don't we all
Neighborhood.
Neighborhood.
Big Fish Theory - Episode 3
The sun shined just a bit brighter as Vic closed the car door behind him, throwing his bag over his shoulders as he picked out the house key from his lanyard. Only a few hours had passed since he came down those very same steps, cutting his day short for what the kids of his generation would call a ‘mental health day’.
In reality, he just couldn’t stomach sitting through another lecture followed by study hall, practice and treatment, only to sit on the bench for when it really mattered. If he was going to get treated like a red-headed step-child by the coaching staff, it was time for him to start acting like on.
There was more activity than Vic anticipated as he opened the door into the living room, his uncle sprawled out on the couch, a towel covering his face. By his third step, his mother entered from the kitchen, a soaked towel in her hand.
“What you doing here already?” she asked, swapping out the towels, “Got me thinking it was night time already.”
“Early dismissal,” Vic chuckled, dumping his bag on the loveseat adjacent to the couch, “He’s staying?”
“Who knows?” Eleanora sighed, “If you’re playing hooky, I’m putting you to work.”
He followed his mother into the kitchen, not minding the busy work to keep his mind occupied. He hovered over the pot of smoked turkey necks simmering on the stove, the aroma already beginning to fill the small kitchen.
He grabbed a knife from the drawer, already knowing his assignment without his mother needing to utter a word. He headed over to the cutting board and began working on the large yellow onion. She soon handed him a container of okra from the fridge, along with bell peppers and celery.
“Angie know how to cook?” she asked, not bothering to look away from the pot in from of her how she was making the roux, “I don’t ever remember you ever going to hers for a dinner or something.”
“I don’t know,” Vic shrugged, “She keeps herself fed, I know that.”
“You never cooked for that girl, neither? I raised you better than that,” she continued to tease.
“Ain’t like we play house or nothing,” he took a break from chopping up the veggies, “This ain’t the old days, momma, these girls ain’t cooking for nobody that ain’t their husband or baby daddy.”
“So?” Eleanora paused as well, looking towards her son.
“I don’t know why you’re looking over here for,” Vic scoffed, “You ain’t getting no more grandkids any time soon, not from me anyway.”
“I’m talking about making a proper woman out of her,” she reached over and playfully smacked him on the leg with a kitchen towel, “A pretty girl like her, smart as she is, she ain’t gonna wait for no man to put a ring on her finger. She liable to buy it herself.”
“I don’t know about that,” he retorted, “I mean, she’s cool and all…”
“You’ve been seeing that girl since y’all was kids,” Eleanora reminded him, “What you don’t know now? Some prettier girls at LPU or something? Don’t bring no white girl in my house, Victor.”
“It’s not that,” Vic forced a laugh, “I don’t know, things just been weird with us lately. Not in a bad way or anything…just feels like we’re not really together, you know?”
“You’re busy with basketball, college,” she explained, “She’s busy with school, whatever it is that she be doing, passing goddamn flyers up and down the neighborhood.”
“Tell me about it,” Vic scoffed.
“Y’all got things going on in your lives, that’s a good thing, trust me,” she assured me, “And if that leads y’all away from each other, so be it. You don’t ever want to be stuck because of someone or something.”
“You was just telling me to marry this girl,” Vic looked at his mother with a puzzled look on his face, “Now you telling me to dump her?”
“I ain’t tell you neither,” she turned back around to stir the roux, “If you serious about that girl, be serious about it. If you’re not, then don’t and certainly don’t let it weigh you down. You become attach to people out of habit, out of circumstance, they drag you down, they’ll damn near drown you. That’s what happened to your brother, always feeling like he gotta prove his loyalty to people just because of some dumb ass decision he made when he was thirteen.”
“I ain’t getting into that,” Vic shook his head, having heard his mother’s rants plenty of times.
“It’s the one thing Raine got right,” she continued, “Sometimes you gotta ditch these sorry motherfuckers and move on with your life, I’ll give her that.”
…
Keshawn immediately pushed the ball up the court as soon as he got the rebound, going up the right wing as Coach Stewie barked orders from the sideline.
“Push! Push! Push!”
Instead, Keshawn slowed down the pace, liking the matchup that he had gotten from the defense in transition, with a smaller wing stuck on him. He signaled for the rest of the offense to clear up as he set up office near the top of the elbow, turning his back to the basket.
“One dribble, two dribble,” he muttered to himself as he methodically went work.
Just as the defense sent over a double team from the middle, he spun towards the baseline, raising the ball over as he took two giant steps towards the basket and flushed it home.
“They can’t hold you, Ke!” Gayle screamed from the crowd, still the loudest supporter in his growing fan base.
A smile crept up on Keshawn’s face, her voice sticking out among the other cheering fans. He looked towards the sideline, receiving the approving nod from Coach Bronstein as he jogged back on defense.
…
“You got help middle!” Keshawn barked as he kept one foot inside the painted area, shading inside and leaving his man unmarked at the three point line.
After his third block of the first quarter, Rolling Hills had decided to sent whoever Keshawn was guarding, even if it was their big man, to the three point line in an effort to free up the paint. While in theory it stopped their shots from being swatted away, it allowed him to rest on defense, evident in his 38-point performance on the other side of the court.
The Huskies offense was in no rush, despite trailing by two points in the final minute of game as they continued to pass the ball around the perimeter, looking for an advantageous matchup.
“Cut the court in half,” Keshawn reminded himself, trying to position himself just a few steps away from being able to help on a potential drive.
Just as Keshawn got into position, the ball swung to the weakside of the court, towards where Keshawn had sagged off his defender. The junior launched his first jump shot of the night, taking it confidently and without hesitation. Keshawn could only watch as it soared through the air and into the basket, barely making a sound as it went through the net.
“Fuck,” Keshawn said out loud as he rushed to the baseline to the get the inbound pass but the referee blew the whistle.
“Timeout! White!”
Keshawn continued to curse him as he walked over to the bench, fully expecting to get cursed out by the coaching staff. Instead, Coach Stewie and Coach Bronstein were huddled near the whiteboard, discussing what would likely be the final possession away from the team as the players took a seat on the bench.
“1-4 Flat here?” Coach Stewie suggested to his group of assistants, all of which nodded except for one, the one that really mattered.
“The kid has, what, 30 points in the paint and you want to run that?” Coach Bronstein scoffed, “What for?”
“Dante sets the pick, flare him out, get the match up we want and tell him to get to the basket,” Coach Stewie explained, it was a play they had practiced over and over again in the summer with much success in the earlier parts of the season.
“If the shot we want is in the paint, just start with him in the paint,” Coach Bronstein grabbed the whiteboard and began diagraming the play, “We can still run Flat but with Adrian as the ball handler, Chase in the right block. Dante sets the pick, flares out, like you said, overloads the left hand side, dump it off to Chase, let him go to work.”
“Let’s get him going downhill,” Coach Stewie contested, “Worst case, he draws a foul.”
“No, worst case is an illegal screen. Worst case is he dribbles it off his foot. Worst case is they trap him and he panics because again, he’s fucking six-foot-eight and not a goddamn point guard!”
“Thirty seconds, coach!” the nearby referee reminded them as the players continued to watch from afar with baited breath.
…
Keshawn took a deep breath as A.J. was dribbling out the clock near the top of the key, keeping a watchful eye on the clock and on Coach Stewie, waiting for instructions. With a simple head nod, they sprang into action with Dante heading towards A.J. to set a screen, bringing his defender with him.
Keshawn squatted into position, gathering a strong base and sealing off his defender to create a clear lane for him to receive the pass into the paint. A.J. came off the screen, dumping the pass into the paint before sprinting towards the weakside of the court, leaving Keshawn isolated with his defender.
“One dribble, two dribble,” he fully expected the defense to come with the double team but they hadn’t.
Six…five…four…
He took another dribble, getting closer and closer to the rim as the nearest defender began inching over but not fully committing to the double team.
Weary of the clock, Keshawn committed to the move, shimmying his shoulders to his right, left and back to his right before turning around for the jumper which sent his defender flying in an attempt to block the shot. Keshawn kept his pivot, bringing the ball back down and went under the defender before rising up and extended every inch of his body towards the basket, ever mindful of his pivot foot.
The sound of the buzzer was deafening, soon replaced by the sound of his screaming teammates as they mobbed him, tackling Keshawn to the ground.
…
“It ain’t like I pick my schedule,” Gayle continued smacking her gum, much to Keshawn’s annoyance, “You want those new Jordan’s, right?”
“Girl, please,” Keshawn sucked his teeth, trying to contain his smile, “I appreciate you coming out, though.”
“Always,” she leaned in, kissing him on the cheek, “I know you don’t like me kissing you and shit when I got my gloss on or whatever.”
“I’ll link with you,” Keshawn tried to keep his composure, not one for PDA, as they exchanged goodbyes and went their separate ways. He only made it a few steps towards the bus stop when a familiar car pulled up next to him, blasting Jay Rock’s Redemption album.
“My boy keep a bad one with him,” Fat Stacks remarked, rolling down his window to dap up Keshawn from the passenger seat of his Lincoln Navigator, “What’s good with you, little homie?”
“Just getting home, bro,” Keshawn looked down the street towards the cars now stuck behind Fat Stack’s car, not that they were complaining. They knew better.
“After, what, a forty piece? I know that pussy don’t got you on a string like that, homie,” Fat Stacks laughed, admiring the view of Gayle heading towards her car.
“We just cool, man,” Keshawn forced an awkward laugh, “We’re not like together or anything.”
“You might want to tell that bitch that,” the driver of the car, Darelle, commented, “She be screaming her fucking head off at them games, give a motherfucker a headache.”
“My nigga got fans, stop hating,” Fat Stacks joked, “Hop in, brodie. You putting on for the section, right now. Can’t remember the last time we beat one of them white schools like that.”
“I’m good,” Keshawn replied, “Appreciate the love, though.”
“You don’t or else you’d be in this motherfucker already,” Fat Stacks’ tone changed, “Come on, now, don’t disrespect the set like that.”
…
Keshawn felt as if he entered a portal into what the 1990s might have felt like as Tupac blasted from the speakers, Hennessey was being poured up and cigarette smoke filled up the backyard of the overflowing townhouse. He kept his head on a swivel, never straying too far away from Fat Stacks who got pulled in all directions as soon as he entered the house.
“Nigga, I ain’t trying to hear that shit,” he continued politicking with one of the homies, “You still got to put work in, I don’t give a fuck which pod you was in my nigga.”
“I feel you though,” the other member of the conversation retorted, “I’m just saying, the homie said he was down for the squabble but the way the shit was set up with the COs and shit, would have been a sticky situation.”
“Well, tell his scary ass to stay on the sidewalk then!” Fat Stacks exclaimed, looking back towards Keshawn, “That’s the problem with these party Bloods. Nigga, being a gang member is a sticky situation, what the fuck he on?”
Keshawn kept his mouth shut, taking a sip from his cup as a diversion tactic. From what he could gather, this was a welcome home party for someone from Fat Stacks’ crew with nearly the entire neighborhood in attendance. What he couldn’t gather was why he was there.
“This right here Keshawn. Trey and them people,” Fat Stacks introduced him to a group of older men and women, in their late 20s or 30s, that were lounging around on the deck chairs in the backyard, “He’s the one that be hooping and shit.”
“That motherfucker done got tall,” one of them remarked, looking up towards Keshawn.
“Nigga, this ain’t his brother Vic,” Fat Stacks sucked his teeth, “You Trey cousin, right?”
Keshawn nodded.
“Won me some money a few months ago,” another one recognized him from the tournament, “Y’all spanking shit this year?”
“Yeah,” Keshawn awkwardly nodded, “We’re alright.”
“This the same motherfucker that crashed out on them crab ass niggas?” remarked another one, blowing his cigarette smoke into Keshawn’s face.
“Hell yeah,” Fat Stacks dapped Keshawn up, “My little nigga ain’t a bitch, ain’t that right, little homie?”
Keshawn once again forced a laugh, feeling as out of place as one could possibly be.
“He must be the big little homie,” one of the women practically purred, leaning forward and sizing Keshawn up. Her breasts nearly spilled out of her low-cut top, “He barely out of grade school.”
“Auntie, don’t you be embarrassing me,” Fat Stacks teased, “He got a little hoe that he don’t play about and that bitch probably don’t play about him either.”
Keshawn stammered, “I told you, we don’t go together.”
This elicited a chorus of coos and giggles from the women.
“Ain’t nothing but ain’t shit, broke ass, bum ass niggas on these streets,” the same woman commented, reaching over and touching Keshawn’s arm, “Maybe I need my a little young motherfucker, mold him right.”
“Don’t be blaming us because you can’t find or keep a man,” one of the guys teased, “Now we all broke because your baby daddy stay in the county for unpaid child support. I told you that square ass nigga don’t be getting to that chili.”
The conversation around Keshawn continued to swirl, voices rising and falling like waves in a turbulent sea. He found himself fading into the background, a silent observer to the raucous scene unfolding before him. The smell of marijuana smoke mingled with the sharp scent of alcohol, creating a heady atmosphere that seemed to pulse with each beat of the music thumping from inside the house.
As the night wore on, Keshawn found himself reaching for his cup more and more frequently, the burn of the liquor a welcome distraction from his discomfort. He watched as people came and went, their faces blurring together in a kaleidoscope of laughter and animated gestures. The women's voices grew louder, their words more slurred as they regaled each other with tales of past conquests and current drama.
Keshawn's head was swimming, the alcohol finally taking its toll. He leaned against the wall, trying to steady himself as the world seemed to tilt on its axis. Just as he was considering making his exit, a hush fell over the crowd. Keshawn looked up to see a tall, imposing figure making his way through the throng of partygoers.
Dro had arrived.
He moved through the backyard with the easy confidence of a man on his own turf, dapping up familiar faces as he went. Fat Stacks grinned widely at his uncle's approach, but Keshawn couldn't help but notice how Dro's eyes slid right past him, not even acknowledging his presence.
"What's good, neph?" Dro's deep voice carried easily over the din of the party. "Looks like you got the whole hood out here tonight."
Fat Stacks laughed, clapping his uncle on the shoulder. "Had to put on for the set.”
Dro nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd before landing on Keshawn once more. This time, there was no mistaking the look of displeasure that crossed his face. He turned back to Fat Stacks, his voice low but clear enough for Keshawn to hear.
"Who the fuck is this?”
Fat Stacks' easy smile never faltered as he clapped a hand on Keshawn's shoulder. "You know Keshawn, the one that be hooping and shit. Trey and Vic's little cousin.”
Dro's eyes narrowed, his gaze sweeping over Keshawn like a searchlight. The party seemed to dim around them, conversations fading to a low murmur as people sensed the tension building. "I don’t give a fuck who cousin he is. Since when we letting randoms into set functions?"
"He ain’t no fucking random," Fat Stacks countered, his voice still light but with an edge of steel beneath. "Boy's putting on for the hood, real East Side shit. He just doing it his own way.”
Dro scoffed, his lip curling in disdain. "I don't give a fuck if he's the second coming of Kobe, nigga. He ain't a fucking Stone, nigga, he can’t be here, period.”
Keshawn felt sweat beading on his forehead, his heart hammering against his ribs. He wanted nothing more than to melt into the shadows, to disappear from this confrontation he never asked to be part of. Shit, he never even wanted to come to this party.
Fat Stacks' smile finally slipped, replaced by a look of frustration. He gestured widely at the party around them, his voice rising. "So what, we kicking out half the party then? Them bitches ain't Blood. Shit, half these niggas here just hood affiliates. You gonna tell them all to bounce too?"
Dro's eyes flashed dangerously, his massive frame seeming to swell as he stepped closer to Fat Stacks. The crowd around them instinctively backed away, creating a small clearing in the packed backyard. "So, what, he just another bitch here to keep the party lit?”
"Ay, watch your fucking mouth!" Fat Stacks snarled, stepping towards Dro, “He’s with me so if you calling him a bitch you calling me a bitch.”
“What you on then?” Dro took a step forward as well until they were face to face, two Silverbacks squaring off in the jungle.
The tension crackled in the air like electricity, threatening to ignite at any moment. The party had gone eerily quiet, all eyes fixed on the two men squaring off in the center of the backyard. Keshawn felt his stomach lurch, the alcohol-induced haze rapidly dissipating as adrenaline flooded his system. H
Just as it seemed the situation might erupt into violence, a high-pitched voice cut through the silence like a knife.
"Shit, if y'all looking for a bitch to keep the party lit, I’ll be that!”
All heads swiveled towards her, a mischievous glint in her heavily mascaraed eyes.
"Hell, I'll suck both y'all off right now if it'll keep you from killing the motherfucking vibe," she declared, punctuating her offer with an exaggerated wink.
For a moment, the tension held, stretched taut like a rubber band about to snap. Then, unexpectedly, Dro's face cracked into a grin. A deep, rumbling chuckle escaped his chest, growing into a full-blown laugh that seemed to release the pent-up energy in the air.
"That’s a good bottom bitch right there," Dro wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "Do anything for the set. Ain’t that right, T?”
Fat Stacks joined in the laughter, clapping his uncle on the shoulder. "See? Can’t just all be members in this bitch, what kind of lame ass party that be?”
The crowd around them began to relax, nervous chuckles giving way to genuine laughter as the tension dissipated. Conversations resumed, the music seemed to swell once more, and the party atmosphere returned in full force.
Keshawn, however, couldn't shake the knot of anxiety in his gut. The alcohol that had been coursing through his system was rapidly wearing off, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. He watched as Dro and Fat Stacks embraced, their argument seemingly forgotten, but he couldn't miss the way Dro's eyes flickered back to him, cold and calculating.
The sun shined just a bit brighter as Vic closed the car door behind him, throwing his bag over his shoulders as he picked out the house key from his lanyard. Only a few hours had passed since he came down those very same steps, cutting his day short for what the kids of his generation would call a ‘mental health day’.
In reality, he just couldn’t stomach sitting through another lecture followed by study hall, practice and treatment, only to sit on the bench for when it really mattered. If he was going to get treated like a red-headed step-child by the coaching staff, it was time for him to start acting like on.
There was more activity than Vic anticipated as he opened the door into the living room, his uncle sprawled out on the couch, a towel covering his face. By his third step, his mother entered from the kitchen, a soaked towel in her hand.
“What you doing here already?” she asked, swapping out the towels, “Got me thinking it was night time already.”
“Early dismissal,” Vic chuckled, dumping his bag on the loveseat adjacent to the couch, “He’s staying?”
“Who knows?” Eleanora sighed, “If you’re playing hooky, I’m putting you to work.”
He followed his mother into the kitchen, not minding the busy work to keep his mind occupied. He hovered over the pot of smoked turkey necks simmering on the stove, the aroma already beginning to fill the small kitchen.
He grabbed a knife from the drawer, already knowing his assignment without his mother needing to utter a word. He headed over to the cutting board and began working on the large yellow onion. She soon handed him a container of okra from the fridge, along with bell peppers and celery.
“Angie know how to cook?” she asked, not bothering to look away from the pot in from of her how she was making the roux, “I don’t ever remember you ever going to hers for a dinner or something.”
“I don’t know,” Vic shrugged, “She keeps herself fed, I know that.”
“You never cooked for that girl, neither? I raised you better than that,” she continued to tease.
“Ain’t like we play house or nothing,” he took a break from chopping up the veggies, “This ain’t the old days, momma, these girls ain’t cooking for nobody that ain’t their husband or baby daddy.”
“So?” Eleanora paused as well, looking towards her son.
“I don’t know why you’re looking over here for,” Vic scoffed, “You ain’t getting no more grandkids any time soon, not from me anyway.”
“I’m talking about making a proper woman out of her,” she reached over and playfully smacked him on the leg with a kitchen towel, “A pretty girl like her, smart as she is, she ain’t gonna wait for no man to put a ring on her finger. She liable to buy it herself.”
“I don’t know about that,” he retorted, “I mean, she’s cool and all…”
“You’ve been seeing that girl since y’all was kids,” Eleanora reminded him, “What you don’t know now? Some prettier girls at LPU or something? Don’t bring no white girl in my house, Victor.”
“It’s not that,” Vic forced a laugh, “I don’t know, things just been weird with us lately. Not in a bad way or anything…just feels like we’re not really together, you know?”
“You’re busy with basketball, college,” she explained, “She’s busy with school, whatever it is that she be doing, passing goddamn flyers up and down the neighborhood.”
“Tell me about it,” Vic scoffed.
“Y’all got things going on in your lives, that’s a good thing, trust me,” she assured me, “And if that leads y’all away from each other, so be it. You don’t ever want to be stuck because of someone or something.”
“You was just telling me to marry this girl,” Vic looked at his mother with a puzzled look on his face, “Now you telling me to dump her?”
“I ain’t tell you neither,” she turned back around to stir the roux, “If you serious about that girl, be serious about it. If you’re not, then don’t and certainly don’t let it weigh you down. You become attach to people out of habit, out of circumstance, they drag you down, they’ll damn near drown you. That’s what happened to your brother, always feeling like he gotta prove his loyalty to people just because of some dumb ass decision he made when he was thirteen.”
“I ain’t getting into that,” Vic shook his head, having heard his mother’s rants plenty of times.
“It’s the one thing Raine got right,” she continued, “Sometimes you gotta ditch these sorry motherfuckers and move on with your life, I’ll give her that.”
…
Keshawn immediately pushed the ball up the court as soon as he got the rebound, going up the right wing as Coach Stewie barked orders from the sideline.
“Push! Push! Push!”
Instead, Keshawn slowed down the pace, liking the matchup that he had gotten from the defense in transition, with a smaller wing stuck on him. He signaled for the rest of the offense to clear up as he set up office near the top of the elbow, turning his back to the basket.
“One dribble, two dribble,” he muttered to himself as he methodically went work.
Just as the defense sent over a double team from the middle, he spun towards the baseline, raising the ball over as he took two giant steps towards the basket and flushed it home.
“They can’t hold you, Ke!” Gayle screamed from the crowd, still the loudest supporter in his growing fan base.
A smile crept up on Keshawn’s face, her voice sticking out among the other cheering fans. He looked towards the sideline, receiving the approving nod from Coach Bronstein as he jogged back on defense.
…
“You got help middle!” Keshawn barked as he kept one foot inside the painted area, shading inside and leaving his man unmarked at the three point line.
After his third block of the first quarter, Rolling Hills had decided to sent whoever Keshawn was guarding, even if it was their big man, to the three point line in an effort to free up the paint. While in theory it stopped their shots from being swatted away, it allowed him to rest on defense, evident in his 38-point performance on the other side of the court.
The Huskies offense was in no rush, despite trailing by two points in the final minute of game as they continued to pass the ball around the perimeter, looking for an advantageous matchup.
“Cut the court in half,” Keshawn reminded himself, trying to position himself just a few steps away from being able to help on a potential drive.
Just as Keshawn got into position, the ball swung to the weakside of the court, towards where Keshawn had sagged off his defender. The junior launched his first jump shot of the night, taking it confidently and without hesitation. Keshawn could only watch as it soared through the air and into the basket, barely making a sound as it went through the net.
“Fuck,” Keshawn said out loud as he rushed to the baseline to the get the inbound pass but the referee blew the whistle.
“Timeout! White!”
Keshawn continued to curse him as he walked over to the bench, fully expecting to get cursed out by the coaching staff. Instead, Coach Stewie and Coach Bronstein were huddled near the whiteboard, discussing what would likely be the final possession away from the team as the players took a seat on the bench.
“1-4 Flat here?” Coach Stewie suggested to his group of assistants, all of which nodded except for one, the one that really mattered.
“The kid has, what, 30 points in the paint and you want to run that?” Coach Bronstein scoffed, “What for?”
“Dante sets the pick, flare him out, get the match up we want and tell him to get to the basket,” Coach Stewie explained, it was a play they had practiced over and over again in the summer with much success in the earlier parts of the season.
“If the shot we want is in the paint, just start with him in the paint,” Coach Bronstein grabbed the whiteboard and began diagraming the play, “We can still run Flat but with Adrian as the ball handler, Chase in the right block. Dante sets the pick, flares out, like you said, overloads the left hand side, dump it off to Chase, let him go to work.”
“Let’s get him going downhill,” Coach Stewie contested, “Worst case, he draws a foul.”
“No, worst case is an illegal screen. Worst case is he dribbles it off his foot. Worst case is they trap him and he panics because again, he’s fucking six-foot-eight and not a goddamn point guard!”
“Thirty seconds, coach!” the nearby referee reminded them as the players continued to watch from afar with baited breath.
…
Keshawn took a deep breath as A.J. was dribbling out the clock near the top of the key, keeping a watchful eye on the clock and on Coach Stewie, waiting for instructions. With a simple head nod, they sprang into action with Dante heading towards A.J. to set a screen, bringing his defender with him.
Keshawn squatted into position, gathering a strong base and sealing off his defender to create a clear lane for him to receive the pass into the paint. A.J. came off the screen, dumping the pass into the paint before sprinting towards the weakside of the court, leaving Keshawn isolated with his defender.
“One dribble, two dribble,” he fully expected the defense to come with the double team but they hadn’t.
Six…five…four…
He took another dribble, getting closer and closer to the rim as the nearest defender began inching over but not fully committing to the double team.
Weary of the clock, Keshawn committed to the move, shimmying his shoulders to his right, left and back to his right before turning around for the jumper which sent his defender flying in an attempt to block the shot. Keshawn kept his pivot, bringing the ball back down and went under the defender before rising up and extended every inch of his body towards the basket, ever mindful of his pivot foot.
The sound of the buzzer was deafening, soon replaced by the sound of his screaming teammates as they mobbed him, tackling Keshawn to the ground.
…
“It ain’t like I pick my schedule,” Gayle continued smacking her gum, much to Keshawn’s annoyance, “You want those new Jordan’s, right?”
“Girl, please,” Keshawn sucked his teeth, trying to contain his smile, “I appreciate you coming out, though.”
“Always,” she leaned in, kissing him on the cheek, “I know you don’t like me kissing you and shit when I got my gloss on or whatever.”
“I’ll link with you,” Keshawn tried to keep his composure, not one for PDA, as they exchanged goodbyes and went their separate ways. He only made it a few steps towards the bus stop when a familiar car pulled up next to him, blasting Jay Rock’s Redemption album.
“My boy keep a bad one with him,” Fat Stacks remarked, rolling down his window to dap up Keshawn from the passenger seat of his Lincoln Navigator, “What’s good with you, little homie?”
“Just getting home, bro,” Keshawn looked down the street towards the cars now stuck behind Fat Stack’s car, not that they were complaining. They knew better.
“After, what, a forty piece? I know that pussy don’t got you on a string like that, homie,” Fat Stacks laughed, admiring the view of Gayle heading towards her car.
“We just cool, man,” Keshawn forced an awkward laugh, “We’re not like together or anything.”
“You might want to tell that bitch that,” the driver of the car, Darelle, commented, “She be screaming her fucking head off at them games, give a motherfucker a headache.”
“My nigga got fans, stop hating,” Fat Stacks joked, “Hop in, brodie. You putting on for the section, right now. Can’t remember the last time we beat one of them white schools like that.”
“I’m good,” Keshawn replied, “Appreciate the love, though.”
“You don’t or else you’d be in this motherfucker already,” Fat Stacks’ tone changed, “Come on, now, don’t disrespect the set like that.”
…
Keshawn felt as if he entered a portal into what the 1990s might have felt like as Tupac blasted from the speakers, Hennessey was being poured up and cigarette smoke filled up the backyard of the overflowing townhouse. He kept his head on a swivel, never straying too far away from Fat Stacks who got pulled in all directions as soon as he entered the house.
“Nigga, I ain’t trying to hear that shit,” he continued politicking with one of the homies, “You still got to put work in, I don’t give a fuck which pod you was in my nigga.”
“I feel you though,” the other member of the conversation retorted, “I’m just saying, the homie said he was down for the squabble but the way the shit was set up with the COs and shit, would have been a sticky situation.”
“Well, tell his scary ass to stay on the sidewalk then!” Fat Stacks exclaimed, looking back towards Keshawn, “That’s the problem with these party Bloods. Nigga, being a gang member is a sticky situation, what the fuck he on?”
Keshawn kept his mouth shut, taking a sip from his cup as a diversion tactic. From what he could gather, this was a welcome home party for someone from Fat Stacks’ crew with nearly the entire neighborhood in attendance. What he couldn’t gather was why he was there.
“This right here Keshawn. Trey and them people,” Fat Stacks introduced him to a group of older men and women, in their late 20s or 30s, that were lounging around on the deck chairs in the backyard, “He’s the one that be hooping and shit.”
“That motherfucker done got tall,” one of them remarked, looking up towards Keshawn.
“Nigga, this ain’t his brother Vic,” Fat Stacks sucked his teeth, “You Trey cousin, right?”
Keshawn nodded.
“Won me some money a few months ago,” another one recognized him from the tournament, “Y’all spanking shit this year?”
“Yeah,” Keshawn awkwardly nodded, “We’re alright.”
“This the same motherfucker that crashed out on them crab ass niggas?” remarked another one, blowing his cigarette smoke into Keshawn’s face.
“Hell yeah,” Fat Stacks dapped Keshawn up, “My little nigga ain’t a bitch, ain’t that right, little homie?”
Keshawn once again forced a laugh, feeling as out of place as one could possibly be.
“He must be the big little homie,” one of the women practically purred, leaning forward and sizing Keshawn up. Her breasts nearly spilled out of her low-cut top, “He barely out of grade school.”
“Auntie, don’t you be embarrassing me,” Fat Stacks teased, “He got a little hoe that he don’t play about and that bitch probably don’t play about him either.”
Keshawn stammered, “I told you, we don’t go together.”
This elicited a chorus of coos and giggles from the women.
“Ain’t nothing but ain’t shit, broke ass, bum ass niggas on these streets,” the same woman commented, reaching over and touching Keshawn’s arm, “Maybe I need my a little young motherfucker, mold him right.”
“Don’t be blaming us because you can’t find or keep a man,” one of the guys teased, “Now we all broke because your baby daddy stay in the county for unpaid child support. I told you that square ass nigga don’t be getting to that chili.”
The conversation around Keshawn continued to swirl, voices rising and falling like waves in a turbulent sea. He found himself fading into the background, a silent observer to the raucous scene unfolding before him. The smell of marijuana smoke mingled with the sharp scent of alcohol, creating a heady atmosphere that seemed to pulse with each beat of the music thumping from inside the house.
As the night wore on, Keshawn found himself reaching for his cup more and more frequently, the burn of the liquor a welcome distraction from his discomfort. He watched as people came and went, their faces blurring together in a kaleidoscope of laughter and animated gestures. The women's voices grew louder, their words more slurred as they regaled each other with tales of past conquests and current drama.
Keshawn's head was swimming, the alcohol finally taking its toll. He leaned against the wall, trying to steady himself as the world seemed to tilt on its axis. Just as he was considering making his exit, a hush fell over the crowd. Keshawn looked up to see a tall, imposing figure making his way through the throng of partygoers.
Dro had arrived.
He moved through the backyard with the easy confidence of a man on his own turf, dapping up familiar faces as he went. Fat Stacks grinned widely at his uncle's approach, but Keshawn couldn't help but notice how Dro's eyes slid right past him, not even acknowledging his presence.
"What's good, neph?" Dro's deep voice carried easily over the din of the party. "Looks like you got the whole hood out here tonight."
Fat Stacks laughed, clapping his uncle on the shoulder. "Had to put on for the set.”
Dro nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd before landing on Keshawn once more. This time, there was no mistaking the look of displeasure that crossed his face. He turned back to Fat Stacks, his voice low but clear enough for Keshawn to hear.
"Who the fuck is this?”
Fat Stacks' easy smile never faltered as he clapped a hand on Keshawn's shoulder. "You know Keshawn, the one that be hooping and shit. Trey and Vic's little cousin.”
Dro's eyes narrowed, his gaze sweeping over Keshawn like a searchlight. The party seemed to dim around them, conversations fading to a low murmur as people sensed the tension building. "I don’t give a fuck who cousin he is. Since when we letting randoms into set functions?"
"He ain’t no fucking random," Fat Stacks countered, his voice still light but with an edge of steel beneath. "Boy's putting on for the hood, real East Side shit. He just doing it his own way.”
Dro scoffed, his lip curling in disdain. "I don't give a fuck if he's the second coming of Kobe, nigga. He ain't a fucking Stone, nigga, he can’t be here, period.”
Keshawn felt sweat beading on his forehead, his heart hammering against his ribs. He wanted nothing more than to melt into the shadows, to disappear from this confrontation he never asked to be part of. Shit, he never even wanted to come to this party.
Fat Stacks' smile finally slipped, replaced by a look of frustration. He gestured widely at the party around them, his voice rising. "So what, we kicking out half the party then? Them bitches ain't Blood. Shit, half these niggas here just hood affiliates. You gonna tell them all to bounce too?"
Dro's eyes flashed dangerously, his massive frame seeming to swell as he stepped closer to Fat Stacks. The crowd around them instinctively backed away, creating a small clearing in the packed backyard. "So, what, he just another bitch here to keep the party lit?”
"Ay, watch your fucking mouth!" Fat Stacks snarled, stepping towards Dro, “He’s with me so if you calling him a bitch you calling me a bitch.”
“What you on then?” Dro took a step forward as well until they were face to face, two Silverbacks squaring off in the jungle.
The tension crackled in the air like electricity, threatening to ignite at any moment. The party had gone eerily quiet, all eyes fixed on the two men squaring off in the center of the backyard. Keshawn felt his stomach lurch, the alcohol-induced haze rapidly dissipating as adrenaline flooded his system. H
Just as it seemed the situation might erupt into violence, a high-pitched voice cut through the silence like a knife.
"Shit, if y'all looking for a bitch to keep the party lit, I’ll be that!”
All heads swiveled towards her, a mischievous glint in her heavily mascaraed eyes.
"Hell, I'll suck both y'all off right now if it'll keep you from killing the motherfucking vibe," she declared, punctuating her offer with an exaggerated wink.
For a moment, the tension held, stretched taut like a rubber band about to snap. Then, unexpectedly, Dro's face cracked into a grin. A deep, rumbling chuckle escaped his chest, growing into a full-blown laugh that seemed to release the pent-up energy in the air.
"That’s a good bottom bitch right there," Dro wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "Do anything for the set. Ain’t that right, T?”
Fat Stacks joined in the laughter, clapping his uncle on the shoulder. "See? Can’t just all be members in this bitch, what kind of lame ass party that be?”
The crowd around them began to relax, nervous chuckles giving way to genuine laughter as the tension dissipated. Conversations resumed, the music seemed to swell once more, and the party atmosphere returned in full force.
Keshawn, however, couldn't shake the knot of anxiety in his gut. The alcohol that had been coursing through his system was rapidly wearing off, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. He watched as Dro and Fat Stacks embraced, their argument seemingly forgotten, but he couldn't miss the way Dro's eyes flickered back to him, cold and calculating.
Neighborhood.
The noticer is noticing.
Neighborhood.
she a fan she a fan she a fan
what you noticing king
Neighborhood.
Big Fish Theory - Episode 4
Keshawn folded another chair, adding to the growing number in his hands as he headed towards the door, stacking them on top of the pile. The once bustling community center was now empty, except for the handful of Black Excellence members that were tasked with cleaning up after an impressive turnout for the financial literacy workshop.
“Appreciate you getting your guys to turn out,” Angela joined him in rounding up the chairs, tucking her braids behind her ear, “They weren’t as disruptive as I feared, outside of that strip club joke.”
“They’re not my guys,” Keshawn let out a short laugh, “I think it probably had more to do with the speaker you had on the flyer.”
“You guys do know she’s grown as hell, right?”
“I wasn’t the one barking up that tree,” Keshawn shrugged, “Besides, Sergio’s baby momma like twenty-six. I don’t think her age is going to stop them.”
“I don’t even want to try to do the math on that,” Angela shook her head, “Speaking of which…”
“Here we go,” Keshawn hung his head back, staring into the ceiling. Truth be told, he was surprised it took her that long to bring it up.
“I’m just saying,” Angela scoffed, “Whatever y’all was doing behind closed doors is y’all business but booing up with her in public? In the school parking lot? Don’t she work at a strip club?”
“Does like a newsletter go out or something?”
“You’re damn near eight feet tall, Ke, people are going to notice you, especially Tasha.”
“You keep saying she wants to talk to me and she never does,” Keshawn nodded towards the back of the room where Tasha and Ronnie were cleaning up the snacks section, “Unless we’re counting waving to me as talking.”
“You’re the guy, you’re supposed to talk to her,” Angela explained.
“Not very progressive of you, now, is that?” Keshawn teased.
“You know what I mean,” she rolled her eyes, “She ain’t going behind Gayle, though, I’m telling you that much. Even if she wanted to, I’m not letting her.”
“She’s not that bad,” Keshawn laughed, “I’m not saying we go together or anything like that but—”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Angela held her hands up, “I get it, you want something light and fun and someone’s that’s not going to challenge you. Vic was like that when we first started dating.”
“He was like twelve,” Keshawn countered, “What the hell were you challenging him on?”
“Some of us get our periods at twelve, y’all can be challenged at twelve.”
“Jesus,” Keshawn sighed, “I don’t even want to do the science on that.”
“She’s like so—you’re better than that Keshawn,” she said of his quasi-relationship with Gayle, “It’ll be like you playing basketball with a bunch of six year old. I get it though, especially with you going off to college soon. Shit, that might be the last Black girl you ever even look at.”
“You can be really cynical sometimes,” Keshawn shake his head, “Pepperdine is white as hell though.”
“Already laying the foundation for an excuse,” Angela stacked the last set of chairs, “You decided on them?”
“More like they decided on me,” Keshawn shrugged as they rested on the stack, “They’re calling me every day, invite me on campus pretty much every weekend, open doors essentially. My mom liked it, it’s right there and I don’t know, I’ll probably play my first year.”
“They’re in Malibu, right?” Angela asked, to which Keshawn nodded, “Yeah, I think Vic went to one of their camps a couple of years ago. Sounds like you have your mind made up.”
“We’ll see,” Keshawn responded, “Got a visit with Santa Clara coming up. They’re a bit further away which I guess can be a good thing? I don’t know, I guess I’ll see how it goes with the visit and take it from there.”
“What about Howard? Vic told me they contacted you,” Angela tried her best to hide her eagerness to bring them up, “I remember you really liking your visit to Texas Southern.”
“I did,” Keshawn blushed, realizing his escapades of that night weren’t a secret after all, “Their coaches seem cool and stuff but it’s just a big commitment to fly out all the way over there for a visit so I don’t know, I never really thought about leaving California.”
“I thought you said distance might be a good thing?”
“Yeah, a six hour drive, not a six hour flight.”
“Living in D.C. would be cool though,” Angela suggested, “Although you would lose out on your excuse to bunny hop.”
“I don’t know why you’re starting that narrative. Everyone knows I love our queens,,” Keshawn shook his head.
“Maybe too much,” Angela tilted her head towards Tasha, who quickly looked away once she saw Keshawn looking at her, “Ronnie’s going to Howard, you should ask him about it, that’s all he wants to talk about.”
“We do get unlimited visits now,” Keshawn added, “I just wouldn’t want to waste their time.”
“Then don’t and seriously consider them,” Angela told him, “Academically, as much as I mess with Ronnie and his obsession, they’re up there with any of the schools you’re talking. Networking wise, open doors for you that Pepperdine — no offense — never could, especially not for a Black man. I don’t know, you should think about it. Like seriously think about it.”
…
“Goddamn it!” Coach Taylor screamed out as the referee blew the whistle, signaling possession for the other team.
The aggravated coach looked down towards his bench, looking for a replacement. He’d normally send Rico in but the grad transfer had just mouthed off after being yanked out of the game. The only other guards were the pair of freshmen and after failing to remember the other’s name, he blurted out the other.
“Singleton!”
Vic turned his head towards Coach Taylor, expecting him to send him on an errand or to fetch something from the locker room. Instead, Coach Taylor motioned him towards him.
“Hurry up, son!” Coach Taylor barked at him before turning to the scorer’s table, “Sub, 25 in for 5.”
Everything slowed down around Vic as he got up from the bench, his legs feeling numb as he walked over to the scorer’s table to check in before stepping onto the court.
“I think you’re forgetting something,” the nearby official told him, pointing to his shirt.
Vic frantically took it off, throwing it towards the bench as he jogged onto the court. He looked towards the stand, hoping that Angela was able to make it following her event but alas, she wasn’t there. In any event, he had bigger problems to worry about now.
Vic's heart pounded in his chest as he stepped onto the court, the roar of the crowd suddenly deafening despite it only being a few dozens in the stands. The polished hardwood gleamed under the bright arena lights, each squeak of sneakers echoing in his ears.
The opposing point guard sized Vic up as he approached, dribbling the ball with ease. Vic's mind raced, trying to recall every defensive drill, every scouting report detail he'd glossed over, not expecting to paly. He wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts, willing his breathing to slow.
Vic crouched into his defensive stance, his muscles taut with anticipation. The point guard dribbled twice, his eyes darting around the court. Vic's gaze locked onto his opponent's midsection, one of the first things drilled into him as a young player.
In a blur of motion, the point guard whipped a pass to the wing. Vic's head snapped around, tracking the ball's arc. He shuffled along the perimeter, hyper-aware of his positioning. As the shot clock wound down, the wing player launched a contested three-pointer. The ball clanged off the rim, and Vic's teammate snatched the rebound. Without hesitation, Vic sprinted downcourt, his legs carrying him faster than he thought possible.
The outlet pass sailed over the defenders, landing perfectly in Vic's outstretched hands. He took two long strides, gathering himself as he approached the basket. Time stood still as Vic soared toward the hoop, laying the ball gently off the backboard and through the net.
As Vic landed, a surge of adrenaline coursed through his veins. It was a momentous occasion, his first college basket, but at the same time something he had done countless of times. The nerves that had gripped him moments ago melted away, replaced by a familiar sense of belonging. This was his element, his sanctuary. As he jogged back on defense, a small smile played at the corners of his mouth.
…
Gayle counted her tips once more, stuffing them into her small bag as the closed the locker. The locker room was still buzzing with energy, many of the girls still coming down from the high of an active weekday night that fared well for most of them.
“You running home to your nigga?” commented Aida, one of the dancers, as she looked at Gayle through the mirror.
“I don’t got no nigga,” Gayle retorted, “I got niggas, bitch.”
“I told you homegirl was with the shits,” laughed Shawna, touching up her make-up as well next to Aida, “She only does that little Miss Red Riding Hood for these niggas out their to run they pockets!”
“What’s her excuse then?” Aida turned around to properly size up Gayle, “You scared of the stage or something?”
“Y’all can have that,” Gayle respected the pecking order to a certain extent, “A bitch just trying to get to her chili, you feel me?”
“I can see why you like her,” Aida remarked to Shawna, “If you really trying to make some money, them private parties is where it’s at.”
“Hmm hmm,” Shawna agreed, applying her lipstick, “A pretty girl like you, they putting you right up on the ‘Gram so you best not be fronting about not having a nigga?”
“What kind of parties?” Gayle inquired, “Some kickback shit?”
“Hell nah,” Aida sucked her teeth, “Don’t get me wrong, some of them is definitely niggas bringing the strip club to their spot because they on house arrest or some shit. But most of the time, it’s usually some out of town niggas trying to catch a vibe in the valley or up in the hills.”
“A couple of rappers too,” Shawna added, “It’s good money, you don’t even have to do nothing for real. Just look good as hell, drink all their liquor and they’ll be too pass out to try to fuck on something anyway.”
“Don’t be running your mouth though,” Aida warned Gayle, “You seem cool, only reason we telling you. This ain’t no fucking open house shit.”
“Yeah, I got you,” Gayle nodded.
“You coming with?” Aida asked, adorning her ears with giant loop earrings, “We gonna need to done you up though because this little girl next door shit ain’t gonna work for them type of parties.”
“Not tonight,” Gayle stammered, “I’ll rock with y’all some other time though.”
“See? She do got a nigga,” Aida teased as she returned her attention to the mirror, adjusting her weave.
Keshawn folded another chair, adding to the growing number in his hands as he headed towards the door, stacking them on top of the pile. The once bustling community center was now empty, except for the handful of Black Excellence members that were tasked with cleaning up after an impressive turnout for the financial literacy workshop.
“Appreciate you getting your guys to turn out,” Angela joined him in rounding up the chairs, tucking her braids behind her ear, “They weren’t as disruptive as I feared, outside of that strip club joke.”
“They’re not my guys,” Keshawn let out a short laugh, “I think it probably had more to do with the speaker you had on the flyer.”
“You guys do know she’s grown as hell, right?”
“I wasn’t the one barking up that tree,” Keshawn shrugged, “Besides, Sergio’s baby momma like twenty-six. I don’t think her age is going to stop them.”
“I don’t even want to try to do the math on that,” Angela shook her head, “Speaking of which…”
“Here we go,” Keshawn hung his head back, staring into the ceiling. Truth be told, he was surprised it took her that long to bring it up.
“I’m just saying,” Angela scoffed, “Whatever y’all was doing behind closed doors is y’all business but booing up with her in public? In the school parking lot? Don’t she work at a strip club?”
“Does like a newsletter go out or something?”
“You’re damn near eight feet tall, Ke, people are going to notice you, especially Tasha.”
“You keep saying she wants to talk to me and she never does,” Keshawn nodded towards the back of the room where Tasha and Ronnie were cleaning up the snacks section, “Unless we’re counting waving to me as talking.”
“You’re the guy, you’re supposed to talk to her,” Angela explained.
“Not very progressive of you, now, is that?” Keshawn teased.
“You know what I mean,” she rolled her eyes, “She ain’t going behind Gayle, though, I’m telling you that much. Even if she wanted to, I’m not letting her.”
“She’s not that bad,” Keshawn laughed, “I’m not saying we go together or anything like that but—”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Angela held her hands up, “I get it, you want something light and fun and someone’s that’s not going to challenge you. Vic was like that when we first started dating.”
“He was like twelve,” Keshawn countered, “What the hell were you challenging him on?”
“Some of us get our periods at twelve, y’all can be challenged at twelve.”
“Jesus,” Keshawn sighed, “I don’t even want to do the science on that.”
“She’s like so—you’re better than that Keshawn,” she said of his quasi-relationship with Gayle, “It’ll be like you playing basketball with a bunch of six year old. I get it though, especially with you going off to college soon. Shit, that might be the last Black girl you ever even look at.”
“You can be really cynical sometimes,” Keshawn shake his head, “Pepperdine is white as hell though.”
“Already laying the foundation for an excuse,” Angela stacked the last set of chairs, “You decided on them?”
“More like they decided on me,” Keshawn shrugged as they rested on the stack, “They’re calling me every day, invite me on campus pretty much every weekend, open doors essentially. My mom liked it, it’s right there and I don’t know, I’ll probably play my first year.”
“They’re in Malibu, right?” Angela asked, to which Keshawn nodded, “Yeah, I think Vic went to one of their camps a couple of years ago. Sounds like you have your mind made up.”
“We’ll see,” Keshawn responded, “Got a visit with Santa Clara coming up. They’re a bit further away which I guess can be a good thing? I don’t know, I guess I’ll see how it goes with the visit and take it from there.”
“What about Howard? Vic told me they contacted you,” Angela tried her best to hide her eagerness to bring them up, “I remember you really liking your visit to Texas Southern.”
“I did,” Keshawn blushed, realizing his escapades of that night weren’t a secret after all, “Their coaches seem cool and stuff but it’s just a big commitment to fly out all the way over there for a visit so I don’t know, I never really thought about leaving California.”
“I thought you said distance might be a good thing?”
“Yeah, a six hour drive, not a six hour flight.”
“Living in D.C. would be cool though,” Angela suggested, “Although you would lose out on your excuse to bunny hop.”
“I don’t know why you’re starting that narrative. Everyone knows I love our queens,,” Keshawn shook his head.
“Maybe too much,” Angela tilted her head towards Tasha, who quickly looked away once she saw Keshawn looking at her, “Ronnie’s going to Howard, you should ask him about it, that’s all he wants to talk about.”
“We do get unlimited visits now,” Keshawn added, “I just wouldn’t want to waste their time.”
“Then don’t and seriously consider them,” Angela told him, “Academically, as much as I mess with Ronnie and his obsession, they’re up there with any of the schools you’re talking. Networking wise, open doors for you that Pepperdine — no offense — never could, especially not for a Black man. I don’t know, you should think about it. Like seriously think about it.”
…
“Goddamn it!” Coach Taylor screamed out as the referee blew the whistle, signaling possession for the other team.
The aggravated coach looked down towards his bench, looking for a replacement. He’d normally send Rico in but the grad transfer had just mouthed off after being yanked out of the game. The only other guards were the pair of freshmen and after failing to remember the other’s name, he blurted out the other.
“Singleton!”
Vic turned his head towards Coach Taylor, expecting him to send him on an errand or to fetch something from the locker room. Instead, Coach Taylor motioned him towards him.
“Hurry up, son!” Coach Taylor barked at him before turning to the scorer’s table, “Sub, 25 in for 5.”
Everything slowed down around Vic as he got up from the bench, his legs feeling numb as he walked over to the scorer’s table to check in before stepping onto the court.
“I think you’re forgetting something,” the nearby official told him, pointing to his shirt.
Vic frantically took it off, throwing it towards the bench as he jogged onto the court. He looked towards the stand, hoping that Angela was able to make it following her event but alas, she wasn’t there. In any event, he had bigger problems to worry about now.
Vic's heart pounded in his chest as he stepped onto the court, the roar of the crowd suddenly deafening despite it only being a few dozens in the stands. The polished hardwood gleamed under the bright arena lights, each squeak of sneakers echoing in his ears.
The opposing point guard sized Vic up as he approached, dribbling the ball with ease. Vic's mind raced, trying to recall every defensive drill, every scouting report detail he'd glossed over, not expecting to paly. He wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts, willing his breathing to slow.
Vic crouched into his defensive stance, his muscles taut with anticipation. The point guard dribbled twice, his eyes darting around the court. Vic's gaze locked onto his opponent's midsection, one of the first things drilled into him as a young player.
In a blur of motion, the point guard whipped a pass to the wing. Vic's head snapped around, tracking the ball's arc. He shuffled along the perimeter, hyper-aware of his positioning. As the shot clock wound down, the wing player launched a contested three-pointer. The ball clanged off the rim, and Vic's teammate snatched the rebound. Without hesitation, Vic sprinted downcourt, his legs carrying him faster than he thought possible.
The outlet pass sailed over the defenders, landing perfectly in Vic's outstretched hands. He took two long strides, gathering himself as he approached the basket. Time stood still as Vic soared toward the hoop, laying the ball gently off the backboard and through the net.
As Vic landed, a surge of adrenaline coursed through his veins. It was a momentous occasion, his first college basket, but at the same time something he had done countless of times. The nerves that had gripped him moments ago melted away, replaced by a familiar sense of belonging. This was his element, his sanctuary. As he jogged back on defense, a small smile played at the corners of his mouth.
…
Gayle counted her tips once more, stuffing them into her small bag as the closed the locker. The locker room was still buzzing with energy, many of the girls still coming down from the high of an active weekday night that fared well for most of them.
“You running home to your nigga?” commented Aida, one of the dancers, as she looked at Gayle through the mirror.
“I don’t got no nigga,” Gayle retorted, “I got niggas, bitch.”
“I told you homegirl was with the shits,” laughed Shawna, touching up her make-up as well next to Aida, “She only does that little Miss Red Riding Hood for these niggas out their to run they pockets!”
“What’s her excuse then?” Aida turned around to properly size up Gayle, “You scared of the stage or something?”
“Y’all can have that,” Gayle respected the pecking order to a certain extent, “A bitch just trying to get to her chili, you feel me?”
“I can see why you like her,” Aida remarked to Shawna, “If you really trying to make some money, them private parties is where it’s at.”
“Hmm hmm,” Shawna agreed, applying her lipstick, “A pretty girl like you, they putting you right up on the ‘Gram so you best not be fronting about not having a nigga?”
“What kind of parties?” Gayle inquired, “Some kickback shit?”
“Hell nah,” Aida sucked her teeth, “Don’t get me wrong, some of them is definitely niggas bringing the strip club to their spot because they on house arrest or some shit. But most of the time, it’s usually some out of town niggas trying to catch a vibe in the valley or up in the hills.”
“A couple of rappers too,” Shawna added, “It’s good money, you don’t even have to do nothing for real. Just look good as hell, drink all their liquor and they’ll be too pass out to try to fuck on something anyway.”
“Don’t be running your mouth though,” Aida warned Gayle, “You seem cool, only reason we telling you. This ain’t no fucking open house shit.”
“Yeah, I got you,” Gayle nodded.
“You coming with?” Aida asked, adorning her ears with giant loop earrings, “We gonna need to done you up though because this little girl next door shit ain’t gonna work for them type of parties.”
“Not tonight,” Gayle stammered, “I’ll rock with y’all some other time though.”
“See? She do got a nigga,” Aida teased as she returned her attention to the mirror, adjusting her weave.
Neighborhood.
Big Fish Theory - Episode 5
“So…what do you think?”
Simone’s question lingered as Keshawn replayed the day before in his head. The crisp air had greeted them as they stepped onto the Santa Clara campus, the mission-style architecture a blend of history and modernity. A large contingent of the support staff was there to greet him, several of them serving as an escort for the entire visit instead of just a single player and assistant coach.
Throughout the day, Keshawn had felt... important. It started with the first-class flight, with the only downside being it was only an hour. A black Suburban picked them up, making sure to take the scenic route towards campus. While it didn’t have the coast line that Pepperdine offered, the influx of money — being located in the heart of Silicon Valley — was evident.
The coaching staff didn't just show him around; they painted a picture of his future. In the film room, they'd broken down his high school game footage, pointing out his strengths and areas for growth, many of which aligned with Coach Bronstein’s teachings.
"I think..." he began, his voice soft but steady, "I think I could see myself here."
“But?” Simone inquired, taking a sip from her orange juice.
Their mother had decided to sleep in after the long day of touring the campus, the athletic facility, meeting with the coaches, the academic advisors and a late dinner with the entire coaching staff. Keshawn and Simone were determined to use up their per-diem and room credit, opting for a quiet breakfast with just the two of them in the hotel restaurant.
“I don’t know,” Keshawn shrugged, “I guess I keep waiting for this eureka moment where it feels like home and maybe that’s just never going to happen. Maybe it’s not supposed to happen, I don’t know. That’ll be too easy, right?”
“I don’t know,” Simone was honest, “You’ve been on what, like five of these things?”
“Well, officially, three,” he answered, “Don’t get me wrong, they’re all nice and I can see myself here or Pepperdine or Loyola but…”
“Where did you feel the most at home?” Simeone asked, “Maybe instead of looking for the most perfect place, look for the best.”
“Honestly?” Keshawn paused, “Probably Southern.”
“Texas Southern? Wow, I was not expecting that. I always thought you were a bit…”
“A bit what?”
“Carlton-ish,” she laughed, “I’m sorry, I just never pictured you at an HBCU. Texas Southern?”
“Yeah,” Keshawn shook his head, “Mom would kill me and Dad would kill us both if she didn’t so not really an option.”
“Them sisters must have done a number on you,” Simone teased, holding the cup to her face to mask her mischievous grin.
“Just good vibes,” a sheepish smile crept up on his face, “Don’t get me wrong, I can get used to shit like this but, I don’t know, maybe being away from Thornwood and stuff just has me looking at things differently.”
“Tired of being the token black kid?” Simone tossed a piece of bacon into her mouth, “I get it, trust me, I do. Dad and Mom might not go for Texas Southern but maybe Morehouse? Hampton?”
“Howard,” Keshawn muttered, watching his sister’s face to judge her reaction.
“You would love Howard,” she emphasized, “One of my sorority sisters did her undergrad there, she loves that place.”
“They’ve been recruiting me,” he revealed, “One of the kids at our school is going there and he’s always talking about them. I just didn’t think I’d go so I haven’t really been getting back to them.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know, everyone expects me to go somewhere…bigger,” Keshawn explained, “Like, pops and mom want me to go some Ivy league shit and everyone else wants me to go high-major.”
“What’s high-major?”
“It’s just some basketball shit,” Keshawn waved her off, “I just don’t want to visit, actually like the place and end up not going. It’ll just make deciding between here or Pepperdine or wherever that much harder.”
“You owe it to yourself to see all of your options,” Simone motioned for the waiter, “And then decide what is or isn’t for you.”
…
“She don’t got a man, do she?”
“How would I know, Malc?” Eleanora sucked her teeth, “Ain’t like I be around the girl.”
“She don’t bring Lil Malc around no more?” Trey leaned forward, resting his arm on the metal table. The drab gray of his prison uniform seemed to blend into the colorless walls of the visitation room, making him look almost ghostly, “Since when?”
“Since never, Trey,” Eleanora sighed, “Look, whatever y’all got going on is between y’all but maybe she’s just busy, the girl got at least two jobs last I spoke to her.”
Vic shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting between his brother and mother. He had seen her around the neighborhood but didn’t quite have the stomach to meet her gaze ever since that night. Besides, he had his own female problems to worry about.
“She don’t be missing visits,” Trey’s eyes narrowed, “Not like this. She still putting money on a nigga’s books and shit but-”
“Malcolm,” Eleanora corrected her eldest son.
“Sorry, on my books and stuff so I know she’s straight but damn, she can’t come see a nig—”
“She’s busy raising your kid, bro,” Vic finally spoke up, clearing his throat, “She seems fine to me.”
“So you have seen her?” Trey perked up, “She was with somebody?”
“Do it matter?” Vic fired back.
“Fuck you mean ‘do it matter’, nigga?!” Trey’s tone raised, drawing the attention of the nearby guard whose eyes lingered on their table before returning to scan the rest of the room.
“Watch yourself,” Eleanora warned him again.
“He needs to watch himself,” Trey seethed, raising his finger to Vic’s face, who swatted away, once again garnering the attention of the nearby guard, “I ain’t going to keep asking you, she with somebody?”
“You’re in here and she’s out there,” Vic scoffed, “That’ll be like her worrying about you running behind some nigga in here. Do it really matter?”
Trey slammed both hands on the table, startling the rest of the room and getting more than just the attention of the guards as they began walking over.
“We got a problem, here?!” one of them asked, leaning in towards the trio.
“We’re good, officer,” Eleanora flashed a smile, “My son is just…processing some news.”
The officer’s stare lingered on Trey’s face, a shared history evident in their gaze. They eventually returned to the post, keeping a watchful eye on the table.
“I know you all mad and shit because you playing for some bum ass school and can’t even get no burn,” Trey started, “But watch yourself, little nigga, ain’t enough guards in this bitch to stop me from coming across this bitch and reminding you who the fuck I be.”
“Malcolm!” their mother reprimanded him.
“Nigga, fuck you,” Vic got up from his chair, “You should have been worrying about your bitch when you was running around being Stacks’ little bitch. Now look at you, another crash dummy.”
…
“We could have used an extra set of hands,” Ronnie teased, driving his stick into the bottle on the ground and lifting it into the garbage bin on wheels that Angela was pushing, “I’m all for the added headcounts for our fun stuff but I wouldn’t mind if half of the basketball team also showed up for stuff like this.”
“Good luck,” Angela scoffed, continuing to push the bin down the park’s pathway, “As much as I want to hail our recruiting efforts, those guys aren’t showing up if Vic’s not here and certainly if Keshawn ain’t either.”
“They have better things to do on a Sunday morning? Can’t blame them.”
“They actually do,” Angela let out a wry laugh, “Keshawn’s up in Santa Clara visiting a college and Vic is visiting his brother…in prison.”
“If that ain’t a Tyler Perry movie,” Ronnie shook his head, “What are we, the wise and consciousness soul that drives the movie?”
“I’m the angry Black woman,” Angela raised her hand, “It practically writes itself.”
“I’m afraid I ain’t dark skinned enough to be the piece of shit,” he tilted his head from side to side, “That has to make me the savior, right?”
“You wish,” Angela sucked her teeth.
“I ain’t know Vic’s brother was locked up,” Ronnie’s tone changed to a more serious one, “Honestly, I kind of avoided him before I met you.”
“Who, Vic? He’s a sweetheart,” she guffawed, “Still crazy how him and his brother could have been raised in the same household.”
“He’s that bad?”
“I knew Trey was going to end up in jail the first time I met that brother and I was like six,” she shook her head, “Some people just got that evil spirit in them.”
“Aight, Dr. Umar,” Ronnie teased, trying to lighten the mood, “Vic does seem like a cool dude. How are the zealots treating him at LPU?”
“He says it’s cool, like y’all always do,” Angela rolled her eyes, “Fronting like we can’t see through it. I don’t know, I don’t think things are going as well as he wanted them to, basketball wise.”
“It’s still early,” Ronnie shrugged, “Things could always turn around but…I’m sure there’s plenty of basketball programs in D.C.”
“Here we go,” she sighed, “I’m not going to y’all stuck-up ass meet and greet.”
“I get that you love CDU and that’s your dream school, for whatever reason,” Ronnie joked.
“Okay, that’s shade,” Angela laughed.
“I do respect that, for real. Even if you never see the light, I just think it’ll be dope to build connections with other like minded people that’s carrying it how we carrying it. It’s not like we’ve never coming back to LA. Furthermore-”
“Furthermore? Oh, you’re an articulate negro, aren’t you?”
“The most articulate of negroes, sis,” Ronnie smiled, “For real, they’re actually cool events to just meet other Black kids that care about school, the community, the culture. Yeah, we might all be going to Howard and you’re not but I don’t know, it’ll be some good networking. Besides, what else are you going to do on a Sunday with your man away?”
“So…what do you think?”
Simone’s question lingered as Keshawn replayed the day before in his head. The crisp air had greeted them as they stepped onto the Santa Clara campus, the mission-style architecture a blend of history and modernity. A large contingent of the support staff was there to greet him, several of them serving as an escort for the entire visit instead of just a single player and assistant coach.
Throughout the day, Keshawn had felt... important. It started with the first-class flight, with the only downside being it was only an hour. A black Suburban picked them up, making sure to take the scenic route towards campus. While it didn’t have the coast line that Pepperdine offered, the influx of money — being located in the heart of Silicon Valley — was evident.
The coaching staff didn't just show him around; they painted a picture of his future. In the film room, they'd broken down his high school game footage, pointing out his strengths and areas for growth, many of which aligned with Coach Bronstein’s teachings.
"I think..." he began, his voice soft but steady, "I think I could see myself here."
“But?” Simone inquired, taking a sip from her orange juice.
Their mother had decided to sleep in after the long day of touring the campus, the athletic facility, meeting with the coaches, the academic advisors and a late dinner with the entire coaching staff. Keshawn and Simone were determined to use up their per-diem and room credit, opting for a quiet breakfast with just the two of them in the hotel restaurant.
“I don’t know,” Keshawn shrugged, “I guess I keep waiting for this eureka moment where it feels like home and maybe that’s just never going to happen. Maybe it’s not supposed to happen, I don’t know. That’ll be too easy, right?”
“I don’t know,” Simone was honest, “You’ve been on what, like five of these things?”
“Well, officially, three,” he answered, “Don’t get me wrong, they’re all nice and I can see myself here or Pepperdine or Loyola but…”
“Where did you feel the most at home?” Simeone asked, “Maybe instead of looking for the most perfect place, look for the best.”
“Honestly?” Keshawn paused, “Probably Southern.”
“Texas Southern? Wow, I was not expecting that. I always thought you were a bit…”
“A bit what?”
“Carlton-ish,” she laughed, “I’m sorry, I just never pictured you at an HBCU. Texas Southern?”
“Yeah,” Keshawn shook his head, “Mom would kill me and Dad would kill us both if she didn’t so not really an option.”
“Them sisters must have done a number on you,” Simone teased, holding the cup to her face to mask her mischievous grin.
“Just good vibes,” a sheepish smile crept up on his face, “Don’t get me wrong, I can get used to shit like this but, I don’t know, maybe being away from Thornwood and stuff just has me looking at things differently.”
“Tired of being the token black kid?” Simone tossed a piece of bacon into her mouth, “I get it, trust me, I do. Dad and Mom might not go for Texas Southern but maybe Morehouse? Hampton?”
“Howard,” Keshawn muttered, watching his sister’s face to judge her reaction.
“You would love Howard,” she emphasized, “One of my sorority sisters did her undergrad there, she loves that place.”
“They’ve been recruiting me,” he revealed, “One of the kids at our school is going there and he’s always talking about them. I just didn’t think I’d go so I haven’t really been getting back to them.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know, everyone expects me to go somewhere…bigger,” Keshawn explained, “Like, pops and mom want me to go some Ivy league shit and everyone else wants me to go high-major.”
“What’s high-major?”
“It’s just some basketball shit,” Keshawn waved her off, “I just don’t want to visit, actually like the place and end up not going. It’ll just make deciding between here or Pepperdine or wherever that much harder.”
“You owe it to yourself to see all of your options,” Simone motioned for the waiter, “And then decide what is or isn’t for you.”
…
“She don’t got a man, do she?”
“How would I know, Malc?” Eleanora sucked her teeth, “Ain’t like I be around the girl.”
“She don’t bring Lil Malc around no more?” Trey leaned forward, resting his arm on the metal table. The drab gray of his prison uniform seemed to blend into the colorless walls of the visitation room, making him look almost ghostly, “Since when?”
“Since never, Trey,” Eleanora sighed, “Look, whatever y’all got going on is between y’all but maybe she’s just busy, the girl got at least two jobs last I spoke to her.”
Vic shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting between his brother and mother. He had seen her around the neighborhood but didn’t quite have the stomach to meet her gaze ever since that night. Besides, he had his own female problems to worry about.
“She don’t be missing visits,” Trey’s eyes narrowed, “Not like this. She still putting money on a nigga’s books and shit but-”
“Malcolm,” Eleanora corrected her eldest son.
“Sorry, on my books and stuff so I know she’s straight but damn, she can’t come see a nig—”
“She’s busy raising your kid, bro,” Vic finally spoke up, clearing his throat, “She seems fine to me.”
“So you have seen her?” Trey perked up, “She was with somebody?”
“Do it matter?” Vic fired back.
“Fuck you mean ‘do it matter’, nigga?!” Trey’s tone raised, drawing the attention of the nearby guard whose eyes lingered on their table before returning to scan the rest of the room.
“Watch yourself,” Eleanora warned him again.
“He needs to watch himself,” Trey seethed, raising his finger to Vic’s face, who swatted away, once again garnering the attention of the nearby guard, “I ain’t going to keep asking you, she with somebody?”
“You’re in here and she’s out there,” Vic scoffed, “That’ll be like her worrying about you running behind some nigga in here. Do it really matter?”
Trey slammed both hands on the table, startling the rest of the room and getting more than just the attention of the guards as they began walking over.
“We got a problem, here?!” one of them asked, leaning in towards the trio.
“We’re good, officer,” Eleanora flashed a smile, “My son is just…processing some news.”
The officer’s stare lingered on Trey’s face, a shared history evident in their gaze. They eventually returned to the post, keeping a watchful eye on the table.
“I know you all mad and shit because you playing for some bum ass school and can’t even get no burn,” Trey started, “But watch yourself, little nigga, ain’t enough guards in this bitch to stop me from coming across this bitch and reminding you who the fuck I be.”
“Malcolm!” their mother reprimanded him.
“Nigga, fuck you,” Vic got up from his chair, “You should have been worrying about your bitch when you was running around being Stacks’ little bitch. Now look at you, another crash dummy.”
…
“We could have used an extra set of hands,” Ronnie teased, driving his stick into the bottle on the ground and lifting it into the garbage bin on wheels that Angela was pushing, “I’m all for the added headcounts for our fun stuff but I wouldn’t mind if half of the basketball team also showed up for stuff like this.”
“Good luck,” Angela scoffed, continuing to push the bin down the park’s pathway, “As much as I want to hail our recruiting efforts, those guys aren’t showing up if Vic’s not here and certainly if Keshawn ain’t either.”
“They have better things to do on a Sunday morning? Can’t blame them.”
“They actually do,” Angela let out a wry laugh, “Keshawn’s up in Santa Clara visiting a college and Vic is visiting his brother…in prison.”
“If that ain’t a Tyler Perry movie,” Ronnie shook his head, “What are we, the wise and consciousness soul that drives the movie?”
“I’m the angry Black woman,” Angela raised her hand, “It practically writes itself.”
“I’m afraid I ain’t dark skinned enough to be the piece of shit,” he tilted his head from side to side, “That has to make me the savior, right?”
“You wish,” Angela sucked her teeth.
“I ain’t know Vic’s brother was locked up,” Ronnie’s tone changed to a more serious one, “Honestly, I kind of avoided him before I met you.”
“Who, Vic? He’s a sweetheart,” she guffawed, “Still crazy how him and his brother could have been raised in the same household.”
“He’s that bad?”
“I knew Trey was going to end up in jail the first time I met that brother and I was like six,” she shook her head, “Some people just got that evil spirit in them.”
“Aight, Dr. Umar,” Ronnie teased, trying to lighten the mood, “Vic does seem like a cool dude. How are the zealots treating him at LPU?”
“He says it’s cool, like y’all always do,” Angela rolled her eyes, “Fronting like we can’t see through it. I don’t know, I don’t think things are going as well as he wanted them to, basketball wise.”
“It’s still early,” Ronnie shrugged, “Things could always turn around but…I’m sure there’s plenty of basketball programs in D.C.”
“Here we go,” she sighed, “I’m not going to y’all stuck-up ass meet and greet.”
“I get that you love CDU and that’s your dream school, for whatever reason,” Ronnie joked.
“Okay, that’s shade,” Angela laughed.
“I do respect that, for real. Even if you never see the light, I just think it’ll be dope to build connections with other like minded people that’s carrying it how we carrying it. It’s not like we’ve never coming back to LA. Furthermore-”
“Furthermore? Oh, you’re an articulate negro, aren’t you?”
“The most articulate of negroes, sis,” Ronnie smiled, “For real, they’re actually cool events to just meet other Black kids that care about school, the community, the culture. Yeah, we might all be going to Howard and you’re not but I don’t know, it’ll be some good networking. Besides, what else are you going to do on a Sunday with your man away?”
Neighborhood.
Vic really about to lose his woman to fake ass Conscious Lee. Hate to see it.