Pinch Hit (10 page)

“Didn't mean to scare you, but I couldn't wait to see you.” McKenna checked outside, said hello to Gabriel, shut the door again, and clapped her hands. She talked in a whisper. Her face glowed.

“How
was
it?”

“Scary. No one told me about Wolf. What the heck is that?”

McKenna waved a hand in the air. “Wolf's a sweetie. He's just for show.”

“I swear, he knows I'm not Trevor.”

“Doesn't matter,” McKenna said. “The dog would jump off a cliff if Dolph told him to.”

“His mom's scary, too.” Sam told her everything that happened.

“She drinks at night,” McKenna said. “Too much. Did you like the house? Isn't it incredible?”

“It's big,” Sam said. “I can't believe he's got his own batting cage.”

“Did you see the bowling alley or the soda fountain? The pool changes colors at night with all these lights under the water. And how about the waterfall?”

Sam shook his head. “Just his room and the main parts of the house.”

“You know what we'll do?” McKenna's eyes went wide. “I'll go back with you today and show you everything. How about that?”

“That would be great.”

“This is so fun.” McKenna widened her eyes.

“Not really.”

“Oh, relax.” She held up a hand and flipped it down to scold him. “You've got to enjoy it.”

Sam showed her his script. “I can't do this.”

She laughed. “Sure you can. This is barely an acting job. Look at these lines. ‘Hurry, or they'll kill us,' how tough is that? I swear they have some real dummies writing this stuff. Go ahead, try it.”

“Hurry … or … they'll kill us.”

“Yeah, well, okay.” McKenna frowned. “I see what you mean. Put a little spark into it, right? Say it like you mean it. You've got to pretend something.”

“Pretend what?”

“Something. Like—I don't know—what'll happen if they find out you're not really Trevor. Pretend Trevor's mom finds out you're not him and she sics Wolf on you. Then say it. ‘Hurry, or they'll kill us!'”

“Is the birthmark off?” Sam gripped his neck.

“No, but you look pretty upset. That'll work.”

“She wouldn't do that with Wolf. They wouldn't
kill
us.”

“Not actually.”

“Even be too crazy mad, right?”

McKenna looked at the door and shrugged. “She'd be pretty mad, I'd think, but I doubt they'd charge your dad with kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping? What are you talking about?”

Trevor woke and had to think a minute to remember where he was. Instead of jasmine filling the air with its sweet-smelling flowers, the smell of garbage crept into his nose, wrinkling it. The only birds outside didn't twitter or sing. They were black crows, and they croaked and cawed and seemed to be laughing. At him?

He picked up one of Sam's trophies and felt its cool, smooth touch to convince himself that it was all really happening and remind himself that today he'd be living out a dream. He changed into a pair of red athletic shorts and a black T-shirt that had real holes in it. He tugged it on, happy with its softness and knowing that the holes were the perfect costume detail for the movie role of a poor kid about to launch himself into a pro baseball career. That reminded him to freshen up the makeup on his exposed skin to lighten its color a bit and play his part.

Finished, he slipped Sam's mitt onto his hand. The thrill that buzzed through him was no acting job. He really felt it, and the sensation stayed with him as he charged into the tiny kitchen, sitting down next to Sam's dad and staring at the cereal box in front of him.

He watched Sam's dad for only half a minute before realizing the box of cereal, carton of milk, and bottle of orange juice was it: breakfast. The bowl in front of him was made of wax-covered paper and the spoon, like the tabletop, was plastic. Trevor remembered a movie scene he'd done about a poor boy in the rural South who owned a dog who got him into all kinds of trouble. In one scene, the boy poured his own cereal and milk and started reading the sports scores at the table, so that's what Trevor did, to perfection.

When Trevor finished and looked up from his cereal bowl and the newspaper, Sam's dad was staring at him. “It's really incredible. I swear, I Googled Trevor Goldman on my computer this morning, and Sam, you're like his identical twin. I never really thought about it too much, I mean until you cut your hair, it wasn't as completely obvious as it is now, but if your skin was darker, I'm telling you....”

Sam's dad continued to stare until Trevor shifted in his seat. “Well, I got practice, so…”

“Sam.” Sam's dad reached over and put a hand on Trevor's arm. “I know we don't talk about it, but you know you were adopted. I can't help wondering if this Trevor Goldman might not
be
your twin.”

Trevor swallowed. “Do I have a twin? Is that something you knew about?”

Sam's dad shook his head and Trevor felt relieved. He would hate to think his own parents actually knew about a twin and never told him.

“But I think Diana Goldman might know.”

Trevor felt ill. “Why would you say that?”

Sam's father wrinkled up half his face. “I think that's what happened at the studio. I think someone who knew saw you and realized. I can't imagine what they'd do if they saw you now. That would be something.”

Sam's father broke into a grin.

“But we don't want to make any trouble, right?” Trevor chose his words carefully. “Because they could really make it hard for you to get your script green-lighted.”

Sam's dad pinched his own chin between thumb and pointer finger. “They could. No, we'll leave well enough alone, but it's another good reason for you not to let McKenna Steele try to get Trevor Goldman to help you with
Dark Cellar
. It could blow up in our faces, and I seriously doubt two kids could get it the right attention.”

Trevor kept quiet during the ride to practice. When they pulled into the parking lot of the school where Sam's team was already taking the field, his heart began to dance. Players dotted the grass with blue caps matching the one he had taken from Sam's dresser top. The car stopped. Trevor tugged on the cap and swung open the door.

“Hey!”

Trevor spun, wondering what could have upset Sam's dad so much.

“No hug?”

Trevor looked at him with doubt. He felt certain he must have hugged his own father, but he just couldn't say for sure and he certainly didn't
remember
doing it, if in fact he really did. Even his mother was pretty thin when it came to hugs unless someone was taking pictures.

“Don't tell me you think you're going to get away without a hug,” Sam's father said, getting out of the car. “Come here.”

Trevor knew about hugs from his work as an actor, and he gave Sam's dad one even though it felt very different than something from a movie scene. When Sam's dad kissed Trevor's cheek, he felt his face go warm. He turned away quickly.

“Okay, Dad, see you in a while.”

“Okay, Sam. I've got one of those English as a second language classes down at the center. I got fifty new kids today I'm going to try to get started on reading, but when I come back to get you, I'll have a surprise.”

Trevor nodded but kept going, hungry to practice and eager to get the first interaction with Sam's teammates over with so he knew what he'd be dealing with.

“Sam, thanks for coming!” Coach Sharp shouted. “Whoa! That's some haircut, Palomaki. Glad to finally see your face. Two ears? Didn't know you even had ears.”

The coach grinned at him, then went back to his discussion with the three assistant coaches.

Trevor knew who was who just from Sam's descriptions. Besides the coach, he recognized Cole Price by his dark hair and wire frame glasses, Frankie and RJ Schmelling—Frankie by the red hair, his brother because he was bigger than anyone except Dorian Klum. Trevor knew RJ wasn't Klum because Klum had blond hair like Trevor and RJ's hair was black.

Trevor jogged up to a group of players gathered around the bench.

“Hey, Sam,” Frankie said.

“Hey, Frankie.”

“Hey, Sam,” said a boy Trevor couldn't recognize from any of Sam's descriptions.

“Hey, what's going on.” Trevor covered his tracks with the universal reply.

A hand gripped the back of Trevor's arm from behind, pinching his skin in a horse bite. “What's going on is you thinking you can show up late 'cause you're coach's little pet, Palomaki.”

Trevor whipped his arm free and spun around.

Staring hard at him was Dorian Klum, and he was even bigger than Sam had described him. Snickering and standing right next to Klum was the pudgy boy Sam had described as Klum's only friend, Scotty Needum. Trevor's mind whirled. He knew he had to do something. He couldn't let Klum treat him that way without a response.

He'd acted out a fight in a movie called
David Copperfield
, but in the movie, he knew they weren't really going to hit each other, only pretend. The look in Klum's eyes told Trevor that now he had to prepare for the real thing.

Trevor balled up his fists and butterflies swirled in his stomach.

Sam stared at McKenna, urging her with his expression to explain.

“I'm just thinking worst case,” she said.

“That's insane.”

“I'm sure it won't happen.”

“It can't happen.” Sam shook his head. “That's not true.”

“It might look bad, is all. People get hysterical sometimes, but you're getting the idea. You've got the spark now. Try saying the lines.”

Sam stared at her, then he huffed and said them.

“Not bad.” She laughed. “You're a natural.”

Sam shook his head. “I told Trevor I wanted to call it quits last night, but he said all I have to do is make it to the weekend. He plays one game of baseball, and meantime I get my dad's script into the hands of his agent. You're going to help me with that, right? Tell me what to do?”

“That? That's easy.”

“How?”

“How? Just call Stu Lisson. He's your agent. Tell him to get over here 'cause you've got a script you want him to see. Tell him you're behind it. You want to see it made.”

“That's it?” Sam had been waiting for some kind of magic words. “‘I'm behind it'?”

“You're Trevor Goldman.”

“Right. I am. To him, right?”

“That's all it takes.”

“But we have to get the script.” Sam bit his lower lip.

“I'm taking care of that.” McKenna pointed at herself with a thumb. “We worked out the details last night.”

“What details?”

“I made some calls and found out the producer your dad met with, a guy named Paul Gertz.” McKenna shrugged. “I called Sara Grant, and she's going to grab it for us.”

“Who's Sara Grant?”

“My publicist.”

“Oh.”

“I know it sounds crazy, but I trust her.”

“Why is it crazy?”

“She's a publicist. People don't trust publicists, but Sara is great. She got me that
Teen Beat
cover shot and feature story.”

Sam wasn't sure, but he guessed that was one of the magazines girls his age sometimes read. He'd seen them in the grocery store. He'd seen McKenna's face on plenty of them but didn't know the magazines' exact names.

“Why don't they trust publicists?”

“Well, think about it,” McKenna said. “If Sara figured this all out and she leaked it? Think how much publicity that would generate. It'd be huge. A scandal. You'd be famous, and I'd be even more famous. Me being famous is her job, so…”

McKenna's phone buzzed and she checked the message.

“But you don't think she'd do that?”

“Well, she's here. She just texted me. I don't think so, but the best thing would be for her not to know, so try not to blow it.”

“Blow it?”

“Your cover. Act like Trevor.”

“How?”

There was a knock at the dressing room door.

“I don't know.” McKenna threw up her hands, reaching for the doorknob. “Just be nice, but not too nice. Trevor doesn't really like Sara.”

Sam opened his mouth to ask more questions, but before he could say another word, McKenna flung open the door and there stood the heavy woman with the black glasses, sharp nose, and bright red hair who had farted so loudly in the Central Casting stairwell.