Pinch Hit (14 page)

“Good.”

“Good.”

Sam hung up, beaming. “I did it. I think I did it.”

“Of course you did.”

“McKenna? Want to sit down?”

They sat.

“McKenna, this is kind of crazy. I think I'm going to do it whether you think I should or not, but I want to tell you anyway.”

“Tell me what?”

“McKenna, if Trevor and I are really twins…”

“Of course you are.”

“Right, and we've got parents out there somewhere. Not, like, my dad or Trevor's mom, but whatever they call it. Birth parents or something.”

“Biological parents.” McKenna nodded.

“Well, I want to find our mother. I know it won't be easy. I mean, if I were just Sam Palomaki, I'm sure I couldn't. But I was thinking, as Trevor Goldman, especially if you help me, I mean, I've got money and people to do things and my dad is this powerful guy everyone's afraid of. I can
find
her, can't I?”

Sam watched McKenna think about it. She wrinkled her forehead, but then she smiled, and her smile grew. “I don't see why not.”

“And you'll help me?” Sam asked.

“Absolutely.”

Trevor hit it.

Not out of the park, not even through a hole. Actually, it went right down the first-base line so that Frankie Schmelling scooped it up and put him out. But that didn't matter. He hit it, and he
saw
it. He saw the red dot.

He started back toward the plate, trying not to grin, since Coach Sharp still wasn't very happy. He scooped up his bat and stepped up again.

The next pitch was a fastball. Trevor wasn't confused, and he blasted it, picking up a double, then jogging back to the plate.

Graham threw a curve, and this time Trevor got it, popping it over the second baseman and into the hole between right and center, a single. He jogged back again.

“What's the score, Coach?”

Coach Sharp looked down at his notepad. “You're behind RJ by eight points. You'd have to hit two more singles and a home run to even think about winning the M&M's.”

“Nice.”

Trevor felt a new joy, the return of confidence. Learning something, seeing it, and actually being able to make it happen. He hit two more singles, a home run, and a double.

“I love M&M's, Coach. Feeling better now. Must have been that pitch that hit me in the back. Got my timing off.” Trevor rubbed the spot where Klum had nailed him, and it really was sore.

As it turned out, Trevor didn't win the candy. RJ had a big round, and no one was able to pass him. Still, Trevor came in second, which left him swelling with pride.

“Okay, guys,” Coach Sharp said as the team gathered around him in a tight group on the grass, “not a bad practice, but we'll have to do better tomorrow. This team from Palos Verdes is good. They're not the best, but they're good, and we can't be sloppy. So, make sure you get some rest tonight. Get plenty of water because it looks like it'll be hot. Then get here early, say, eight, because I want to do an hour of batting before we drive to the game. We good? Okay, bring it in.”

The team held up their hands and chanted “Champions!” together.

On the way to the parking lot, Trevor walked with Cole Price and the Schmelling brothers. They teased him about getting hit by Klum and Trevor just grinned, knowing it was all in fun.

“I thought you were smarter than that, razzing Klum and asking for a beanball,” RJ said.

“Yeah, after what happened to Brian Leonard, you go and try to hit him?” Frankie said.

“I thought he was going to rearrange your face,” Cole said.

“Yeah, then maybe he wouldn't look like such a
movie star
.” RJ batted his eyelids like a girl.

“Oh,” Frankie said in a high-pitched voice, “I'm so pretty. Look at me. Just a touch of makeup and I'm ready for my close-up. I want to finish up so I can get to my dancing lessons.”

The boys laughed, and Trevor felt his face get warm. “What's wrong with dancing?”

The three boys stopped and stared hard at him. Then, all at once, they burst out laughing and patted Trevor on the shoulder.

“What's wrong with dancing?” Frankie kept talking like a girl.

“Yes, I love to dance,” Cole said, also in a high voice.

Trevor did his best to control his facial expressions. He thought of McKenna when she stuck two fingers up her nose and crossed her eyes behind Pierce Everette's back and he broke out into a grin, acting. They all had a good laugh, and Trevor knew he was back in the groove with Sam's teammates.

“You know,” Trevor said. “It's gonna be different around here from now on.”

“How so?” Frankie asked.

“Klum, that's how.”

“Klum?” RJ stopped walking.

Trevor got excited. He knew all about bullies from the books he read and the movies he'd acted in. He knew the secret was to be tough right back to them and they'd crumble like cupcakes. All you had to have was confidence, and that's one thing Trevor had plenty of. “Him pushing us around? It's over.”

“Over?” Cole said. “How?”

“Because I say so, that's how.” Trevor let his acting slip away. He wanted to say a few things that fit
his
character, and not necessarily Sam's.

“Saying so won't be enough,” Frankie said. “You know that.”

“Then I'll
do
something.” Trevor kept walking, and the group kept up with him. “In fact, next time I see that mope, I'm gonna bust him right in the mouth.”

“Oh yeah? I'd pay money to see
that
.” The voice came from behind Trevor and his little group, but when he turned around, it was clear that Scotty Needum had been skulking along behind them, listening in.

The look of shock and fear on the faces of Sam's friends was more disturbing to Trevor than the sight of Scotty Needum's pudgy face gone red with anger.

Trevor kept his chin up. “You want to see? Just show up early before the game tomorrow, and tell your punk friend to meet me behind the bathrooms over there.”

Needum looked back at the low cinder-block building that stood just beyond the stands on the far side of the field. When he looked back at Trevor, his grin showed off two sharp incisor teeth on either side of his mouth.

“You're calling out Dorian?” Needum laughed so hard his belly jiggled. “Oh boy. I can't wait. You're dead. You are so dead.”

The boys watched as Scotty Needum rumbled off to the parking lot, got into his mom's pickup, and drove away.

“Fine,” Trevor said, but it didn't come out as strong as he would have liked, and Sam's friends could only shake their heads as they walked away.

“You have to stand up to him.” Trevor spoke to them in shouts as they got into their respective cars. “He's a bully! Watch and see what happens! Don't be chickens!”

Trevor watched them all go before he climbed into the old beat-up Ferrari Sam's dad drove up in.

“Good practice?” Sam's dad asked.

“Not bad,” Trevor said.

“What were you shouting to those guys about?” Sam's dad asked as he backed out of his spot and spun around.

“I had some trouble hitting Graham's curveball; I was telling them not to worry about it.”

“Graham? I thought he was almost afraid to pitch to you.”

“Well, I lost my confidence, I guess, hitting that curveball of his. I got it back, though.”

“‘Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win.'” Sam's dad glanced over at Trevor as he pulled out onto the highway.

“Uh,
Othello
?”

“
Othello
? Come on, Sam.
Measure for Measure.
”

Trevor hit his own forehead. “Oh yeah. Of course. I got hit by a pitch.”

“In the head?” Sam's dad scowled and glanced at Trevor again.

“No, no. In the back. I spun around. Klum threw for my head, though. Coach kicked him out of practice.”

Sam's dad gripped the wheel until his knuckles turned white. “You know I don't like to talk bad about anyone, Sam, and you shouldn't either, but I swear that kid is a bad egg. He's a
rotten
egg. Rotten as the state of Denmark. I have to say it.”

“‘Something is rotten in the State of Denmark.'
Hamlet
.” Trevor grinned with pride at recognizing the Shakespeare quote.

“Ha! Yes. Well done.”

They rode for a few minutes in silence, and Trevor wondered what Sam's dad was thinking. He wanted to ask, but didn't know if it was something Sam would do or not, so he kept quiet.

“So, you're not going to ask about the surprise?” Sam's dad asked.

With everything else to think about, Trevor had forgotten all about it.

“Sure,” he said, “what's the surprise?”

Stu was the key.

That's what McKenna said, and Sam had to go with what she said. Without her, he was blind, deaf, and dumb. She said Stu knew everything and had seen everything.

“They said he was the one who lined up the detective agency that caught Brad Pitt with Angelina when he was still married to Jennifer Aniston,” McKenna said, “so you know he's got the connections. Get him to take care of the script first, then you spring it on him. All he has to do is give you a name. We can take care of the rest.”

So, they had lunch and played Nazi Zombies until Gabriel knocked on the dressing room door to announce that Stu had arrived and remind Sam about the radio interviews.

Sam could hear the loud agent outside the dressing room talking in a shout to the director, telling him how great he was. Even in just the few hours he'd been exposed to this life, Sam already knew that everyone said everything was “great.” Nothing was ever bad. No one was unhappy. You just didn't frown, not in public anyway.

“Boychik!” Stu barged in wearing a dark pinstripe suit with a tie so red it made Sam blink. “You're the greatest. The biggest star in my galaxy. I said to Tom Hanks just the other day, I said, ‘Tommy, you've been eclipsed. Trevor Goldman is outshining everyone.' You know what he said? He said, ‘You tell Trevor he messed in his diaper on the set of
Bombshell
.' You remember that flick?”

Sam just stared. He had never heard of it.

“Right, everyone tries to forget that one. Ha-ha! Look at you. You need to eat. I tell you that all the time and I sound like my bubby, I know, but I can't help myself. Eat. Eat. Eat.”

Stu seemed to catch his breath as he looked around the room. “Good. Skittles like you like, purple and red only. Xbox. The beautiful costar. Ahhh.”

Stu clucked his tongue, scolding Sam. Sam's face burned, and he looked away from McKenna.

“So,” Stu said, “let's talk business. This script…”

“I want you to read it.” Sam lifted it off the coffee table, handing it to Stu.

“Sounds like it inspired you.” Stu turned to McKenna. “And
you
, right? It inspired you? You want to play something in this?”

“I love old-school horror,” McKenna said.

“Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Friday the 13th
, that kind of stuff,” Sam said.

McKenna nodded. “The father in
Dark Cellar
has a girl my age. It is so good, and scary.”

Stu hefted the manuscript and flipped through the first couple pages. “Okay. Okay, I see where it's going. Not bad. Could use a punch-up, but obviously a solid writer. Never heard of this guy, though. Randall Palomaki?”

“So, we discover him,” Sam said.

Stu looked at him.

“
You
discover him,” Sam said.

Stu smiled. “That's my job. Okay, I'll read it. You had me at ‘hello' kid, you know that. Let me give you my read, then I'll talk to your dad.”

“My dad?” Sam said, deciding he had nothing to lose. “Come on, Stu. I'm not messing my diaper on the set with Tom Hanks. Give me a little more credit. You don't have go to my dad for everything, do you?”

“What, you want me to peddle this around without telling your dad?” Stu's smile turned into a chuckle.

“Why not?” Sam said.

Stu stared for a minute, then burst out laughing. “Right, why not? What? Do I look drunk to you? Not loop in your dad? You know who didn't loop in your dad? Myron Kettle.”

“Who's Myron Kettle?” Sam asked.

“Exactly,” Stu said. “Myron Kettle is no one. He
woulda
been a player in this town, but he didn't loop your dad into something your dad wanted to be looped into.”