Neighborhood.
Neighborhood.
53 free throws in 7 games
Neighborhood.
NOT SO FAST!
tell them niggas to stop fouling
Neighborhood.
Keshawn whipped his head as the ball crossed his face, landing in the hands of the Cal State Fullerton player who bobbled it for a second before going up for a layout. The slight delay allowed for Keshawn to turn his body and jump off his leg foot, extending his right arm out as his eyes keyed in on the ball.
Bang.
The crowd erupted as the ball ricocheted off the backboard and into the arms of Keshawn’s teammate, Tyler. Keshawn screamed into the crowd, joining the chorus of excitement before turning around and hustling back on offense. He shook his hand, the pain now starting to register. He slowed his pace as the Bruins got into their offense, the coaching staff hurling commands towards Skyy as he initiated the offense.
Keshawn kept shaking his right hand, waiting for the pain to go away. He moved to the top of the key, as the play dictated, setting a down screen before flaring to the corner. The ball swung his way and it felt like a mortar exploded in his hands, quickly passing it back to Kobe as he winced in pain.
…
“Yup, definitely broken,” the surgeon said matter-of-factly, pulling up the imaging of Keshawn’s right hand on the monitor in his office, “A few places, actually.”
Keshawn tried to process it at all as he sat in Dr. Chow’s office, looking at his broken hand on the monitor. He had missed a few games as a freshman in high school due to a sprained ankle but other than that, he had never gotten injured and certainly never broken a bone, even as a child. It was such a routine play, one he had made thousands of times between practices, scrimmage, pick up basketball and games.
“Here, there and there,” Dr. Chow continued to examine the image, “Now, what you really care about is the timeline, ain’t that right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The good and bad news of it is its broken all over the place so I really wouldn’t recommend surgery for this,” he explained, “The good news is you’re young and it should heal on its own in about four to eight weeks.”
“Four to eight weeks?” Keshawn repeated as he tried to do the math in his head. November was practically over…December…January…February…they’d be ramping up for the tournament by then and his strong start to the season a distant memory by then as lineups would be finalized and Stefan would probably be back in the lineup.
…
"I sure do miss the weather, carbon monoxide and all,” Angela paused as Vic loaded her luggage into the back of his trunk, ignoring the impatient drivers behind him waiting to take his spot in front of LAX.
"That’s all you miss?” Vic teased as they got into the car, rolling down their windows as Vic pulled off.
“Some bomb ass tacos,” Angela replied, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek, “The food, as a whole though, is pretty fire in D.C., I can’t even hold you.”
“What you trying to say?” Vic raised an eyebrow, “They got that sauce or whatever, right? That’s what you on now, huh?”
“They can actually miss me with that mumbo sauce,” Angela shook her head as she went through her mental rolodex of places she had seen on Instagram or overheard Ronnie talking about, all places she never went herself of course, “They just have a wide range of like cuisine from all over the world and most of them are Black-owned too.”
“I feel like L.A. is pretty cultured,” Vic shrugged but quickly caught himself, “That’s what up though, definitely going to have to pull up on you and check it out.”
“Shit, that’s probably what we should have done honestly,” Angela scoffed, “I knew she would let the house go to shit but this quickly, this bad?”
“Straight tweakers in and out that spot,” Vic sucked his teeth, “I pressed my uncle about it and he said he was going to cool off with that shit but I don’t know, you know how it be. You catch them on a good day, they’ll promise you the world and forget about it by that next bump.”
As they drove through the city, mostly sitting in traffic, Angela couldn’t help but feel like a stranger. While Howard had been less than inviting and not quite what she expected, Los Angeles didn’t feel like home either. It didn’t help that her mother had turned her childhood home into a crack house and that her boyfriend, sitting within an arm reach still felt a world away.
“Thanks for letting me crash your Thanksgiving,” she quipped up after letting the silence drag on for a few minutes.
“For sure,” Vic nodded, “Gotta respect the white man’s holiday, right?”
“Yeah, right.”
“Speaking of, it’s actually at Ke’s this year. They got a new spot by Leimert, courtesy of UCLA, of course.”
…
“It ain’t completely free but shit, it’s about what we was paying for the extended stay by Village Green.”
“For all of this?” Eleanora looked up at her sister with amazement as she continued stirring the roux, “Raine, this shit is a proper kitchen, like the one on the Cosby Show where you can eat, cook and have people in here without feeling like y’all about to trample each other. They taking care of y’all for sure.”
“I can’t complain,” Loraine sighed, “I feel bad because I really wanted him to go to Howard but we needed this, whether we knew it or not.”
Elijah waited for a pause in the conversation before walking through the kitchen doorway, “Y’all ladies ain’t done yet? You got a couple of hungry men in there waiting for y’all since morning!”
“Maybe if the hungry men pitched in instead of rubber necking, we would be done,” Eleanora playfully fired back, offering Elijah some smoked turkey wings that were freshly done.
“She know how to shut me up,” Elijah laughed before making eye contact with his wife, "Babe, can I see you outside real quick? We’re going to need a gameplan for when Simone shows up here with that white man of hers.”
“You leave my niece alone,” Eleanora shook her head.
Loraine joined in on the laughter as she washed her hands, following Elijah to the patio that was accessible from both the kitchen and the living room, overlooking the lake. Before she could open her mouth to ask what was up, Elijah interjected.
“You think it’s any of your sister’s business what we got going on?” Elijah kept a straight face but his tone betrayed his indignation.
“What are you talking about, Eli?” Loraine stammered, taking a peek inside to see if anyone was looking at them as she reached over and closed the blinds.
“Acting like we got put up by some White folks or some shit, like we’re on welfare. UCLA did that, UCLA did this, it ain’t none of her business.”
“She’s family,” she scoffed, “What, she’s good enough to watch after our kids but ain’t good enough to talk to her about things, my life?”
“I’m just saying, it comes across like Keshawn is the one out here taking of us, taking care of you. Making extra payments on shit like I don’t know where that money from.”
"First of all, I picked up some extra shifts to help us pay down our debt,” she held a finger to his face, "Any money that Keshawn gives us ain’t no fucking charity case. We’re his parents and he wants to take care of us, the same way we took care of him all those years.”
“Whatever, you don’t need to tell half of Crenshaw that we some broke ass parents that need they baby to take care of them.”
"If we had done what we were supposed to do and didn’t fuck it up, maybe he wouldn’t have to,” she snapped on him, turning her back to him and heading back inside before he could formulate a response.
…
Keshawn hung out in the living room, his casted right hand resting on the arm of the sofa as he passively watched the football game on the TV screen. He lifted his phone, glancing at the time before putting it down. He briefly made eye contact with Teddy, Simone’s date, before returning his eyes to the television. To his right were Vic and Angela, still seated at the dining table, picking at the sweet potato pie in front of them.
Vic's phone vibrated against his thigh for what felt like the twentieth time that day. He glanced down discreetly, seeing Jessica's name light up his screen again.
"You good?" Angela asked, fork hovering over her half-eaten slice of pie.
"Yeah, just work stuff," Vic mumbled, sliding the phone back into his pocket without responding, "Overtime shift came open for tonight."
Angela nodded, her eyes lingering on his pocket before returning to her dessert. The silence between them stretched uncomfortably. She cleared her throat. "How’s work and stuff?”
"Same old, same old," Vic shrugged, his attention split between Angela and the constant buzz against his leg. "Just picking up shifts where I can really. It ain’t a lot of hours but enough, especially with basketball and classes and shit."
"Right." Angela pushed her plate away, the sweetness suddenly cloying. "How are you liking El Camino?”
Vic's phone vibrated again. His fingers twitched. "It’s cool, not that much reading anymore like it was in the beginning. I guess they were trying to scare us away or something.”
Another pause. The sounds of the football game and the animated conversation between Eleanora and Loraine in the kitchen filled the void between them. To their left, Keshawn shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, checking his phone again. He stood up suddenly, drawing the attention of everyone in the living room.
"I think I'm gonna head out for a bit," he announced, his voice cutting through the ambient noise of the football game. "Coach Bronstein invited me over.”
Elijah's head snapped up from where he'd been pretending to watch the game. "On Thanksgiving?"
"Yeah," Keshawn nodded, already reaching for his jacket hanging by the door. "Would be rude not to show up, right?”
"Some might say it’s rude to invite a kid that got a family already," Elijah's voice carried an edge that made the room go quiet. Even Loraine and Eleanora paused their conversation in the kitchen. "Ain’t like you don’t got somewhere to eat at.”
Keshawn hesitated, his good hand still on his jacket. "It wasn’t like that, I think he just wants to catch up with my injury and stuff.”
"Then what's it like?" Elijah lowered his voice, but the intensity remained. "Every other day it's 'Coach says this' or 'Coach thinks that.' Like his word is gospel or something."
“If you don’t want me to go, I won’t go, Dad,” Keshawn relaxed his shoulders.
“Go ahead, boy,” Elijah scoffed, “That’s your man, right? Like the grandpops you never had, right?”
…
“Y’all better not get no barbecue sauce on my fucking seats,” Fat Stacks looked back through the rearview mirror at Benji and Peanut, both simultaneously rising their heads from the styrofoam container that rested on their laptop.
Fat Stacks shook his head as he looked out the window, keeping an eye on the pawn show at the end of the block. It was a quiet night, being Thanksgiving and all but there was no rest of the wicked.
“Anybody give y’all problems with the collection?” Fat Stacks’ voice cut through the sound of Benji and Peanut smacking on some ribs in the backseat of his SUV.
“Besides it being Thanksgiving,” Benji scoffed, “Not really, niggas came correct.”
"Keep an eye on that shit,” Fat Stacks instructed them, "Niggas might not be bold enough but there will be signs, trust me.”
Benji and Peanut both looked at each other and shrugged, Fat Stacks’ words flying over their heads. The Cold War between Stacks and his uncle Dro, the leader of the East Side Bloods, had reached frigid temperatures that couldn’t be ignored by the lowest level of soldiers. Both sides were under unspoken direction to keep the intermingling between the factions at a minimum. Fat Stacks and Dro hadn’t been seen together in months and while their business ventures kept them connected, everyone knew it was only a matter of time before those ties were severed and once they were, it’d be gloves off and blood in the street.
“What’s the plan, Blood?” Benji asked, now that his appetite was satiated.
"You was doing B&E’s out the womb, nigga,” Fat Stacks scoffed, "Fuck you talking about, Blood? We going to run up in there, get cracking, snatch whatever the fuck we can and get the fuck out.”
"Yeah but how we gonna move this shit? We in the ‘crabs’ territory and that spot probably paying for protection,” Benji countered, "Soon as we try to unload this bitch, we just started a whole war with them niggas.”
“We don’t need to move it,” Fat Stacks explained, "White boy gonna have to just accept that as part of our payment and figure it out.”
…
"The mental aspect,” Coach Bronstein brought a finger to his temple, “That’s what you need to hone in on, boychick. Don’t look at this as a vacation or an excuse to fuck off, excuse my language, dear.”
“I’ve heard it all by now,” Nina, his wife, waved him off before turning her attention to Keshawn, “You sure you don’t want anything, Keshawn?”
“I’m pretty full, thanks,” Keshawn smiled. His eyes met Nadia’s from across the table but she quickly returned them to her phone.
“Obviously you don’t want to get hurt,” Stewie chimed in, “But timing wise, it could be worse. If you can get back by January, early February, get some conference games in and be ready for the tournament.”
“It also puts away any of that draft nonsense that I’m sure was headed your way,” Bronstein scoffed, "I know everyone is in a hurry to get to the league but trust me, kid, you wait another year, it’ll be your team and those twenty point games turn into thirty, forty and we’re talking top ten instead of bottom of the first round.”
Keshawn felt a hint of embarrassment as he had seen an early mock draft that had him projected to be drafted in the late first round. Just months prior, he was preparing himself to not play at all and now he was the leading scorer on a UCLA team that looked like it was primed for a major run in the tournament. Now, he was injured without a clear timeline for return and even less certainty on what his role would be like upon his return.
“I should get going,” Stewie stood up, leaning over and kissing Nadia, his niece, on the forehead before making his way to his parents that were at the head of the table.
"Let me walk you out,” Bronstein stood up, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ll package some food for you, Stu,” Nina got up as well, hurrying herself to the kitchen, leaving Keshawn by himself at the table with Nadia.
His anxiety began to rise as the silence was deafening, pondering whether he should leave as well. He rattled his brain for things to say that wouldn’t come off as cliche.
"How’s classes going?”
“What’s your major?”
“Good weather, we’ve having, right?”
Before he could finally settle on something, Nadia broke the silence.
"My mom is dead and my dad is clinically insane,” she said flatly, “In case you were wondering why they’re not here.”
"I can’t say that I was,” Keshawn let out an awkward, dry chuckle, “Good to know, I guess.”
“I hate small talk,” she continued.
“That’s very evident,” he shook his head, “I’m sorry, that was just…a lot.”
"Imagine being the one with the dead parents,” she continued to tease him, “I’m sorry, I just like watching big, bad basketball player squirm just because my parents are dead. Well, sort of dead. I mean, my mom is definitely dead, buried and everything. Didn’t want to get cremated, whole Jew thing I’m sure you’re aware.”
“I was not, actually,” Keshawn laughed, “Sorry, again, shouldn’t be laughing.”
“I don’t mind it,” a small smile crept at the corner of her lips, “You don’t have the worst laugh I’ve ever seen.”
…
'shouldn’t take too long babe, just get some sleep, be back before you wake up'
Vic typed the lies away on his phone before slipping it into his pocket, taking off his work jacket as he tossed it into the backseat. He waited in his car until he saw the familiar silhouette walking down the staircase. He exited the car, locking it behind him as he hurried his way to the building’s door. Jessica scanned her student ID badge, triggering the door to unlock as Vic pushed it open.
“Took you long enough,” she said with a wry smile, grabbing his hands as she led him upstairs.
“Southsiders don’t celebrate Turkey Day?” he joked as he kept his eyes fixated on her posterior as it sashayed from side to side.
“Southsiders?” she looked back at him.
“Your people, you know,” Vic shook his head, “Tu gente? La raza?”
"Yeah, but I wanted some dick and I wasn’t going to fuck under my dad’s roof, now was I?”
Neighborhood.
Elijah and Lorraine gotta take a look at themselves with the activities their children get up to.
Keshawn pulling a Kyrie and going league after 10 games?
Vic a dirty dog.
Neighborhood.
Neighborhood.
Keshawn squinted against the November sun as he approached the park. Everywhere he looked, kids darted around in makeshift team jerseys, their excited shouts filling the crisp autumn air. He hadn't expected this when Fat Stacks had texted him last night, commanding as much as he was requesting his presence at the community event.
Fat Stacks was holding court near a row of folding tables piled high with takeout platters and canned goods. His red bandana was tucked casually in his back pocket, but today it seemed more like a splash of festive color than any kind of statement.
“Appreciate you showing up for the little homies," Fat Stacks grinned, giving Keshawn a handshake that ended in a shoulder bump. "I see they feeding you good at UCLA. What’s up with your hand, owe a nigga some money or something?”
"Injured it hooping,” Keshawn slightly held up his cast, a constant reminder of his current misfortunes, "What do you guys have going on today?”
"We got the flag tournament going, food drive over here, and we gonna be hooping later," Stacks said, gesturing broadly. "If I knew you was handicapped, I might have called in somebody else as my ringer.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Keshawn looked at his phone, still no reply from Vic who he had invited to come with.
"Ain't nothing but a little set back for the comeback,” Fat Stacks began walking away with Keshawn following him, “You done for the year or what?”
“Just a month of two,” Keshawn answered as they moved to a more secluded area.
"I’ll need to come see you at a game then,” Fat Stacks lit his cigarillo once they got to the edge of the park, offering Keshawn one, which he refused, “It’s important for you to keep coming back, showing face, letting these young niggas know that someone from the city made it. I mean, you’re from here enough, right?”
“I guess,” Keshawn shrugged, trying to anticipate Fat Stacks’ angle.
"Now, as much them seeing you is important, you also need to touch the community in other ways, you feel me?” Fat Stacks began, “The city took care of you when you was here, it’s important that you take care of them now.
Keshawn nodded as Fat Stacks’ words carried more than the sum of them.
"You ain’t in the NBA, yet, so I don’t expect you to be dropping off bands or nothing like that,” Stacks continued, "But a couple hundreds, here and there, it’ll do a lot for this community and the people that took care of it.”
He wasn’t referring to no food drive and Keshawn understood it. To this point, their relationship had been unidirectional with Fat Stacks breaking off Keshawn with some pocket money here and there, seemingly for no reason. Well, Keshawn knew there was a reason, he just wasn’t sure why and was smart enough to not turn it down at risk of offending Keshawn. Now, it was time to pay up.
…
Angela’s fears of scheduling the event too close following the Thanksgiving break were alleviated as student after student walked in through the conference room doors, picking up an empty name tag and writing in their name and information on the intake form. She kept a respectful distance from the main table where the rest of the organizers were carrying out their assigned tasks, not wanting to micro-manage the first event she had suggested and thrown with the California Student Association.
"This is like Tinder on drugs,” Ronnie joked, eyeing every student of the fairer sex that walked through the doors, a handful of which he had already taken down.
"I swear to God,” Angela closed her eyes, "I will kill you, you know that, right?”
"And get rid of your only friend on campus?” Ronnie teased, "Nah, I don’t see it.”
"You don’t get tired? Learning another girl’s favorite color? What shows she like? What’s her middle name?”
"I don’t get into all of that,” Ronnie shook his head, "You fine, I’m fine, you’re trying to get it cracking? That’s all you need, Ang. We can’t all be married by sixteen like you.”
“Boy, bye,” she shook her head, not wanting to think too much about Vic or her visit back ‘home’. Outside of Thanksgiving Day, which was also interrupted by him needing to go to work that night, she spent most of the break by herself in his room, watching way too many documentaries and catching up on more school work than she intended.
"I don’t see your name on here," Ronnie scrolled through the list of entries into the event, which was designed to pair an incoming freshman with a mentor that is second-year or later and also from California or the West Coast.
"Never get high on your own supply," Angela grabbed the tablet from Ronnie, "This also ain’t your personal directory for your next victim.”
“Victim is crazy,” Ronnie shook his head, “But for real, you should sign up. It’s a great idea, Ang, and I think you’d benefit from participating as well.”
She looked at all of the names on the intake form, filtered by major, interests and other details about themselves. She had enlisted the help of a few software engineers to create an algorithm that would match each freshman — based on a few categories — to an upperclassmen.
"I guess it would be hypocritical to not use this,” she shrugged as she typed away, entering her information.
…
“Don’t you got class today or something?”
Stefan ignored his sister as he scanned the fridge, a far cry from the fully-stocked snack bar available to him on-campus. He grabbed a water bottle, taking a sip as he headed for the door, the Long Beach sun greeting his face.
He walked down the familiar streets, his slight limp a reminder of his missed rehab session that morning. He reached Ramona Park within a few minutes, walking past the tennis courts until he reached the picnic area which was bustling with activity with no picnic in sight.
“I know that ain’t who I think it is,” said one of the men as he rose up from a squatted position just as the dice was rolled once more by another, “On Insane, I ain’t think you was ever showing your face around here no more.”
“Come on,” Stefan sucked his teeth as he dapped him up, "You know I got to tap in with the homies.”
“For sure,” Joey nodded, returning to his squatted stance as he pulled a couple of dollar bills from his pocket, “You trying to get in on this?”
“On Crip, you know I am,” Stefan groaned as he joined the other man on the floor, “Niggas better have brought they money today!”
…
“Antigua?”
“Better but no,” she shook her head, enjoying the anguish it was causing Angela, “You give up?”
“I fold,” Angela sighed, “Come on, what is it, it’s not Barbados, is it?”
"I wouldn’t call that an underrated island,” she tilted her head from side to side, “Grenada.”
“Uhh, come on,” Angela groaned, “I’m not even going to lie to you, I never would have guessed that.”
“Most people don’t even know where it is so,” Paige, the third-year student which the algorithm paired Angela with, took a sip of her smoothie.
"You don’t have much of an accent so I was trying to think of like English speaking islands,” Angela explained, “Or did I just make a bigger ass of myself?”
“I think you have plenty of ass on your own, girl,” Paige teased, “But yes, people speak both English and Creole back home, even some French. Really depends on like what part of the island and your family, really. I can’t even front like I’m an ‘Island Girl’ through and through, my people moved to Oakland before I was even born.”
“Do you visit often?”
“Not nearly enough,” she replied, “I thought I’d visit more being on the East Coast but pretty much every break, my parents are begging me to visit them in Cali and between doing that and going on trips with my girls, it’s just…yeah, not enough.”
“I’m sure it’s beautiful,” Angela had never been out of the country with the college campus tours being the first time she ever left the confines of LA County.
"I can definitely see you out there at Carnival, it’s a fucking time, bitch,” Paige cackled, "Enough about me, though. What you’ve been getting into since coming here? You were here in the summer, right?”
Angela paused, contemplating of the many lies she had told Vic or Ronnie when they asked her what she was up to, regaling them of exploits she had gone on with her roommates and friends. She opted for the truth this time.
“Honestly,” she started, “Not a goddamn thing. Really. I pretty much go to class, go to the library to the study and back to my dorm. Slide in some eating, Netflix and the occasional stroll across campus and that’s pretty much it. That’s honestly why I started this thing, I’m a prime example of someone that needs…this.”
“Girl, I got you,” Paige assured her, "The people here can definitely make you feel unwelcomed, if you let them but you got your bitch now in me and you’re my bitch so don’t you worry. I got the book club tomorrow night, which you’re coming with, and we got a fete on Saturday night that Caribbean Student Union is throwing so we’re going to get it cracking, honey, believe me.”
Neighborhood.
A fete? With Caribbean buls? Someone about to backflip into Angela's coochie live on stage. Vic gonna be SICK.
Stefan about to walk Keshawn down for being Blood affiliated.
Stefan about to walk Keshawn down for being Blood affiliated.
Neighborhood.
November 22th, 2024
(1-2) CSU Fullerton at UCLA (8-1)
@ 
CSFU | 41 | 24 | 65
UCLA | 53 | 43 | 96
CSFU F Lathaniel Bastian, Sophomore: 12 pts, 11 reb, stl, 5-14 FG, 0-2 3PT, 2-4 FT
UCLA F Kobe Johnson, Senior: 13 pts, 7 reb, 3 stl, 4-7 FG, 5-5 FT
---
November 26th, 2024
(0-6) Southern Utah at UCLA (9-1)
@ SUU | 17 | 40 | 57
UCLA | 48 | 47 | 95
SUU C Parsa Fallah, Sophomore: 8 pts, 10 reb, 4-8 FG, 0-1 FT
UCLA G Skyy Clark, Junior: 20 pts, 9 reb, 4 ast, 4 stl, 2 blk, 8-11 FG, 4-5 3PT
---
December 3rd, 2024
(10-0) Michigan State at UCLA (9-2)
@ MSU | 42 | 34 | 76
UCLA | 36 | 32 | 68
MSU G Jeremy Fears Jr, Sophomore: 18 pts, 4 reb, 2 stl, 6-13 FG, 3-5 3PT
UCLA G Skyy Clark, Junior: 15 pts, 2 reb, 3 ast, 5 to, 4-13 FG, 3-5 3PT, 4-6 FT
Neighborhood.
"Oh, yeah, I got to get me one of those," Benji continued to admire the pierce of Russian engineering in front of him before loading yet another crate into the back of Fat Stacks’ SUV until there was enough firepower in the back of his car to take over Crenshaw.
"I allow this extra company since a girl can be nervous about her first time,” Morrow lit his cigarette, letting it rest against the corner of his mouth, “Strictly one on one next time, understood?”
“I got you,” Fat Stacks nodded, instinctively putting his hand out for a handshake to which Morrow ignored, “I’ll let you know when we need another batch.”
“Not how that works, Blood,” Morrow said sarcastically, "I’ll call you when I have another shipment that’s available and I’ll need an answer within two to three hours, tops. Once you’re up, we’ll get a location, terms, carry it out. Try not to come in one of these…ghetto SUVs.”
“Whatever,” Fat Stacks scoffed before looking towards Benji, “We good?”
Benji nodded his head.
…
“Stop being a buster, nigga!”
Keshawn shook his head as he picked up his pace, joining Stefan as they walked into the convenience store. Stefan shared a head nod with the middle aged man behind the counter before perusing down the aisle, picking up and putting down various snacks while Keshawn lingered behind him.
“Get me some Fruit Snacks, rookie,” Stefan told him as he moved towards the refrigerated section of the store.
Keshawn walked over to the candy aisle, reminding himself to stay calm and to avoid drawing any extra attention to himself even though he was a six-foot-eight Black man in State College, Pennsylvania. He grabbed a bag of Welch’s Fruit Snacks and another bag of Gushers before walking over to the counter, placing them in front of the cashier as he forced a smile.
"You guys have a game tonight, don’t you?” the cashier asked, eyeing Keshawn up and down.
"Yes, sir,” he answered, “Well, not us. We’re a bit out of commission right now.”
“Obviously,” the man chuckled, noticing the cast on Keshawn’s hand, “What’s wrong with him?”
"My girlfriend ran over my foot,” Stefan joked, placing an Arizona Iced Tea on the counter, “My fault, rook, you wanted something to drink?”
“Nah, I got some water at the hotel,” Keshawn replied, taking a quick glance at Stefan to see if he could tell. He couldn’t.
The cashier rung them up, scanning each item and placing them in a plastic bag before handing them to Keshawn. He read the total out to Stefan who handed him a ten-dollar bill, asking him to hold the change. They walked out the door, as calmly as they had entered it, and walked a few steps before Keshawn turned around to make sure no one was behind them.
“Holy shit,” Keshawn laughed, looking over to Stefan who had already pulled out one of the 4-Loko cans in his sweats, “You actually did it.”
“Hold on,” Stefan told him as they took a seat on a nearby bench. He took out two empty Gatorade bottles — courtesy of UCLA athletics — from his bag and poured the contents of the 4-Loko cans into them.
"You better get active, nigga,” Stefan cackled, tossing a bottle to Keshawn, “We got tip-off in two hours and I ain’t trying to watch that shit sober.”
“I don’t know, bruh,” they got up from their seat, “I feel like it would just be my luck that tonight is the night the coaches catch your ass.”
"Just drink water after and eat something to get the liquor off your breath,” Stefan instructed him, “They ain’t paying us no mind during the game anyway, not like we really need to be here.”
“I guess,” Keshawn shrugged, taking a timid sip, “You’ve done this for every game?”
“Hell yeah,” Stefan nodded, “How else I’m supposed to watch y’all sorry ass niggas massacre the game I love?”
“I don’t know how I never noticed,” Keshawn shook his head, “To be fair though, I probably thought whatever wild shit you did was just you being you.”
“It comes with its benefits,” they continued the walk back to their hotel room, tip-off is still a few hours away, “I was on that with Tommy last year when he was redshirting but now the nigga on his goody two-shoes shit.”
“Wait, weren’t you playing last year?”
“Yeah, but only like a couple minutes most games,” Stefan explained, “If I can’t hoop for five minutes drunk, I don’t deserve to hoop nigga.”
“You’re bugged the fuck out,” Keshawn laughed.
“Nah, you’re the bugged out one,” Stefan fired back, "You scared of pussy or something?”
“What are you on about, bro?” Keshawn shook his head.
“My girl stay on my ass about you because Gloria be on her ass about you,” Stefan explained, "Something wrong with the pussy or something, bro?”
"A real nigga don’t fuck and tell,” Keshawn scoffed, "Besides, I don’t see what the problem is. She didn’t really think we were like going together, going together, was she?”
“You ain’t got to go together to show the bitch some love, cuz,” Stefan tapped Keshawn’s chest with the back of his hand, "You don’t think I be dipping and dabbling, enjoying what UCLA got to offer?”
“I know for a fact you do, nasty ass.”
“Exactly,” Stefan boasted, “But I got my main hoe at home, taking care of a nigga. You gonna need that bro, especially when you come back on the court. A bitch that gonna do your work for you, sign in to class for you, you know, be a real supportive ass, bottom dollar ass bitch.”
…
The thump of bass penetrated through the walls of the club as Gayle balanced a tray of shots, weaving through the crowd with practiced precision. Neon lights flashed across her face as she approached a VIP table in the corner, where a small entourage had gathered.
"Here's your order," she announced, setting down the tray.
"Gaaaaaayle!" A familiar voice cut through the music.
She froze, looking up to see Lamont lounging in the booth alongside Tay Dizzle, who was busy making it rain on Aida and Shawna as they danced for him.
"Oh shit," Gayle muttered, heat rushing to her face.
Tay looked up from stuffing a twenty in Aida's waistband. "Oh shit, it’s the homie Gigi.”
Lamont stood up, finishing his drink with one tilt of the head, "I ain’t know you worked here.”
"Yeah, well..." Gayle shrugged, suddenly self-conscious of her barely-there uniform.
Lamont motioned for her to step aside with him, away from Tay's drunken hollering as Shawna executed a perfect split that had the entire section going wild.
"Look, I know what you thinking," Gayle started, adjusting her top nervously. "This ain't what I'm about. Just something to pay the bills, alright? I am serious about this music shit but it ain’t exactly making me any money, at al.”
Lamont shook his head. "You don’t gotta explain shit to me. I came up working security at spots worse than this. Everybody gotta start somewhere."
"For real?" Gayle asked, searching his face for any sign of judgment.
"For real. Matter fact..." He pulled out his phone, scrolling through something. "I meant to call you today, one of your features might be getting picked up soon.”
“Hold on now,” Gayle took a step back as she flashed a smile, “Which one? By who?”
"It’s a bit too early to celebrate,” Lamont told her, "But if it comes through, and I think it will, it’s exactly what we’ve been waiting on.”