Pinch Hit (23 page)

Sam yawned and staggered to the bathroom. He took as cold a shower as he could stand and threw on some shorts along with a Kobe Bryant Lakers jersey, signed, of course. Gabriel looked tired, too, and when Sam flopped down in the back of the limo, Gabriel barely squeaked out a “Good morning.” Only Dolph and Wolf, sitting up front, looked alert. Sam offered nothing more than a nod of his head as a greeting to Gabriel, annoyed that the dream had faded so quickly and afraid that his time with McKenna was dissolving like a bread crust in acid—a science experiment he remembered from school.

Before he knew it, they pulled into the studio lot, a ghost town on Saturday without cars or people. The hulking airplane hangar buildings lay like giants sleeping in rows. Sam left Gabriel behind, practically dashing for his dressing room. McKenna sat waiting. Her eyes were red.

Sam sat next to her on the couch and took her hand. “Were you crying?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Yes. It's been fun, that's all. Tomorrow everything changes. I didn't want to have this stupid pool party to begin with.”

“There's no reason we can't still hang out,” Sam said.

She nodded ferociously, as if someone had told her otherwise. “Today's a big day, right? Stu and Moffit both reporting in. No thanks to Sara Grant, though. I still can't believe she ratted you out.”

“We've been through this a hundred times,” Sam said. “It all worked out fine.”

Sam hesitated. “You still haven't answered me, though. We can hang out after tomorrow, right?”

“Don't mind me, Sam. I just don't trust the grown-ups. They have all these rules about who can do what, when, and with who.”

“My dad's pretty lax on rules.”

“Mine isn't.” McKenna hopped up from the couch. “But that doesn't matter. We've got today, right?”

“You sound like you were talking to Trevor.” Sam stared at her, but she would only look away and nod. “Is he right? He said you and I can't be friends after this, but why not? I can visit. You can even come to my games.”

“Maybe we can,” she said, but her words were lighter than smoke and they floated away without real meaning. McKenna pointed to Sam's neck. “Come on, let me touch up that birthmark a bit before makeup gets here. It's fading a little, and we'll start soon. I saw Pierce Everette with his coffee, and once he's got his coffee, things move fast.”

Sam bit his lip, and things did move fast. They shot three scenes with Sam making quick changes and muffing his lines enough that it seemed they were already behind schedule by ten in the morning. When they finally took a break for the crew, Sam returned to his dressing room. As he changed, he fished Trevor's phone out of his jeans only to find the red light blinking.

McKenna came in before he could check the messages. “Sam, Stu just got here. He's talking to Pierce, but he'll be right in. Is something wrong?”

“I don't know.” Sam felt light-headed at the mention of Stu because he knew the news would be big either way. He examined the phone. “I've got thirteen missed calls, all from Trevor.”

McKenna's smile went out. “Then something
is
wrong.”

A knock at the dressing room door startled them both. McKenna flung it open. Sam expected Stu, but the face that appeared belonged to someone else.

Trevor woke with the birds and used fresh makeup to cover his birthmark and lighten his skin color a bit. In the mirror, he looked for signs of worry in his face. This was not only the last game he'd get to play, it was the one that could make or break Sam's dreams. He wished he could play next week in the Tuesday night game and the tournament finals as well, but he knew Sam would never go for that. The finals were where Sam had to make his mark, get that MVP and a spot with USC. Even today's game was important, and while he talked a good game with Sam about the semifinals being a cakewalk, Trevor knew he had to perform well.

Finished, he shuffled out of the trailer in the early dawn light, shivered, and blew into his hands. The garbage smell had been tamped down by the cool air. His feet scuffed along the gravel road. He had to walk, had to move to keep from going crazy with nerves. Most of it was excitement, but he had to admit there was a healthy amount of fear mixed in, too. As well as he'd done in practice and his first league game last Tuesday, he still sensed that he wasn't quite up to Sam's level.

By the time Trevor got back, Sam's dad was awake. Eggs sizzled and spit in the pan.

“Everything okay?” Sam's dad asked over his shoulder.

“Antsy, that's all.” Trevor sat down.

They ate in silence off paper plates. Trevor asked if they could head out early to spend some time at the batting cage.

“You're not overdoing it, are you?”

Trevor hesitated. “I've been a little off is all. Maybe it will help.”

“You're a little off. Not too bad. That happens. Even the Major Leaguers get into slumps. You'll climb out of it.”

Trevor's heart sank when he heard Sam's dad say the word “slump.”

“Hey, come on. You will.”

Trevor bit the side of his cheek and looked away. Sam's dad cleaned up. Trevor helped, then got Sam's bat bag from the bedroom. They rode to the cages in silence, the Ferrari sputtering to a halt in the parking lot.

Trevor worked hard, swinging and connecting like a machine. He and Sam's dad arrived at the ballpark early with the rest of the team for a light batting practice. They had only just begun when Coach Sharp blew his whistle and called them all in to the dugout. Beside him stood a man Trevor didn't recognize.

“Guys, this is Coach Blasi. He's the batting coach at USC.”

Trevor felt his jaw go slack.

“Guys, I know you thought we'd be making our Elite Training Center selections at the championship next week, but Coach Cruz got invited to an Olympic Committee meeting in China next week, so we're going to make our choices today.” Coach Blasi was young, with a brush cut and pale green eyes. He spoke softly. “We'll choose one player from the winning team in your game and do the same thing for the other semifinal game tomorrow. We're sorry if this throws you off at all, but we did want you to know that today is the day.”

For a minute Trevor could only just sit there, even as the rest of the Blue Sox poured back out onto the field. Dread sat heavy in the pit of his stomach. He had to get Sam. As much as he wanted to play, he knew it was unlikely he'd play well enough to win the MVP, and now that that decision was being made today instead of next week in the finals, Trevor
knew
that somehow, some way, he had to switch back with Sam.

“Sam!” Coach Sharp shouted from the infield.

“Coming, Coach!” With trembling fingers, Trevor unzipped Sam's bat bag and removed the phone. He quickly dialed his own number, holding Sam's phone at his side so it couldn't be seen, urging Sam to pick up. If he did, Trevor would fake sickness and run off the field to the bathroom. But Sam didn't answer, so Trevor took his place in line for a ball toss drill to hit lobbed-up balls into the backstop for timing.

As he stood, Trevor pocket-dialed Sam, listening to the faint ringing for an answer but getting none. Frankie got in line behind Trevor and nudged him before signaling with a shake of his head that Trevor better stop with the phone.

“Are you crazy?” Frankie rolled his eyes toward Coach Sharp.

But Trevor kept dialing.

He had to.

The person at the dressing room door was Moffit. He stepped inside the door wearing an expression on his face that Sam couldn't read. Suddenly he found it hard to breathe. “Just tell me who my mom is. Where is she? Do you have a phone number?”

Moffit only stared at Sam and shook his head.

“What do you mean no?” Sam's voice rose to a hysterical pitch. Everything was crazy. “You said you had news to tell me.”

Finally, Moffit said, “I'm sorry, Trevor. I hate to tell you this.”

Moffit closed the door behind him. Sam's head was already spinning at the thought of Stu's news and the fact that it looked like something was wrong with Trevor. The idea that he was about to find out something bad about his mother made his stomach drop like a bowling ball.

“Maybe sit down,” Moffit said.

Sam sat, and McKenna plunked down beside him and grabbed his knee.

Moffit angled his head at McKenna. “I think maybe we should talk alone.”

“McKenna can listen,” Sam said.

Moffit nodded, then coughed and cleared his throat. He swallowed so that his stony Adam's apple bobbed up and down. “I can't find her, Trevor. No one can.”

“What's that mean?” Sam asked.

“Just what I said. She can't be found.”

Sam twisted up his face, shaking his head in disbelief at Moffit's arrogance. “Because you can't find her, no one can?”

Moffit looked at McKenna with sadness in his eyes before turning them back onto Sam. “No. She's gone, Trevor. She's dead.”

Sam barely heard the hiss as McKenna drew a breath through her teeth.

“How?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“Having you. In the hospital.” Moffit opened his mouth, hesitated, then spoke. “There's something more.”

“My father?” Sam asked.

Moffit shook his head. “No, there's no record of your father, and your mother didn't tell anyone, but you have a brother, Trevor, a twin.”

Sam held up his hand. “Did you tell … my father this?”

Moffit shook his head. “Your father told me to give the information to you and you alone. He said it was your decision on what to do with it.”

“And you won't tell anyone else?”

Moffit shook his head. “Not if you don't want me to. Your father was very specific. He said the information belonged to you alone. I have a reputation. Without that, I'd have to choose another profession.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Sam stood and walked Moffit to the door. When the detective was gone, Sam just stood and stared.

McKenna got up and put an arm around his shoulder, giving him a sideways hug. “I'm sorry,” she said.

Sam staggered back to the couch and dropped down onto it. “She's gone.”

McKenna followed him and took his hand, squeezing it tight. “I'm so sorry, Sam.”

Sam pinched his eyes shut and tears streamed down his face. He sniffed and shook his head. “It's okay. It's my own fault. I should have left it alone.”

McKenna patted his shoulder.

“The boy without a mother,” Sam said.

“You have a great father,” McKenna said. “And you have me.”

Sam opened his eyes. “For what? Another day?”

She smiled. “You'll have me after that, Sam. We're friends. We'll always be friends.”

“You're a movie star.”

“Well, you're going to be a baseball star.”

Sam took a deep and ragged breath. “Yeah, as long as Trevor wins that game.”

McKenna pointed to the phone Sam still held in his hand. “I know this is a lot for you, but if something's wrong, maybe you should call him.”

When the phone vibrated, Coach Sharp was in the middle of his pep talk.

Trevor jumped up from the bench and sprinted out of the dugout.

“Bathroom,” he said as he darted past the coach. “Sorry, Coach.”

As soon as he rounded the corner, Trevor answered the phone and told Sam to hang on. He ran straight to the bathroom and locked himself inside a stall.

Whispering, he said, “Sam, you've got to get here.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“The game! Today is the day! USC is here! Now. They're naming MVPs from the
semifinals
, not the finals this year.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I am. Coach Cruz has to go to China or something. You think I want this? You've got to hurry. You've got to get here.”

“How?” Sam practically shouted. “How do I do that? How can we switch? I can't just walk out of here.”

“You have to.”

“I know I have to, but tell me how.”

The bathroom door squeaked open, and Trevor knew he wasn't alone. He covered the phone and his mouth. “McKenna. Tell McKenna.”

Shoes scuffed to a halt just outside the stall, and there was a sharp rap of knuckles against the door.

“Sam?” Coach Sharp growled. “Sam. Open up.”

Sam forgot about Stu and his news about
Dark Cellar
, and even about Moffit and his mother. All he could think about was getting to the ballpark, and it made his head spin.