her and headed back out into the humid night air. Before he could text Andrea, asking for an updated location, he found them easily enough. Under the flickering neon sign of a liquor store, a small group was gathered. Stefan was in the middle of them, a forty-ounce bottle of malt liquor in his hand, laughing loudly at something one of the others had said.

As Keshawn approached, the laughter died down. All eyes turned to him, appraising, suspicious. Stefan, his face flushed and his movements loose, squinted.

“Keshawn? What the fuck you doin’ out here, nigga?” Stefan slurred, a wide, sloppy grin spreading across his face.

Before Keshawn could answer, a heavily built man with a faded blue bandana tied around his forehead stepped forward, blocking his path. His eyes, cold and flat, raked over Keshawn. “Hold up, hold up. Who this nigga, cuz?”

Keshawn felt a prickle of unease. He stood his ground, meeting the man’s gaze.

“Where you from, homie?” another one, lanky and tatted, chimed in, his hand resting near the waistband of his sagging jeans. The air crackled with sudden tension.

Stefan stumbled forward, sloshing beer onto the cracked pavement. “Nah, nah, Baby, he cool. He cool.” He slung a clumsy arm around Keshawn’s shoulders, nearly sending them both toppling over. “This my nigga Keshawn, we hoop at UCLA.”

Baby Nut didn’t look convinced. His eyes narrowed. “I don’t give a fuck about none of that shit, nigga. You bang, homie?”

“The fuck?” Stefan pushed himself upright, his drunken good humor evaporating. “Nigga, he play ball with me at UCLA, man. He ain’t from nowhere. He just… he my homie. My dumb ass bitch probably sent his ass.”

The tension eased, but only slightly. Baby Nut and the others exchanged glances. “You hoop, huh?” Baby Nut said, his tone still skeptical. “You be busting his ass then?”

“Yeah,” Keshawn forced out a small laugh, “Cooked his ass this morning, actually.”

“Fuck you, nigga,” Stefan sucked his teeth, “A nigga just hurt right now.”

“Sorry ass nigga,” another one of the group, older, with salt-and-pepper in his braids, chuckled, taking a swig from his own bottle. “I’ve been telling that boy for ten years to work on his left hang.”

Stefan scowled. “You know I get active with my left, OG.”

“Yeah, aight, cuz,” OG Tiny said, amusement in his voice. “Take this little nigga home, he get to talking crazy when he get like this.”

“On Insane Crip I get active, nigga,” Stefan grumbled, but he allowed Keshawn to start steering him away. He turned back to his friends. “Aight, y’all. I’mma holla.”

“Be easy, lil’ homie,” Baby Nut said, giving a curt nod. The others mumbled their goodbyes.

As Keshawn guided Stefan towards his car, parked a little way down the street, Stefan stumbled again. He half-dragged, half-supported Stefan the rest of the way to his car. Getting Stefan, all lanky limbs and dead weight, into the passenger seat was a struggle. The moment Stefan’s head hit the worn headrest, his eyes fluttered shut, and a soft snore rumbled from his chest. He was out cold.

Keshawn let out a long breath, shaking his head. He slammed the passenger door shut and walked around to the driver's side, the sounds of the neighborhood – distant sirens, bass-heavy music from a passing car, the murmur of late-night conversations – fading as he slid behind the wheel. He started the engine, the car grumbling to life, and pulled away from the curb, leaving Stefan’s "homies" and the flickering liquor store sign behind.

The drive back towards Westwood was quiet, save for Stefan’s rhythmic snores. Keshawn glanced over at him a few times, a mix of exasperation and concern on his face. This wasn't the first time he'd had to bail Stefan out of a drunken situation, but tonight felt different, heavier somehow, tinged with the earlier tension from the practice and the unsettling encounter with Baby Nut and his crew.

About halfway through the drive, as they idled at a long red light on Crenshaw, Stefan stirred. He blinked his eyes open slowly, his gaze unfocused as he looked around the car.

Stefan shifted, trying to sit up straighter. He rubbed his face, wincing. “Man, this shit… this shit wack, dawg.”

Keshawn glanced at him. “You good?”

“Hell nah I ain’t good, nigga.” Stefan shook his head. “Watching you hoop, man. It’s… it’s some fly shit, you know? I’m proud of you, nigga, for real. You out there balling, cooking these niggas.” He paused, his voice dropping a little. “But fuck, man. I wish it was me out there too, you know? Or with you. It’s just… it’s frustrating as hell, seeing you get yours and I’m just…”

Keshawn listened, his grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel. He understood. He remembered the sting of being sidelined, the impatience, the feeling of being left behind.

“You’ll be back out there, Stef,” Keshawn said, his tone even and reassuring. “You just gotta heal up right, get through your rehab. Your time coming, man. We’re going to ball on these niggas, I promise.”

He waited for a comeback, a sarcastic retort, anything. When nothing came, he glanced over. Stefan’s head was lolled to the side, his mouth slightly open, the soft snores having resumed, deeper this time. He was out again. Keshawn sighed, a small smile playing on his lips despite himself. Some things never changed. He turned his attention back to the road, the city lights blurring past as he drove his friend home.

[Soapy]

Stay Dangerous - Episode 14
“Hope out suicide doors, it’s the Hitta, man!”

Stefan’s voice, raspy and impressively off-key, bounced off the mostly empty blue seats of Pauley Pavilion as he hollered along the verse, dribbling the ball between his legs.

“You don’t wanna see them doors sliding on the Caravan!” Keshawn chimed in, bobbing his head to the imaginary beat of the song.

“I know killers who was catchin' bodies and not one fade!” Stefan held one finger up.

“I was thirteen, up at Avalon, popping chains!” Keshawn jumped back in.

“Twenty-one, flag on my head like a Taliban, Twenty-five, feelin' like the box, it was full of sand. At the cemetery fucked up, that's where I could've been. 142nd, I'm connected like I'm Rosecrans. Kinda shit I seen, try and forget and I will pop a Xan'“

They continued to rap among themselves as the arena filled up, going through Keshawn’s usual pre-game routine while Stefan tried to remember his.

“Ridin' with the dirty blicky, switchy, make a new flame!” Stefan mimed a gun with his right hand, pointing it towards the opposing bench as their players were lacing up their shoes.

Keshawn just shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips despite himself. The arena, still an hour from tip-off, hummed with a nascent energy. But beneath Stefan’s usual bluster, Keshawn felt the tremor of something else. Stefan’s first game back against Washington State was memorable for all of the wrong seasons, failing to score a single point for the first time since he started playing organized basketball. He only played seven minutes, each of them burning his lungs as he struggled to find his rhythm. They were back home now, playing an Arizona team that Keshawn had recorded his first double-double against while Stefan watched from the bench, half in the bag.

It wasn’t the triumphant return anyone, least of all Stefan, had envisioned. Keshawn found himself feeling a weird sort of transferred pressure, a knot in his own stomach that was purely for his teammate.

“Tell em Keshawn did it, nigga,” Keshawn teased as he sinked a pull-up jumper, an improved area in his game thanks to UCLA’s coaching staff.

“Oh, this what we on today?” Stefan nodded his head, “I fuck with the energy, Ke.”

“You know how I’m rocking,” Keshawn dapped him up, holding the greeting for a second longer as he brought Stefan in, “Show these niggas who you are, bro.”

…

Arizona’s point guard tried to split a high screen. Keshawn, reading the play, hedged hard, cutting off the baseline drive. As the guard hesitated, spinning back towards the middle of the court, Stefan shot out from the weak side like a missile, his long arms flailing. They converged on the ball-handler, a pincer movement that left him nowhere to go.

Stefan jabbed at the ball, and Keshawn mirrored him, their hands a flurry of motion. The Arizona guard, overwhelmed, coughed it up. The ball squirted loose, bouncing towards Stefan.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Stefan scooped it up, his eyes already downcourt. Keshawn had taken off the instant the ball was loose, streaking towards the Bruins’ basket. The pass hit Keshawn in stride just as he crossed the free-throw line. Two long strides and he was airborne, the rim rattling as he threw down a thunderous one-handed dunk.

Pauley Pavilion erupted.

"That’s what I’m talking about, nigga!” Stefan shouted towards Keshawn as the latter sprinted back on defense.

Keshawn, still feeling the adrenaline surge, nodded, a wide smile of his own spreading across his face. He thrived in transition, his long legs eating up the court, his athleticism too much for most defenders to handle in the open floor. And he kept finding those opportunities. Another steal by one of the guards led to an outlet pass, Keshawn finishing with a smooth finger roll. A defensive rebound kicked out to him, and he went coast-to-coast, drawing a foul as he laid it in.

Stefan, meanwhile, was having a tougher time finding his offensive rhythm. His first three-point attempt clanked off the back iron. A midrange pull-up was short. He drove to the basket, trying to force the issue, but he lost his dribble. Yet, through it all, his energy never flagged. Every time Keshawn scored, Stefan was the first one there, hyping him up, his voice hoarse from shouting.

“These niggas can’t fucking guard you, twin!” he yelled after Keshawn powered through a defender for another layup, drawing the foul.

As Keshawn stepped to the line, the scoreboard showed him with fourteen points. He glanced over at Stefan, who gave him an emphatic nod and clapped his hands together. Keshawn knew Stefan was frustrated with his own performance, but seeing him still so invested, so vocal in his support, settled something in Keshawn.

…

Keshawn went to work in the left block, posting up the much bigger but slower defender. He could feel his magnetic pull of the defense, as Stefan’s defender sagged off from the corner, getting ready to close in on Keshawn should be beat his man. Keshawn did a quick spin move, forcing the help defender to commit and then lasered the ball across the court into Stefan’s hands. Despite the poor shooting night, Stefan rose up quickly and with confidence. As the ball rattled in, he mimicked pulling out a weapon from his waistband and aired out the crowd.

"Shooter on the loose, nigga!” he screamed, bringing a smile to Keshawn’s face as the lead extended to double digits in the second half.

A few possessions later, Keshawn was on the break once more but slowed down as Stefan hauled ass into the paint. He lofted the ball into the air, holding his breath as Stefan took off but didn’t quite get enough lift to reach the ball. Instead, it landed in Kobe’s hand who plucked it out of the air and brought it back down, settling the offense. Stefan had sprinted back towards the three point where Kobe found him, rising up for his second made shot of the day.

“Get up there, fuck nigga,” Keshawn teased as they jogged back on defense.

“Throw a better lob, bitch,” Stefan shook his head, starting to settling into the game.

Arizona missed their next shot, continuing their drought as Kyle came down with the rebound, and as instructed by the coaching staff, pushed the ball up the court to a streaking Keshawn. The only thing that stood between him and the basket was a six-foot-four guard but as he saw Kobe coming downhill, he couldn’t resist, his confidence having grown leaps and bounds with his performance. He threw the lob once more, this time adding some Magic Johnson flair to it by throwing it behind his back, confusing the defenders. Kobe rose up and finished it clean, sending the Pavilion into a complete frenzy.

Make no mistake about it, Keshawn Chase had arrived.

---

Highlight Game: February 19th, 2025 - Pauley Pavilion, Los Angeles, California
(18-5) #14 Arizona Wildcats at #4 UCLA Bruins (21-6)

---

ZONA | 36 | 29 | 65
UCLA | 31 | 51 | 82

Starting Lineups
(Jr) Jaden Bradley - G - Dylan Andrews (So)
(Sr) Caleb Love - G - Skyy Clark (Jr)
(Fr) Carter Bryant - F - Kobe Johnson (Sr)
(Sr) Trey Townsend - F - Eric Dailey Jr. (So)
(Fr) Motiejus Krivas - C - Tyler Bilodeau (Jr)



G Caleb Love, Senior: 7 pts, 5 reb, 5 ast, 1-6 FG, 1-3 3PT, 4-4 FT
F Trey Townsend, Senior: 6 pts, 8 reb, stl, 3-13 FG, 0-1 3PT
C Motiejus Krivas, Freshman: 14 pts, 5 reb, stl, 7-10 FG

G Dylan Andrews, Sophomore: 3 pts, 5 ast, 1-2 FG, 1-2 3PT
G Skyy Clark, Junior: 5 pts, 2-9 FG, 1-6 3PT
F Kobe Johnson, Senior: 23 pts, 7 reb, 2 ast, 8-15 FG, 5-10 3PT, 2-2 FT
F Eric Dailey Jr, Sophomore: 0 pts, 2 reb, 0-3 FG
F Tyler Bilodeau, Junior: 5 pts, 6 reb, stl, 2-5 FG
F Keshawn Chase, Freshman: 31 pts, 2 reb, 5 ast, 5 stl, 4 TO, 10-15 FG, 11-12 FT
G Stefan Parker, Sophomore: 8 pts, 3 reb, 4 ast, 2 stl, 3-8 FG, 2-5 3PT

---

February 16th, 2025
(20-6) #5 UCLA at Washington State (13-8)
@

UCLA | 36 | 49 | 85
WSU | 42 | 37 | 79

UCLA F Keshawn Chase, Freshman: 12 pts, 6 reb, 6 ast, 3 stl, 3-8 FG, 6-8 FT
WSU F Ethan Price, Senior: 6 pts, 16 reb, 2 blk, 2-3 FG, 1-1 3PT, 1-2 FT

---

February 23rd, 2025
(21-7) #4 UCLA at Utah (12-14)
@

UCLA | 38 | 44 | 82
UTAH | 62 | 31 | 93

UCLA F Keshawn Chase, Freshman: 12 pts, reb, 2 stl, 3-7 FG, 6-8 FT
UTAH F Caleb Lohner, Senior: 16 pts, 8 reb, 3 stl, 4-6 FG, 3-4 3PT

Upcoming Schedule at Stanford (12-11), vs. Washington (11-12), at USC (17-8), vs. Oregon State (11-15) (End of Regular Season)
Season Stats 14.8 PPG, 4.1 RPG, 3.3 APG, 1.5 SPG, 0.9 BPG, 1.3 TOPG, 2.2 FPG, 49 FG%, 42 3PT%, 83 FT%

[Soapy]

Is Keshawn Chase's the Pac-12's Freshman
of the Year? He's sure playing like it

Keshawn Chase blocks Kentucky guard Kerr Kriisa's shot in a game from earlier this season.

---

By Shawn Elias
Columnist
February 24, 2025

Keshawn Chase might not be the most acclaimed freshman in a loaded class but since returning from his injury, he absolutely belongs in the conversation for Pac-12 Freshman of the Year and is slowly creeping into the National Freshman of the Year conversation if only to talk it out. He's earned that much.

Chase is arguably the best player on what's looking more and more like a No. 1 seed UCLA team that remained at No. 4 in the latest AP Poll despite an upset loss to Utah which snapped a five-game winning streak which included a dominant win over Arizona earlier this week.

Trailing by five points at the half, UCLA head coach Mick Cronin didn't take long to call Chase off the bench in the second half against Arizona which helped spur a 16-2 run to pull away from the Wildcats, led by Chase's 31 points who scored fifteen points in the first half to help keep a struggling UCLA offense in the game.

Chase's versatility allows the Bruins to play different style of basketball when he's on the floor. Down the stretch against Arizona, when UCLA was pulling away, Chase played center with Kobe Johnson at the four, allowing UCLA to have four shooters around Chase whose best attribute on offense might be his passing. Playing through the post, Chase was able to assist five three pointers, three of going to Johnson and one apiece to Stefan Parker and Lazar Stefanovic. Defensively, Chase might already be on par with Johnson as one of the better defenders in the conference. He's tied with Johnson with 1.5 steals per game for most on the team and is second to Eric Dailey Jr. with 0.9 blocks per game with the ability to guard most positions on the floor.

Among Pac-12 freshmen, Chase leads the conference in points and is top ten in rebounds, assists, steals and blocks. He's also just now starting to crack the twenty-minute mark in terms of minutes played, going from playing fifteen minutes prior to his injury to now routinely averaging twenty three minutes per game. As Chase's minutes go up and his usage, so does his chance of winning Pac-12 Freshman of the Year and perhaps much more.

[chosenone58]

That game against Orgeon was ass, but it looks like our guy is getting back into the swing of things.

Keshawn better keep his nose out of grown folks' business. Let Vic deal with his own shit.

yeah, none of our shooters were hitting their shots and it got ugly quick, oregon went on like a 20-0 run from 15-14 or whatever the score was at the time.

We're not protecting Black woman, bro? Vic is also only like a year older

Keshawn needs to stay out of them people's relationship.

[Soapy]

That game against Orgeon was ass, but it looks like our guy is getting back into the swing of things.

Keshawn better keep his nose out of grown folks' business. Let Vic deal with his own shit.

yeah, none of our shooters were hitting their shots and it got ugly quick, oregon went on like a 20-0 run from 15-14 or whatever the score was at the time.

We're not protecting Black woman, bro? Vic is also only like a year older

Keshawn needs to stay out of them people's relationship.

fair enough smh