282 players.
No, 281. Beasley was still locked up at the police station.
So many people, a massive crowd milling about, as bustling as a marketplace.
DeRozan and his two friends were still huddled together, talking about Beasley's likely fate, when DeRozan heard someone call his name from behind.
He turned his head and saw a skinny, dark-skinned teenager.
"Holiday!"
DeRozan's eyes lit up. He went forward and gave the newcomer a hug, then said, "You're not even in high school yet, are you? I thought everyone here would be freshmen or sophomores."
Holiday grinned. "I was born in '90, so I'm exactly fourteen, which meets the minimum requirement. Why couldn't I come? A lot of guys are in the same boat. Maybe the production team thought we were too old for the junior division. Anyway, once summer's over, we'll be starting high school."
DeRozan nodded and gave Holiday a light punch on the chest, complaining that since he was in Phoenix, he should have contacted him.
