Pinch Hit (19 page)

The ocean glinted with sunshine. Ragged lines of waves drifted toward a beach already dotted with umbrellas and chairs for the day in front of the homes stacked up on the dunes. They descended to one of the biggest places Sam could see, landing on the roof and getting off as the blades still whirled above them, entering a pavilion and elevator that seemed like a brother to the one in the Bel Air mansion. Sam couldn't believe it, but to Trevor's mom it was clearly no big deal.

Down they went into the house. Sam was distracted by the marble sculptures, modern paintings, and odd-shaped windows looking out over the glittering ocean. He tried not to gawk, but he knew his eyes were wide and he just couldn't keep his jaw from dropping. Before he knew it, they were walking out onto a half-round terrace facing the waves. The surf crashed. Sam smelled the sand and the ocean. Leaning out over the balcony was a man in swim trunks and a short-sleeve beach shirt. The breeze lifted his silver hair. His skin was tan and muscular.

Trevor's mom said, “Darling!”

The man turned around. He was smaller than Sam expected, and his face instead of scowling and serious—like he was in all the pictures Sam had seen—was smiling and relaxed.

“Diana.” He kissed Trevor's mom long enough to make Sam look down at his feet. “Trevor. Come here, Son.”

Sam looked up and crossed the terrace, shaking the Hollywood giant's outstretched hand.

Trevor struck out, three times. He committed two errors in the field—plays he
knew
he could make but choked on. Coach Sharp couldn't even look at him anymore. Sweat soaked Trevor's uniform, and a layer of dust caked his skin from a dive he took into the dirt to snag a grounder. His knee hurt, and the underside of his forearm was scraped and bleeding.

Trevor sat in the dugout and sighed. He couldn't wait to get back home, where things were nice and easy and no one dared to scowl at him. The whole thing was awful, and he asked himself what he'd been thinking. The Blue Sox were losing, too. With just one inning to go, they were down by a run. Their last batter of the inning struck out, and the Palos Verdes crowd cheered. Trevor reached under the bench for Sam's glove, got hold of it, and stood to take the field.

When he did, he bumped into Dorian Klum. Klum tensed up and bumped him back, knocking Trevor into the bench so that he sat down hard. Trevor clenched his fists.

“Yeah, come on, why not?” Klum spoke in a harsh whisper. “Let me bust you up. You're no good to any of us anyway; even Coach Sharp can see that. You must know how much you stink. USC? Ha, fat chance, but if you blow this for
me
? I swear, I'll bust your face.”

Klum kicked Trevor's foot and kept going.

It wasn't fear that kept him from pouncing on Klum. It was the painful realization that Klum was right, not about Sam, but about him. He did stink, and he was blowing it for Sam. Everyone expected the Blue Sox to destroy the Palos Verdes team. This was just the quarterfinals of the big tournament. Palos Verdes was the last seed of the entire tournament. Trevor knew from his teammates' talk that the two wins Palos Verdes got just to get to the quarterfinals were the result of some incredible luck. This time—if Palos Verdes won—it would be because of some very poor play by the Blue Sox, especially Trevor's.

And, if the Blue Sox did lose? Sam (and Klum) wouldn't get the chance to be the tournament's MVP, because they wouldn't even make it to the championship. Although he didn't know Sam well, Trevor felt pretty certain that if that happened, Sam might do something crazy. Who knew, he might tell the whole story to everyone, embarrassing Trevor's parents and putting Trevor's relationship with them under a permanent cloud. Even if Sam didn't do something foolish, Trevor knew the USC dream was the one thing Sam had, and Trevor didn't want to cost him that one thing.

He stood back up and jogged out onto the field, settling into his position between second and third base and throwing the ball around the horn to warm up with the rest of the infield. Klum stood on the mound, a big beast with a snarling face. The inning went quickly, and Sam didn't get any action at shortstop. Klum sent two down swinging, and a third popped out to center field. The Blue Sox jogged back to the dugout.

Coach Sharp called them together into a knot.

“I told you guys. I warned you, didn't I?” The coach made a point to look at Trevor. “But obviously, some of you didn't listen when I said this team was good enough to beat us and send us home. No championship, nobody on our team being MVP, and no USC Elite Training Center. Well, here we are. It's the last inning, and we're almost at the top of the order. We're one run down.
One
. You know and I know we can get that back, so let's do it. We've worked too hard and come too far to lose to this team. Come on, bring it in.”

The players grasped Coach Sharp's fist.

“Focus on three,” the coach growled. “One, two, three…”

“FOCUS!”

The last two batters in the order promptly struck out, leaving Frankie up at the top of the order with RJ on deck and Trevor on double deck.

Trevor hated to admit it, but if Frankie or RJ struck out and ended it, he wouldn't mind. His confidence was shot, and he didn't want the pressure of having to get a hit when the game was on the line. He shook his head in a fit of anger, asking himself how he could think like that.

Frankie stepped into the batter's box and swung at the first two pitches, missing both.

“Come
on
, Frankie. You can do it!” RJ's face turned red.

The pitcher wound up and threw. Frankie swung and connected. The ball took off down the third-base line. Frankie sprinted for first. The third baseman scooped up the ball and made the throw, beating Frankie to the bag.

“Safe!” The umpire chopped his hands sideways, and Trevor saw that the first baseman had taken his foot off the bag stretching to make the catch.

Everyone cheered and RJ marched to the plate, swinging his bat. Trevor stepped into the warm-up circle and put a weighted donut on his bat to make it feel lighter when he removed it if he got to the plate himself.

RJ let the first pitch go, a ball. He swung on the second and sent it foul. The Blue Sox cheered.

“You got it, RJ!” Trevor shouted, caught up in the excitement.

RJ swung at the next pitch and missed. Miraculously, he let the next three pitches go, all balls, and RJ walked to first, advancing Frankie to second.

“Sam! Sam! Sam!” the team cheered.

Coach Sharp stopped Trevor, resting hands on his shoulders. “Relax. That's the beauty of this game. Forget the fact that you've been out of sync. You can get it right back. We both know what you've done today isn't the real Sam Palomaki.”

Trevor gasped and searched the coach's eyes for something more accusing than a pep talk, but that's all it was.

“You're as good as the next pitch, Sam. Go get him.”

Trevor felt jittery as he stepped up to the plate. He let the first pitch go, a ball. He felt frozen, hoping the pitcher was tired and would do him the same favor he'd done RJ by walking him on base. That wasn't happening. Trevor let the next two balls pass, both strikes, without a thought of swinging. With a 1–2 count, he had to try. The game—and maybe Sam Palomaki's future—was on the line.

He shook his head and slapped his own face, jarring himself out of the daze the way he did when he needed to do a fresh take on a movie set. Feeling better, he blinked and looked up into the stands, where he saw Sam's dad urging him on. By the look on the father's face, Trevor knew it was more than just Sam's dream on the line.

He hunkered down and focused. The pitcher wound up and his arm whipped forward, firing the pitch. In the instant that it flew at him, Trevor saw the red dot and knew what it meant.

He clenched his jaw and reared back.

Then he swung.

Trevor's dad pulled Sam into a warm hug, and then he pulled Trevor's mom in as well so that the three of them stood there. Trevor's dad put his face against the stubble on Sam's head and laughed, hugging him tighter still before letting go.

“It's so good to see you both,” he said.

“Then you should stay more than a day,” Trevor's mom said, sulking a bit.

Trevor's dad chucked her lightly under the chin. “I'll make up for it. When this is over, we'll spend two weeks in Paris. I booked the presidential suite at the Ritz.”

This made Trevor's mom smile and kiss the father again. When she finally let go, he said, “Love, can I have Trevor for a few minutes before lunch?”

“Really? Why?”

Trevor's dad laughed in a lighthearted way. “One of those father and son things.”

“Ahhh.” She kissed the father again, then Sam on the head before turning back toward the house. “I want to take a swim in the ocean anyway. Ta-ta, boys.”

Sam watched her go, afraid to be alone with Trevor's dad, even though he seemed nice so far.

“Come on, Son.” Trevor's dad put an arm around Sam's shoulder. “Let's take a walk.”

On the elevator ride down to the beach, Trevor's dad asked about
Dragon's Empire
, how it was going, and whether or not Pierce Everette had had one of his famous temper tantrums yet. Sam gave one-word answers, too nervous about the need to take a walk on the beach to discuss something, and wondering if it was what brought Trevor's dad home. Sam hadn't planned to even see Trevor's dad. Trevor had assured him that the Hollywood mogul would be in Australia the entire time they were pinch-hitting for each other.

They walked away from the house and toward the rough coastline to the west where the beach ended. Salty spray rode the breeze, and above gulls shrieked and wheeled in the air. Trevor's dad kept glancing back, and Sam saw him nod when Trevor's mom jogged down the sand and into the water. They passed three more houses before Trevor's dad turned up toward the dunes. Sam followed him away from the ocean, between the houses, and out onto the sandy road. They doubled back to the Goldman mansion, entering the front door in the face of a silent butler. Sam was too afraid to ask what in the world they were doing.

Trevor's dad led him into the house and a wood-paneled library. Leather books packed shelves that stretched sixteen feet to the carved ceiling. The father sat down behind a desk in a thick leather chair.

“Have a seat, Son.” Trevor's dad pointed to a stuffed leather chair in front of the desk.

Sam sat and tucked his hands under his legs to keep them from flapping like the gulls he'd seen outside.

“We need to talk.”

Trevor's dad stared at Sam with moist eyes. Sam thought Trevor's dad might even cry. Sam had no idea what he was about to say.

“Okay,” Sam said.

Trevor's dad picked up the phone on his desk, waited a moment, then said, “Yes, show them in.”

The door behind Sam opened, and Sam couldn't believe what he saw.

Sara Grant burst into the room wearing a business suit with her chin held high. Beside her was a hulking man with a bald head and handlebar mustache Sam recognized from TV. Dale Moffit wore a black T-shirt and jeans, and his muscular arms crawled with tattoos. His pale blue eyes glittered at Sam.

Sam felt sick. Before Trevor's father said a word, he knew that Sara Grant had snitched on him. The private detective was her proof of his unauthorized search for his biological parents.

“You know these people, Trevor?” Trevor's dad asked.

Sam met Sara's eyes. She wore the smug look of a queen handing out punishment.

Sam nodded. “Yes.”

“I told you he wouldn't try to deny it,” Trevor's father said.

Sam glanced at the father and saw that he was speaking to Sara Grant. Sara's expression changed. Her mouth opened but no words came out.

Finally, her eyes flashed at Sam and she said, “Caught in the act, I guess.”

Trevor's dad cleared his throat. “Or just honest.”

“You know, Mr. Goldman,” Sara Grant said, sounding out of breath, “that whatever I can do to help you, I'm happy to do.”

“I appreciate that.”

“And I just knew this was something you'd want to be aware of.”

“Yes.” Trevor's father clasped his hands and placed them under his chin. “You're right about that. Trevor is too young to make these kinds of decisions, and, given his situation, I know there are a lot of people who'd do favors for him when maybe they shouldn't.

“Thank you also for bringing Mr. Moffit.”

Trevor's dad nodded at the man with the big mustache. Moffit's smile revealed a single gold tooth.

“Ms. Grant,” Trevor's dad said, “please call my office Monday. Ask for Vera and tell her I want you to have the Lightstar account.”

“The animation studio?” Sara Grant's eyes widened with greed. Sam knew by the size of her smile that the deal was going to put a ton of money in Sara's pockets.