Pinch Hit (21 page)

Trevor smiled and decided his buddies would like that, so he returned to the table and told them. They all laughed and stole secret looks at Klum, who sat leaned back in his chair at the other table with two straws sticking out of his nose.

Someone shouted out the idea to go to the Schmellings to swim in their pool. Frankie and RJ's mom stood up and said it was a good idea and everyone cheered. The players went home for bathing suits, and they all spent the rest of the day swimming and splashing around, playing sharks and minnows as well as Marco Polo. By the time Trevor got back to the trailer, he was exhausted. Sam's dad took some frozen dinners out of the freezer and stuck them in the microwave. While he was waiting, Trevor felt Sam's phone buzz. He went into Sam's bedroom and checked the text. Sam wanted to talk to him, and he wanted to talk to Sam.

“I'm gonna get some air,” Trevor said to Sam's dad.

“Are you talking to that McKenna girl?” Sam's dad asked.

Trevor faked embarrassment by looking away. He shrugged without making a commitment either way and hustled out the front door. Once he was beyond earshot of the trailer, Trevor dialed up his own cell phone.

Sam answered.

Sam sat on the balcony overlooking the ocean. The sun melted into a pool of red, and the ocean hissed against the sand. In one hand he held a grape soda, in the other was a half-eaten Twinkie. Sam's dad wasn't much for junk food, and Twinkies he called chemical bombs. Sam loved them, and grape soda, too. So when Thomas, the butler, asked him if there was anything he'd like, Sam decided to go for it.

He needed a distraction while he waited for Trevor to call him, and even though there was a perfectly good Xbox in Trevor's bedroom and a couple of unread books, Sam found himself drawn to the ocean. Its clean breeze and sleepy sounds beneath a haze of late-day sunshine seemed to blunt the razor edge of his nerves. It was hard for Sam to believe that such a place was only miles from a big, dirty city like LA.

The phone rang. Trevor. Sam took a deep breath and answered it.

“How you doing?” Sam asked.

“We need to talk.”

“I know. I'm the one who texted you.” Sam lowered his voice and looked around beneath the balcony to make sure no one could hear. “You're not going to be happy.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Your dad found out about me looking for our mom, our biological mom. I didn't tell him, I swear. It was that Sara Grant. McKenna asked her for a private detective and said she could keep a secret. She went right to your dad to kiss up to him.”

“He knows about
us
?”

“No, no,” Sam said. “He still thinks I'm you.”

“Did my mother go bananas?” Trevor asked.

“She doesn't know, and your father doesn't want her to know.”

“What did he say? Is he mad?”

Sam stood up and paced the small balcony. “No. He said he understood. Trevor, your dad was adopted. He said he expected it. He wants to help, but we—you, me—have to keep it quiet.”

Trevor groaned.

“I think it'll all be fine,” Sam said. “Really. Trevor? You okay?”

Sam could hear Trevor breathing, but it was nearly a minute before he spoke. “You owe me for this, Sam. We agreed finding our mother was
not
part of the deal, so you owe me big.”

“Okay,” Sam said, “I know I owe you.”

“So
this
is what I want,” Trevor said. “I want to play two more games, your league game on Tuesday and the tournament semifinals on Saturday. I think McKenna's having a pool party on Sunday. We can make the switch there.”

“The semifinals?” Sam said. “They might need me for that.”

“I won the game today.”

“
You
won the game?”

“I hit a two-run single in the bottom of the sixth. We were one run down. Sam, you should have seen it.”

“How were you one run down against Palos Verdes?” Sam knew the team from the south wasn't that good. Everyone had been talking about how lucky they'd been just to get to the quarterfinals.

“I had to get my groove.”

“You choked?”

“I didn't choke; I had to find my rhythm.”

Sam nodded, thinking. “Listen, I mean it. I feel terrible about this thing with your dad.”

“Right, and this is how you can make it up to me, Sam. I want to
play
. I'm good. One more week, two more games. That should be enough time for the investigator to find your mom—our mom, I guess. Don't expect me to follow through with it if we switch back.”

“You said I could find her as long as you didn't know.”

“I said I'd get your dad's script a green light. That's what
I
said. This whole thing with finding our biological parents was your invention. No way is that part of the deal, and you know it. You're playing with fire.”

“Your dad said he expected it.” Sam heard the pleading in his own voice.

He looked down below. At the far corner of the house, Trevor's parents emerged and sat down on the terrace, each with a big glass of red wine. Trevor's dad wore the same friendly smile Sam had been so surprised at first to see. “I bet he'd be okay with all this.”

“What does that mean?” Trevor's voice dropped.

Sam shrugged to himself. “I bet if we came clean with your dad—told him the whole thing about how we're pinch-hitting for each other—that he'd be okay, that he'd help me find our mom, keep you out of it, let you play Saturday,
and
help my dad get his green light.”

Trevor stayed silent for a moment before he let out a short, tattered burst of laughter. “Are you crazy?”

“What? He's a great guy. Maybe you don't appreciate it because he's your dad, but trust me. You should have seen his face when he told me
he
was adopted. He's a sweet guy, your dad.”

“Trust me, no one has mistaken my dad for a sweet guy since he stopped wearing diapers, and even then I highly doubt it.”

“Trevor, I feel the same way about my dad.”

“
Your
dad is a teacher. He quotes Shakespeare and helps kids learn to read. Do
not
, I repeat,
do not
mistake my dad for anything close to that. I love him. He's generous with me and my mom, but that's about it. Don't even think about telling him what we're doing. I'm not so much worried about me, but you? Don't do it. Just don't.”

“Whatever,” Sam said.

“It's not ‘whatever.'”

“Okay, I heard you.”

“So, I can pinch-hit for you? One more week? Please?”

“You know what's at stake here, right?” Sam scowled so hard he thought Trevor might sense it over the phone.

“You mean that we have to win in the semifinals, right?”

“That's right,” Sam said. “You
have
to. I can't be the MVP if I'm not playing in the finals, and I have to get into that USC program.”

“The Blue Sox should win.”

“We
should
, but look what almost happened in the quarterfinals.”

“But I got my groove now, and the team? They all had a scare. No one's going to take the next game lightly. Trust me, Sam,” Trevor said, “I will not let you down on Saturday.”

“You should be fine. We beat Sherman Oaks before by five runs.” Sam spoke as if he were thinking out loud.

“Nothing gets past RJ, I'll tell you that,” Trevor said, “and as much as I can't stand him, Klum can pitch.”

“Cole Price, too.”

“Yes, and everyone can hit.”

“People say they haven't seen a team like the Blue Sox in ten years, but don't even ask to pinch-hit for me in the finals. That's where I have to shine. That's when the USC coaches will be there. That's everything to me.”

“I won't,” Trevor said.

Sam hesitated for a second, not certain he wanted to hear the answer to his next question. “So, you like being me?”

“Most of it. What about being me?”

“What's not to like?” Sam said.

“If I could play baseball, it'd be pretty perfect.”

“My dad says nothing's perfect,” Sam said.

“That's funny,” Trevor said. “Mine, too.”

“Hey, what happens when you go to the beach house? Do the servants bring your clothes and toothbrush and stuff?”

“Naw, it's all there, everything you need.”

“You have two of everything?”

“I guess.”

“Oh, okay. That makes sense.”

“Question for you,” Trevor said. “Is there any way I can get out of tagging along with your dad to his studio appointments next week?”

“Just … stay home. If you want. Tell him your nose is stuffed up.”

“Sounds good.”

“It gets pretty rank smelling during the day; that's why you'll want to mention your nose. I wouldn't stay there all day in the summer unless I couldn't smell.” Sam looked out over the ocean and shook his head at the difference in their lives.

“That's no big deal.”

“Really? You know, you might be able to talk him into leaving you at the batting cage, but make sure you bring a book. He'll never believe I'd sit there all day without a book.”

“You got it. Hey, I gotta go; your dad just gave me a shout. Dinner's ready.”

Sam said good-bye and hung up the phone. He watched Trevor's parents for a minute sitting on the terrace below him, listening to the surf. When Thomas, the butler, appeared between them and said something, Trevor's dad finished his wine and kissed Trevor's mom. He suddenly looked up and caught Sam staring.

Instead of a frown, Trevor's dad broke out into a glowing white grin and gave Sam a thumbs-up. Sam smiled and offered his own thumbs-up before Trevor's dad disappeared inside the house.

Sam knew in his heart that Trevor was wrong. No question Trevor's dad was an intimidating figure. He was like a lion. The power he possessed seemed to ooze from every inch of his body. But the ferociousness was for outsiders. Sam felt as safe as he did with his own father, safer, even. His gut told him that Trevor's dad, tough as he might be in business, was a reasonable man who'd understand what Sam and Trevor were doing, and why.

He just knew Trevor's dad would want to help, and he knew things would be a lot easier that way, too. After all, the deal was that Sam got to use his role to get a green light for his dad. Wouldn't coming clean with Trevor's dad be the very best way to make that happen? Rather than dancing around the edges of things with Stu and working through McKenna, Sam just knew how easy it would all be if Trevor's dad was involved. The man could literally snap his fingers and make it happen.

Sam went back into Trevor's bedroom and put on a pair of jeans since the night had begun to cool. He poked his head out into the hallway and listened. Voices came from the office Trevor's father had interviewed Moffit in earlier. Sam snuck down the stairs and stopped outside to listen. Trevor's dad was talking with someone who sounded like a smoker. The voice was low and rough, and he coughed after nearly every sentence. Sam looked around at the empty entryway, then moved closer to the door.

He scanned the area again before putting his ear to the crack.

“I don't care!” Trevor's father yelled.

Sam jumped, but put his ear right back to the crack.

“Gerry, come on. How long have you known Sherm? Didn't you two make your first film together?”

Trevor's dad remained silent.

“He named his oldest son after you,” the smoker said before coughing.

“Art, you listen to me and listen carefully.” Trevor's dad growled like a dog ready to bite. “What's the worst thing someone can do to you?”

“I don't know. Run off with your wife?”

“Deceive you. Trick you.
Lie
to you. Someone who does that is no good. This business is full of that kind of garbage. I've
never
tolerated it, and I won't tolerate it now.”

“Gerry, think about it. You cut him out and he loses everything, not just everything he's saved; he'll lose his house and probably his family when they find out.”

“He should have thought about that before he tried to make a fool of me,” Trevor's dad said.

“I don't even think he was trying to make a fool of you. He just wasn't thinking.”

“Well, maybe he'll think next time. If there is a next time, which there won't be with me. Now, leave.” Trevor's dad's final words ended in a snarl so low, Sam could barely hear it, but he knew what the words meant.

When the door opened, Sam fell forward and spilled into the room sprawled out on the floor.