It's NBA draft day 2013, and Victor Oladipo, sharply dressed in a gray three-piece suit with a lavender shirt and black tie, keeps staring into space. At least that's what his twin sister Victoria told him, because Victor was too deep in thought to realize it.

He's sitting at a table surrounded by his three sisters, his mother and his agent. His father, Chris, known for his mysterious methods and regular absences, is surprisingly present also, sitting amongst the crowd, though he won't be staying for long.

The man Oladipo calls his godfather -- his first AAU coach, Kingston Price -- is there, too, seated close to the elder Oladipo. A handful of other friends are there as well, ready to experience the surreal.

Victor Oladipo was meant to be in that space, surrounded by anxious, soon-to-be NBA players and their gleaming family members. He was meant to walk across that stage, don an NBA cap and shake the hand of commissioner David Stern.

He just never knew it. Almost until the moment Stern announced Oladipo as the second overall selection of the Orlando Magic, the 21-year-old never really thought he'd live up to the goal he set when he was 5, watching the NBA on the television and deciding that was his future.

To Oladipo, nothing about his path said NBA. Not his overly skeptical father, who showed support in the most unique of ways. Not a high school career that saw him playing behind his more polished friends until his senior season. Not even his collegiate career that began with way too many losses and ended with a loss that momentarily took all his strength.

But there he was, at the Barclays Center, his name being called at the same draft position that current and former greats like Jerry West, Bill Russell, Wes Unseld, Bob McAdoo, Isiah Thomas, Jason Kidd and Kevin Durant were chosen.

Oladipo returned a salute to his hoops-averse father moments after being drafted by the Orlando Magic. Mike Stobe/Getty Images

Other than a very specific gesture to the crowd, what happened after Stern called his name was something of a blur to Oladipo.

And everything that led up to that point came rushing back.

"It was a crazy feeling," Oladipo said, sitting in a near-empty restaurant in downtown Orlando, Fla., his eyes wandering off as he speaks, taking himself right back to draft night. "I was watching the draft for as long as I could remember. Watching people walk across that stage. To say that I just did that? There was no way.

"For me to be where I came from, I'm not supposed to be here. And with all the guys I used to hang around with? I was not supposed to be the first one."

Oladipo grew up in Upper Marlboro, Md., a part of Prince George's County, which is rich with basketball talent (the current crop of NBA players from that county include Durant, Ty Lawson, Jeff Green, Roy Hibbert, Jarrett Jack, Sam Young and a handful more).

Oladipo was mostly unaware of the depth and quality of talent in his area, because his father didn't let any of his children outside the house very often. Part of it was his strict nature, and part of it was because the family didn't live in the safest of neighborhoods (the family moved to a more rural section of town after the home's front door was knocked down while they watched television).

Even in elementary school, Oladipo had to sneak in basketball when he could, dribbling the ball in the basement so he wouldn't get scolded, sneaking out of the house to play, then racing in through the back door before his father got home.

It wasn't exactly the best way for a parent to foster a child's passion.

His father had his reasons. Born in Sierra Leone, Chris Oladipo worked multiple jobs when his children were young despite having earned a doctorate in behavioral science at the University of Maryland. Sports were a hobby in his eyes, as they were for him growing up playing soccer and tennis, and for his Nigerian-born wife, Joan, who ran track, high jumped and played a sport called net ball. ("It's kind of like basketball but not really basketball. There's only one person who can shoot. Ironically, she was a shooter," said Oladipo, whose shooting skills were questioned until his final year of college.)

Oladipo had to seek basketball advice. He had to ask for pointers. He had to create confidence.

"It's just me, really," Oladipo said of those days. "Sometimes it has its ups and downs, but you can learn from anything.

"It's my love for the game that made me do what I do. I pushed myself.

"Basketball was kind of like my brother. It was something I could go do and just be myself."

At St. Jerome Academy, a private elementary and middle school about 45 minutes away from his home, Oladipo played on B teams until sixth grade. He played mostly power forward and center because of his height and was known more as the "hustle guy."

By the time Oladipo had to choose a high school to attend, he had no idea where he'd go. His father kept asking him, but it wasn't until a friend's dad took him to a game at DeMatha, a Catholic high school featuring a tradition-rich basketball team, that Oladipo finally answered.

"I kind of fell in love with them there," he said.

When it came time to try out for the freshman team, Oladipo was one of about a hundred students trying to get the attention of coaches.

DeMatha coach Mike Jones helped send Oladipo in the right direction. Jonathan Newton/The Washington Post/Getty Images

"I stood out, one, because I wanted to play defense and, two, because of how athletic I was," he said, though he didn't consider that the start of a memorable career. "I didn't really go crazy or anything. I was happy, but for some reason I wasn't really joyful or anything like that."

Perhaps it was because his friends, like Quinn Cook (now at Duke), Bryon Allen (George Mason) and Jerian Grant (Notre Dame) were better than him.

Perhaps it was because the reception at home would be lukewarm at best -- at least from his dad. DeMatha coaches saw something in Oladipo, so head coach Mike Jones referred Oladipo to an AAU team then named Triple Threat (it's now Team Takeover).

That's where Oladipo met Price, who coached the ninth-grade team.

"Upon meeting him, he just became one of my favorites, and it actually didn't have anything to do with basketball," Price said. "One of the hardest things to find is a guy that's willing to listen and hang his hat on everything you give him. And he was that kid.

"We had to do a lot of mentally grooming him, making him understand that he is good, because he had no clue."

How could he know? On the freshman team he was essentially just another guy. At home he got no feedback, his father constantly telling his children to "face their books." He couldn't compare himself with his friends, who had no such crisis of confidence.

In Price, Oladipo discovered someone who wanted to unearth something special in him. So the lanky kid became a sponge. A well-mannered, intelligent, eager sponge -- with an especially strict dad. This AAU thing required more time away from his books, more time away from his home, more time committed to a "hobby."

So sticking with Triple Threat was no sure thing.

"I had convinced the father that his grades weren't going to drop," Price said. "I convinced the father that, when he's with me -- he met my wife and my kids -- I convinced him that we wouldn't let any of that slip.

"The only way Victor could come out, stay out and kind of live that life of hanging with the fellas and all of that stuff, was through me and through us. So we became kind of his extended family."

This particular ninth grader was in heaven.

Basketball wasn't his brother anymore, his teammates were. Price became a secondary father figure -- only this father spoke basketball all the time, encouraged him to play, convinced him that he's much more than just another guy.

Because his actual father never showed much interest in the sport, Oladipo soaked up everything Price had to say, and almost all of it was about defense.

Because his actual father rarely let his children out of the house, Oladipo spent every second he could in the gym, in the locker rooms, near his teammates, near his coaches.

He was a coach's dream, and he didn't even realize it.

"I tell him this all the time: Your father is the reason why you're as good at who you are," Price said. "Because his father did not follow the game, because his father did not care about basketball … his only outlet to basketball was us.

"He's such a good kid, infectious kid. Coaches could be sitting at one table and the kids at another table, and he's eavesdropping on us, just listening.

"This is just who the kid is. So he's trying to find a way to fit in."