Neighborhood.

[Caesar]

“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.

[Soapy]

“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.

true to the soil.

[Soapy]

December 8th, 2024
(10-2) UCLA at Penn State (5-3)

@

UCLA | 40 | 53 | 93
PSU | 40 | 43 | 82

UCLA C Tyler Bilodeau, Junior: 35 pts, 8 reb, 4 stl, 3 blk, 13-25 FG, 7-10 FT
PSU C Miles Goodman, Freshman: 15 pts, 6 reb, 7-7 FG, 1-2 FT

---

December 14th, 2024
(8-3) Baylor at UCLA (11-2)

@

BAY | 37 | 52 | 90
UCLA | 38 | 64 | 102

BAY F V.J. Edgecombe: 12 pts, 7 reb, 2 ast, 2 stl, 3 blk, 5-14 FG, 2-5 3PT
UCLA G Dylan Andrews, Sophomore: 21 pts, 5 reb, 4 ast, 7-12 FG, 5-7 3PT

---

December 17th, 2024
(2-7) Prairie View A&M at UCLA (12-2)

@

PVAM | 38 | 33 | 71
UCLA | 67 | 48 | 115

PVAM G Will Douglas, Senior: 11 pts, 5 reb, 6 ast, 6 stl, 4-12 FG, 3-4 FT
UCLA F Kobe Johnson, Senior: 20 pts, 13 reb, 5 ast, 2 blk, 8-10 FG, 2-3 3PT, 2-3 FT

[Soapy]

Stay Dangerous - Episode 8
Keshawn stood on the massive deck overlooking the Pacific, the sun casting golden ripples across the water as it descended toward the horizon. Tommy's parents' Malibu house was exactly the type of place he used to visit during holidays as a kid—before everything fell apart.

He wondered where those family were, families that used to host them for barbecues and holiday parties. The Washingtons. The Taylors. The Morrisons. Adults who used to ruffle his hair and slip him twenty-dollar bills, telling his parents what a fine young man he was becoming. Nowhere to be seen since that fateful day in that courtroom.

He sipped his soda water, watching wealthy strangers in expensive casual wear mingle around the infinity pool below. The sound of clinking glasses and practiced laughter floated up to him. The scene was achingly familiar yet simultaneously distant.

"You hear from Stefan?" Tommy appeared, his collar slightly askew, cheeks flushed from the champagne the waiters had been serving liberally despite him being underage.

Keshawn pulled out his phone again, checking for messages. Nothing from Stefan. He'd texted him three times already.

"I don’t think he’s coming,” Keshawn replied

"His loss," Tommy shrugged, "You’re just going to stand there all night, overlooking the ocean like you’re Batman or some shit?”

Keshawn pocketed his phone and shook his head as he stepped down from the deck and back into the living room. The crowd inside had swelled since they'd arrived, the party reaching that perfect pitch where the music was just loud enough to excuse not talking to people you didn't want to engage with. Keshawn navigated through clusters of guests, nodding at a few teammates who'd shown up, when he caught a flash of familiar face.

Alexis was leaning against a marble countertop in the kitchen, laughing at something someone had said. Their eyes connected for a brief moment—the fifth time tonight—before Keshawn deliberately turned away, pretending he hadn't seen her. Keshawn still wasn't sure if Tommy knew, or if he'd care. Either way, the whole situation felt messy.

“Yo, Chase,” Tommy turned around to face him, “You’ve met my dad, right?”

“I don’t think so,” Keshawn replied, grateful for the escape route.

…

The rattle of dice hitting concrete echoed through the warm night air at Ramona Park. Stefan hunched forward on the bench, eyes locked on the tumbling cubes as they bounced against the makeshift backstop.

"Seven!" shouted Lil D, scooping up a small pile of bills. "Sorry ass nigga, better take your ass to Hollywood!”

Stefan laughed, peeling off two twenties from his thinning wallet. "Niggas get a little chili and get to talking reckless.”

The small circle of men erupted in laughter. Most wore blue bandanas in some fashion—pockets, wrists, hanging from belt loops—subtle markers that meant everything in this part of Long Beach.

"Nah, little homie, you just trash," Lil D fired back, pocketing the money.

Stefan took a swig from his malt liquor. "On Insane, run that shit back.”

He'd missed this—the raw, unfiltered energy of his old neighborhood. There was only so much physical therapy, film sessions and study halls that he could endure without the built-in reward mechanism that was actually playing basketball.

His phone buzzed again. Another text from Keshawn. Third one tonight. He ignored it, sliding it back into his pocket. He didn’t feel like playing dress up for White folks, not tonight.

Deuce, the oldest of the group at twenty-eight, suddenly stood up. "I don’t need you niggas getting drunk like we don’t got a mission tonight. Y’all ready to roll or what?”

"He saved you,” Lil D teased him, "I would have sent your ass back with nothing in your pockets.”

“Yeah, aight,” Stefan shook his head as the rest of the guys got to their feet, dapping him up.

"Hold up," Stefan called, rising to his feet. "What kind of buster ass nigga I look like to y’all? I’m coming with y’all.”

Deuce turned, his expression hardening. "Nah, nigga, I ain’t taking your limping ass on no mission.”

“I’ll still outrun any of y’all niggas,” Stefan scoffed.

"You’re not even on that, bro,” Joey, his longtime friend chimed in, "It ain’t even that serious, we just gotta handle some shit with some eses.”

"Why are we having this back and forth with this basketball ass nigga?” Deuce interjected.

"I got put on just like you did, nigga,” Stefan pressed, "Unless I must have forgot, ain’t no nigga ever wacked out my shit or nothing, on Insane Crip, nigga!”

Deuce studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Aight, little homie, my bad. I just ain’t know you was getting active like that still.”

"Man, give me the motherfucking blower, nigga and I’ll show you how active I am, nigga.”

…

After another hour of strained small talk with Tommy's father and other boosters, Keshawn decided he'd fulfilled his social obligation. The party had reached that tipping point where people were either getting too drunk or pairing off, neither scenario appealing to him.

"I think I'm gonna head out," he told Tommy, who was deep in the bag by this point in the night.

"Already? We haven’t even opened the good whiskey yet," Tommy protested, but his attention was clearly divided by the two girls next to him.

"I got PT tomorrow," Keshawn lied.

Tommy nodded absently. "Alright, I’m probably going to crash at my parent’s tonight. Slap the shit out of Stefan when you see him for me, please. He missed a great fucking time.”

Keshawn wound his way through the party, slipping out the side entrance to avoid any further conversations. The cool night air was a relief after the stuffiness inside. He pulled his keys from his pocket and headed toward his car parked down the winding driveway.

As he approached his modest Honda Accord—a lease from the collective—he spotted a figure leaning against the driver's side door. Alexis, her silhouette unmistakable even in the dim light.

"Found you," she said, pushing herself off the car.

"What are you doing out here?" Keshawn asked, slowing his approach, “How’d you know this was my car?”

She gestured toward his car with a smirk. "Wasn't hard to figure out which one was yours.”

"Funny," Keshawn said, not laughing. "You need a ride or something?"

"Or something," she replied, stepping closer. "I was thinking maybe I wouldn’t mind checking out Westwood tonight, heard it’s great this time of the night.”

Keshawn hesitated, keys dangling in his hand. "I’m sure Tommy can take you. I hear they’re about to break out the good shit, though, so it might be a while.”

"I’m sure you could take me too." Alexis tilted her head.

"I mean, aren't you two...?" He let the question hang.

Alexis laughed, the sound both genuine and dismissive. "Tommy? God no. We've known each other since we were in diapers. He's basically my brother. I’m pretty sure I’ve bathed with that boy.”

"That's... specific," Keshawn said, still not entirely convinced.

She stepped closer, close enough that he could smell her perfume—something expensive yet subtle. "What's the matter, Black man? You need permission from the White man to bag something you want?" Her eyes challenged him. "And here I thought you were the leader of the friend group.”

[Caesar]

Yeah so that last line was some Shannon Sharpe shit. Keshawn about to get into some weird shit

[Soapy]

Yeah so that last line was some Shannon Sharpe shit. Keshawn about to get into some weird shit

Alexis is black bro

[Caesar]

Yeah so that last line was some Shannon Sharpe shit. Keshawn about to get into some weird shit

Alexis is black bro

does that make her saying the shit like ol girl was less weird…? I don’t think it does.

[Soapy]

Yeah so that last line was some Shannon Sharpe shit. Keshawn about to get into some weird shit

Alexis is black bro

does that make her saying the shit like ol girl was less weird…? I don’t think it does.

nigga 100% lmao she was just teasing Keshawn for feeling like he needs his friend to okay their situation, not on some race play kink shit

[Soapy]

December 22nd, 2024
(11-0) Iowa State Cyclones at UCLA (12-3)

@


ISU | 47 | 45 | 92
UCLA | 42 | 33 | 75

ISU G Tamin Lipsey, Junior: 23 pts, 8 reb, 6 ast, 2 stl, 7-16 FG, 3-10 3PT
UCLA F Eric Dailey Jr, Sophomore: 11 pts, 7 reb, stl, blk, 4-10 FG, 1-5 3PT, 2-2 FT

---

December 23rd, 2024
(6-4) Missouri State at UCLA (12-4)

@

MOST | 44 | 49 | 93
UCLA | 42 | 48 | 90

MOST G Matthew Lee, Senior: 14 pts, 11 ast, 5 to, 5-11 FG, 4-7 3PT
UCLA C Tyler Bilodeau, Junior: 27 pts, stl, blk, 12-16 FG, 2-7 FT

Upcoming Schedule vs. #6 Oregon (8-1), at Colorado (5-8), vs. #22 Washington State (10-1)

[Captain Canada]

Those two losses ain’t too pretty