Derrick Mason eyed the crowd of reporters that swarmed around him, circling the fresh meat in the parking lot like vultures. 

Their eyes scanned through the ninety-eight high school seniors fresh off their buses, probing for the type of stardom that would bring clicks to their various platforms. Stardom certainly wasn't scarce in this particular parking lot, as every player present had received a handwritten invitation from Mr. Preston himself for his famous Preston Invitational Camp.

There were even a few five-stars Derrick had noticed on the roster, totaling fourteen in all. The rest were four stars, except for four individuals who fell to three stars. The thinking was the tournament was a chance to improve under pressure so Mr. Preston included what Derrick called, charitable invitations.

Derrick was one such case.

It started to sink in as he watched the reporters rushing to interview the players before they entered the arena. He couldn't see much over the swarm of humans but as far as he could see, he was one of the only players not approached. The initial excitement of being invited to such an elite basketball sanctuary and the hope that Mr. Preston had seen potential in him died in his chest.

Life comes at you fast, eh?

Derrick made slow progress through the gaggle of reporters interviewing players, dodging bodies and cameras all the while on his way to the arena entrance. As he stalked between the crowed he noticed a brown mop of curly hair with a familiar headband wrapped around it.

There was only one person who'd be wearing a headband outside the court with the California summer sun making its presence known. 

Recognition sparked in the boy's eyes as he noticed Derrick and a wide smile adorned his babyface features. 

"Yo Rick, you made it." The boy had to shout to be heard over the noise of fifty plus simultaneous interviews.

"Sure did," Derrick replied with a grin plastered across his face. He motioned at their rowdy surroundings. "Not intimidating at all, huh?"

The boy chuckled. "I survive Thanksgiving at my aunt's every year. This is nothing."

Derrick laughed and the two boys launched into their handshake routine. "Can't argue with that."

Declan Pheonix was Derrick's former teammate, hailing a star rating of four stars. Back in their home state of Illinois, he had been hailed as the best shooter pound for pound. His favorite player was Klay Thompson and Declan swore on a good day he'd be able to outshoot him. Derrick sure couldn't argue with that.

He'd seen Declan shoot in person and the boy could shoot the net off.

Declan often joked that he was the reason Derrick was only considered three stars despite averaging eleven assists per game and consistently finding everybody their shots as the point guard. Derrick didn't believe he was the sole reason but there was certainly some truth in that statement.

When people watched highlights from their team and saw Declan making all sorts of crazy shots, they tended to not notice the guy who put the ball on the money every time for him to even get off the shot.

Nonetheless, Derrick had grown fond of playing with such a reliable shooter and even fonder of Declain's bubbly personality. 

Declan seemed like he was about to say something else but an impatient reporter tapped him on his back, signaling to a cameraman who balanced a large camera on his shoulder. 

"Duty calls," Declan said after shooting a frown in the reporter's direction. "Hopefully I catch you inside, star."

"Hopefully," Derrick repeated as Declan turned away to the delight of the reporter.

Derrick sighed as he restarted his trudge through the noisy sea. Back home in Illinois, he had been a star alongside Declan. Now he felt as invisible as the wind that stung his face.

Just as he reached fresh air and caught a glimpse of the arena that would be his second residence for the next month, at least, a timid hand tapped him on the shoulder.

Derrick turned, fully expecting to have been mistaken for someone whom a reporter here would actually know the name of, and found a female who seemed no older than eighteen looking at him expectantly. 

She had auburn hair that was neatly packed into a ponytail which extended into an assortment of curls stretching just below her shoulders. She sported jeans, under-armor shoes, and a brown shirt that complemented her ethereal tawny complexion. Derrick also noted that she didn't have a cameraman or a mic, as almost every other reporter did.

She stood out.

She cleared her throat. "May I have an interview?" She asked in a tone that suggested he hadn't heard her the first time.

"Er, sorry, are you sure you have the right person?" Derrick tentatively responded.

"Derrick Mason, correct? I know it seems weird that I'm interviewing you with so many highly rated alternatives buzzing around but I wanted a different story than everyone else." Derrick raised an interested eyebrow which she took as a cue to continue. "I'm hoping to interview the three stars that were invited, since you guys are bound to have a unique perspective to the opportunity."

Derrick shrugged. "Sure, I guess."

"Excellent," the girl said, taking out her phone and hovering it under her mouth like a mic. "I'm here with three-star Derrick Mason. I assume you're happy with the opportunity to compete in this camp?"

Derrick nodded before remembering she didn't have a camera. "Sorry. Yeah, it's a great opportunity to play some high-level basketball and prove myself against some of the top competition the country has to offer."

"It's interesting that you mention proving yourself. At your star rating, you and three others are the lowest ranked here. Do you feel like the rating is unjust and if so, where do you feel your rating will be when the camp is over?"

Derrick's father was a big basketball fanatic like him and the two had spent countless hours practicing how Derrick would answer certain questions with humility so he could appeal to fans and be a motivation to people back home. However, he had never practiced with the light brown eyes of a beautiful girl focused on him.

"Er... yeah, I think that I'm way better than my rating suggests." He thought back to the description next to him posted on the ESPN website. 

'A good passer who shows flashes of great IQ, but he can be a streaky shooter. At his size, he lacks the ability to compete against physically gifted individuals and can be a mismatch on defense,' it said. To be fair, at 5'10 weighing in at 150 Ibs, Derrick was pretty scrawny and typically ended up being the shortest person on the court. Still, he believed that the assessment was a bit extreme.

"And what do you think your rating will be at the end?" The girl asked in a patient tone, interrupting his thoughts.

Derrick scratched his head. "I don't know and I don't think it'll really matter, to be honest. There's a lot of scouts that will be watching here and I believe I can impress at least one of them. The rating system isn't always reliable so I've decided to not make it my focus."

Internally, Derrick fist-pumped. That was a way better response than the first one.

The girl nodded, her brow creased slightly as she pondered quickly. Usually, reporters seemed to have a load of questions prepared but apparently, she was winging it completely. "You've played with Declan Pheonix your whole high school career and he also happened to have made it here as well. Are you hoping that you two are drafted to the same team?"

Derrick was a bit taken off guard by the question. Not only did she know information about him but it hadn't been a prepared question. He idly wondered how much basketball information was embedded in that brain of hers. 

"I actually thought about that on the way here," Derrick said. "Obviously playing with someone as reliable as him is great and I already know where he likes the ball and what he likes to do, so we'd skip that process. However, I think it's better for both of our growth that we end up on different teams and I've come to terms with that being way more likely than us ending up on the same side again."

The girl seemed surprised by his answer and he swore he saw respect flash across her captivating eyes. "Ok, that'll be it." She placed her phone back in her pocket. "That was honestly  better than I expected."

"Didn't expect a three-star to have a brain, huh?" Derrick asked with a teasing smirk.

The girl shrugged. "Most of the higher stars have bigger egos than brains so it's a good change of pace."

Derrick's smirk widened, a sudden gust of confidence filling him. He extended his hand. "Well, it's nice to meet you..."

"Riley." She took his hand and shook it. "Nice to meet you too."

Riley looked behind him. "Looks like they're calling you guys."

Derrick turned and sure enough, guards were hustling players toward the entrance and ensuring the reporters didn't follow. Derrick muttered a goodbye to Riley and followed the trail of players entering the building.

The arena was ridiculously large and although Derrick had never been in one he figured it couldn't have been much smaller than an NBA arena. As he entered he realized that there were two courts quite a distance away from each other in the gym. They each hosted stands that were strategically placed to block the sight of one other, so supporters would have to choose which court they wanted to focus on.

Upon entry, a man wearing shades and a blue shirt marked "Camp Attendant" pointed the players in the direction of the far right corner of the eastern court where a podium had been set up. 

There was a certain feeling of exhilaration well up inside him as he took in the moment, walking among at least a few future NBA players toward a familiarly well dressed figure standing on the podium.

When all ninety-eight players had gathered in a bunch on the court, reporters were allowed to come in and enter the stands at the side of the court, flashing away a million pictures per second. 

It didn't bother Derrick though. All of his attention was focused on the basketball guru who waited patiently in front of his mic.

Mr. Preston had played college basketball for four years before transitioning to the role of high school coach. After a while, he made a podcast where he discussed everything happening in the basketball universe and thanks to his brilliant mind and breakdowns, amassed a large following remarkably quickly. At the moment, Mr. Preston's YouTube channel had 2.3M subscribers, one of which was Derrick who had spent many nights up late eagerly listening to various breakdowns on how to get better and tips on reading defense and more.

As a true student of the game who loved the analytical breakdown aspect of it, Mr. Preston was the closest thing to Albert Einstein for Derrick and here he was. In person!

The mind boggles.

A part of Derrick couldn't help but hang on to the idea that Mr. Preston had seen footage of him playing and seeing the IQ evident in his play, decided to invite him despite his rating. 

A kid could dream.

Mr. Preston cleared his throat, deciding he'd given everyone adequate time to settle. "Welcome everyone, to the Preston Invitational." He paused under the rain of flashing lights in the theatrically lit gym. Derrick found himself thanking the heavens that it had air conditioning inside. "You individuals represent the future, some more known than others but each soul bounding with the potential to be great. I hope that this camp will prove as a key component to realizing that potential for each and every one of you."

He went on to discuss the history of the Invitational which had been an annual occurrence for four years now. He mentioned the fact that games were streamed on his YouTube channel for millions to see and warned that some highlights had ended up on Sportscenter in the past, so it may be in their best interest to not get dunked on. 

Derrick listened intently to the drop of each word, already imagining a future where he'd receive the camp MVP award from the man himself. His father had always called him a big dreamer, but this one had a chance of becoming a reality. 

Mr. Preston also explained that the remainder of the day would be spent doing a showcase to create a promo vid for the camp. Tomorrow was when their teams would be announced. He even had an app to be installed that was ready to show the statistics such as camp stat leaders and the like. 

Just as the boys were starting to get those restless teenage jitters, Preston finished up.

"That's quite enough talking for now. It's time to play some ball."

A collective cheer rose from the sea of players. It was finally time to really get on the court.

Fourteen men, some in suits and others in tracksuits, introduced themselves as the coaches for this camp season. They divided the dense group into half, and carried one set of forty-nine to the western court while the other set stayed on the eastern. Derrick was a part of the eastern set and was pleased to see Declan had as well.

In the spacious eastern court locker room, Declan opted to sit next to Derrick as they changed into their provided camp gear. 

"Won't it be so cool if we end up on the same team, Rick?" Declan asked, his eyes shining.

"If fate allows," Derrick responded. 

Declan nudged Derrick playfully. "Something tells me that you're more looking forward to playing against me than with me again."

"It's that obvious?"

Declan acted mock hurt, clutching his chest. "I thought us Illinois boys had to stick together."

"And we will. No matter what jersey we're wearing."

The two fist-bumped.

After they had donned their warmup gear, which Derrick partnered with a pair of Kyrie 3s, they took to the court where the coaches carried them through a set of warmup stretching routines that they were expected to memorize. Following that, the coaches prepared drills while camp appointed cameramen stood to the side and recorded the players' dribbling, shooting, footwork and passing.

Derrick's shot started out pretty cold which he was quick to attribute to needing to warm up. Luckily, he didn't stand out much since almost everyone started out missing a bit. However, after about five minutes the sound of the ball flowing through the net became a common occurrence. 

This was truly high-level basketball.

When Derrick found himself waiting in line he intently watched the players as they went through their motions. As a basketball fanatic he had seen a lot of these top players play before, even having played against a few, but watching them in person never got old. It was both motivating and intimidating to see their effectiveness.

All the while, some cameraman would randomly pull players away for a few minutes to take pictures and videos of them individually. Derrick even got a turn. He was instructed to do a series of between the legs and behind the back dribbles while the cameramen circled him.

With the competitive atmosphere not yet suffocating, Derrick was enjoying himself.

Until...

The coaches called the players to the baseline and left one single cone on the court, right at the top of the three-point line's center. They explained that a one-versus-one drill was starting. 

A coach would stand at the center of the baseline while two players stood at the opposing ends. The coach would then roll the ball toward the cone and the two players had to race towards it, with the player who got to the ball first gaining possession of the ball while the other would be on defense. 

It was simple enough and Derrick felt his nerves dissipating the closer it got to his turn. Each person could go only once and as he looked over from his own line and judged the trajectory to the other line to reveal his opponent. His findings left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Elijah Baucher was a 6'5 forward with a bodybuilder figure and speed that had caused whispers of young LeBron comparisons in the YouTube comments Derrick had seen. He was rated a five star and his trash talk would certainly be rated the same. His weakness was probably the consistency of his jump shot and his extremely self-centered ways but the guy was certainly a five star for a reason.

Derrick tried to not worry too much about facing a guy who towered over him and was happy for the distraction of Declan going right before him.

Declan got to the ball before his opponent, which was saying something considering Declan wasn't exactly the fastest person. Declan picked up the ball and pivoted to meet the oncoming defender in his preferred triple-threat position, jabbing forward experimentally.

His opponent wasn't someone that Derrick recognized, but what Derrick did immediately recognize was defense wasn't the boy's strong suit. He seemed off balance from the first jab and Declan threw two more without bouncing the ball for good measure. On the last one, the boy seemed to finally expect Declan to make his move and especially overreacted this time, stepping back a bit too much.

Declan read this in an instant, rising into his fluid textbook shot from the three-point line. The ball sailed upward in a graceful high arc and came down like a rocket, silently falling straight through the net. 

A coach on the sideline nodded. "Good shot, kid."

Derrick suspected coaches didn't get to draft their teams but if they did, Derrick expected that Declan would be on everyone's radar because of his patient game and electrifying shooting ability. 

The dread returned to Derrick's stomach as a coach collected the ball and resumed his position on the baseline, beckoning Derrick and Elijah forward. Derrick crouched into a sprinter's starting position and without much ceremony, the coach rolled the ball forward toward the cone.

Derrick had a pretty quick first step but his acceleration was no match for Elijah's, even with the height and weight difference. Elijah got to the ball first and didn't even bother assuming a triple-threat position. He immediately pushed the ball forward, attacking the smaller player downhill.

Derrick scrambled to guard the drive, beating him to his spot on the right-hand side, as he knew from watching highlights the boy loved to finish with his right hand.

Elijah didn't try to simply power through as Derrick expected, instead bringing the ball back between his legs as he reached the free throw line. He looked up as if he might shoot but quickly pushed the ball back to his right hand as he resumed his drive. Derrick hadn't fallen for the bait so he stayed in a good position.

Or so he thought.

As he passed the free throw line, Elijah executed a low cross from his right hand to his left. Considering how close they were to the rim, Derrick had no choice to react, sliding over to his left and raising his hands to contest. However, Elijah had other plans. 

As soon as Derrick had shifted all of his weight, Elijah transitioned smoothly into a euro-step, bringing the ball up over Derrick's head and out of reach as he skipped back to the right and laid the ball up softly off the glass with Derrick now facing the wrong way.

The crowd oohed and ahhed loudly to Derrick's dismay as his brain desperately tried to calculate what he did wrong and what he could've done better. 

Was there even anything he could've done?

Elijah turned, a cocky grin morphing into his hard face. "Welcome to camp...bum."