Pinch Hit (16 page)

“Pretty bad, I guess,” he said.

“Good.” McKenna nodded and spoke in a low voice. “Because this could be risky, but there is someone else I know who's good at finding out things who I think would help us.”

Sam asked, “Who?”

Trevor swallowed down the acid bubbling up from his stomach. “Dad, I just wanted him to stop bullying me and the rest of the guys.”

“Stopping a bully by becoming one yourself? Fighting?” Sam's dad shook his head. “I taught you better than that. Does this have anything to do with that McKenna Steele and your haircut.”

“No.” Trevor shook his head violently.

“Because you haven't been yourself, that's for sure, and I have a pretty strong feeling that something's going on.”

“What could go on?” Trevor fought hard to keep the panic out of his voice.

Sam's dad stared at him through the fence. Finally, he said, “Okay, if you want to play it that way. Come on. Let's go meet the Klums.”

Trevor followed Sam's dad to the car. Fifteen minutes later they pulled into a small strip mall and stopped in front of the Jamba Juice. Trevor had had plenty of Jamba Juice over the years, but he'd never gone to a store for one. It was always a production assistant, or PA, who would take orders from people on the set, especially the stars and the director, and go out to buy the juice or coffee, or whatever anyone wanted. Trevor was curious, and almost excited to be doing something that any normal person could do. Whatever excitement he had went out the door when he saw Dorian Klum and his father sitting at the table just inside the window.

Part of Trevor wanted to march in there and give the Klums a piece of his mind. No one would mess with Trevor Goldman like that, and he didn't see why Sam had to put up with it either. But Trevor knew better than to ruin things for Sam, so he quickly put the script together in his mind and decided on the expressions of regret and humility that he'd have to paste across his face. Sam's dad held the door for him, but he let Sam's dad take the lead on approaching the table.

Sam's dad shook hands with both of the Klums. Trevor did the same, and they all sat down. Mr. Klum was a heavy mountain of a man with a shaved tan head and a small gold hoop in one ear. Without his striped blue-and-white golf shirt and khaki shorts, he would have been a perfect pirate, and Trevor suspected he knew where Dorian got not only his size, but also his meanness. Mr. Klum's voice, however, was a surprise. He spoke with a southern accent in a pitch nearly as high as a woman's, and he smiled politely as he said, “I'm Doug. Thanks for coming, Randall. Is it okay if I call you Randall?”

“Of course,” Sam's dad said.

“And Sam, I want to thank you, and I like your haircut, son.” The big man looked at Trevor with eyes that glinted like small blue marbles. “Now, I know both you boys have your eyes on that USC Elite Training Center, and I know they only take one, so it's understandable that you've set yourselves up as rivals, even though you're on the same team. So, I think both Randall and I realize that with kids like you and Dorian—both fierce competitors, both shooting for the same thing—there's gonna be friction between you. That's natural, and there isn't any sense in pretending otherwise.

“But still, what's happening now just isn't right.”

Dorian nodded smugly.

“And that's you, too, Dorian,” Mr. Klum said with a flash of that angry pirate Trevor knew he could become.

Dorian's face went blank.

“Because you hit him with a pitch,” Mr. Klum said.

“By accident!” Dorian burst like a shaken soda bottle.

“Okay.” Mr. Klum held up his hand and spoke calmly. “Let's say it was by accident. But Sam didn't
think
it was an accident, and so Sam wants to get you back.”

“Which
he
knows better than.” Sam's dad cast a scowl at Trevor.

“Well,” Mr. Klum said. “We think Dorian owes Sam an apology and an explanation, and then maybe Sam won't feel so strongly about it.”

“And Sam owes Dorian an apology along with the assurance that this fighting business is never going to happen again, no matter what happens on the practice field. Right, Sam?” Sam's father turned to him, waiting for a yes.

Trevor nodded and let his chin sag, looking at the table. “Yes.”

“Yes, and?” Sam's father said.

Trevor looked up at Dorian Klum with a mask of humility and took a deep breath to deliver his lines. “Dorian, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked about fighting you. We're teammates, and we need each other. It won't happen again, and I want to wish you good luck with USC Elite. Let's just play to win and whoever gets lucky gets to go. If it's you, then it's because you deserve it.”

A glimmer of delight danced across Dorian Klum's eyes. “And I'm sorry about hitting you with the pitch, Sam. I honestly had no intention of hitting you. I would never do that.”

Trevor was nearly bursting with the urge to shout out Brian Leonard's name, but he kept quiet and nodded instead.

“It's just that sometimes I get excited and throw wild pitches. I try not to, but… I don't know, sometimes it just happens.” Dorian looked at his father, who nodded with satisfaction.

Dorian scooped up his Jamba Juice smoothie and sucked down the last bit until it made slurping noises. Trevor looked at Sam's dad.

“Well,” Sam's dad said, “this sounds great. I'm really glad you called me, Doug.”

“I am, too.” Mr. Klum waved his head toward the counter. “Randall, I'm going to get us another round; why don't you get one for you and Sam? Dorian, another blackberry?”

Sam's dad hesitated, but Mr. Klum narrowed his eyes with a knowing expression and nodded his head to encourage Sam's dad to go along.

“Sure,” Sam's dad said. “Mango, Sam?”

Trevor nodded.

“I'll have banana, Dad,” Dorian said.

Mr. Klum whispered to Sam's dad as they walked away. Trevor thought he heard the words “Good for them to be alone.” He turned his attention back to Dorian, who continued to slurp his smoothie as his eyes followed the two fathers.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Dorian slapped his cup down and leaned across the table. His mouth curled into a snarl, and his eyes kept darting toward the counter to make sure he couldn't be heard. “Just so you know,
punk
,
I
didn't tell. If Scotty Needum wasn't an
idiot
, you and I would be on. That rock head talked about you wanting to fight on speakerphone. That's the first thing.”

Trevor swallowed back some nasty words of his own, but he let his hatred for Klum flood his eyes.

Klum clenched his jaw so hard it shook before he opened his mouth again. “Second thing is this: I so bad want to beat you into pulp.
So bad
. My knuckles are aching. And when this is over, that's exactly what I'm going to do and I want you to know it and think about how it's going to
feel
to have your teeth kicked into the back of your head.”

Dorian's eyes flickered back toward the counter.

“And one more thing, you goofy, shaved-headed freak, there is no way in the world you're going to beat me to USC Elite. I am so much better than you that it hurts. I'm gonna stomp you like a roach. I threw that pitch at your
face
, and the only thing I'm sorry about is that you spun around like a little ballerina and I missed. But don't think I won't try it again.”

Klum shook his head and dropped his voice into a crazy, hateful whisper. “Don't think that
at all
.”

Before McKenna could answer Sam, Gabriel knocked and came in, carrying a cell phone. “Ready for the radio interviews? You want me to attach a headset?”

Gabriel held up an earpiece connected to a thin microphone on a flexible wire.

“Sure.” Sam took the headset and put it on. Gabriel dialed a number. Sam sat on the couch and picked up the sheet of publicity notes.

“I'll be back,” McKenna said, ducking out.

Sam watched her go. Gabriel sat down next to him and crossed his legs.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Sam said.

“Like what?” Gabriel was smiling like a cat, and something told Sam that he
knew
.

Sam shrugged and, before he could find the words, a pleasant woman answered the phone.

“Hi, Trevor. I'm Laurie Warren. I'll be directing your satellite tour today and for the next few days. I'll keep things moving so they don't overlap into each other. You know how it goes; you give them three minutes and they want ten.”

Sam watched Gabriel walk out. He looked carefully at the list, and his mouth went dry. First up was a taped segment with Ryan Seacrest. The famous radio host asked Sam about the movie and Sam literally read from the studio's page of notes, stumbling and bumbling.

Seacrest laughed. “You're kidding me, right, Trevor? Did you have some dental work done this morning and the gas hasn't worn off?”

Sam didn't know what to do. “Sorry, Mr. Seacrest. I'm not feeling too great. Sorry.”

“Oh.” Seacrest's voice softened a bit. “I guess even a star has an off day, right, Trevor?”

Sam forced a small laugh.

“But we know
Bright Lights
is going to be a big hit, so we'll all get out and see it, buddy. Good luck with
Dragon's Empire
and we'll talk to you again soon.”

Before Sam could catch his breath, Laurie Warren jumped back on the line and said, “Liane Hansen from NPR's
Weekend Edition
.”

Sam did better with the NPR host, and better with the next interview after that. By the time he'd finished, Sam felt like he was a pro. He wondered what Gabriel was up to, but as he went to open the dressing room door, it opened and McKenna spilled inside.

“Oh good,” she said, “you're done. I got her. She's in and she's got the right person! Sam, this is so great. We're going to find your mother!”

“Wait.” Sam lowered his voice and ushered McKenna to the couch. “You didn't even tell me who she is.”

“Sara, of course.”

“Sara Grant? Your publicist?”

“She knows a lot of people, and she knew just who to call. Remember
California Private Eyes
?”

“The TV show?”

“Yeah,” McKenna said. “Remember the guy with the handlebar mustache?”

“The bald guy?”

“Yeah, Dale Moffit. Well, the show got canceled, but he's the real deal. He just went back to his old job. Sara knew him because she represented him. He even spied on her husband when they got divorced.”

“Great.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“That's what private investigators do.” McKenna pouted at him. “You think there's a world of rich kids looking for their biological moms? Everybody gets divorced, so that's where the market is. It's all the same, finding people and following them. Stop being so ungrateful, will you?”

“Sorry.” Sam sat down and offered her the bowl of Skittles. “I'm jumpy is all. I blew the interview with Ryan Seacrest and told him I was feeling sick, and Gabriel keeps looking at me funny. I swear, I think he knows.”

McKenna took a Skittle and popped it in her mouth, chewing while she talked. “Gabriel? He's paid not to know. Even if he knew, he'd keep quiet because think about how bad it makes him look. Your dad—Trevor's dad, I mean—would go ballistic if he knew Trevor bailed on the set and is running around playing baseball, and Gabriel would get the brunt of it.”

“But Gabriel didn't do anything. Me and Trevor did … and you.”

McKenna smiled. “But that's not how this town works. If you're a star, you're above it. If you're not, you take the fall. It's like the whipping boys they used to have for the princes back in medieval times. You know what a whipping boy is?”

Sam shook his head.

“If the prince did something wrong, no one could punish him. He was the prince. Still, someone had to be punished, so they'd have a whipping boy. Some poor schlep who got whipped whenever the prince did something wrong.”

“That's the stupidest thing ever,” Sam said.

“Maybe that's why it was called the Dark Ages.” McKenna took another Skittle. “Anyway, Dale Moffit is already on it.”

“How do we pay him?” Sam asked.

“Pay him? You're Trevor Goldman. You know how many people want to do favors for you? He doesn't want money. He's thrilled to do it.”

Sam shook his head in disbelief. “You're like a genie in a bottle. I want my dad's script made,
poof
, you got Stu working on it. I want to find my mom,
poof
, you got a private investigator in full swing.”

McKenna stared at him, then reached out and touched his shoulder. “It's not magic, Sam. Trevor Goldman is a star with a movie star mom and a dad who's one of the top five most powerful people in Hollywood. He gets what he wants, when he wants it.”