Pinch Hit (27 page)

The next Blue Sox batter went down swinging. Dorian Klum and the rest of the defense would have to keep Sherman Oaks from scoring another run. Dorian put the first two batters down, pitching like a demon. The third batter stepped into the box, and Sam's stomach was in knots. If Klum struck him out, too, it would be hard for the USC coaches not to make him MVP.

With all his might, Sam wished for the batter to hit the ball—not just any hit, but a hit Sam could field.

On a 1–1 count, Sam's wish came true.

A low, fast grounder zipped past Klum's ankles on its way up the middle of the infield.

Now all Sam had to do was make the play.

Sam didn't even think; he reacted. He dove for the ball, stretching with all his might. He just snagged the grounder.

As he slid over the dirt, Sam snatched the ball from his own glove, twisted, and threw to first. The ball smacked into Frankie's glove just as the batter crossed the base.

“You're out!” the umpire shouted, jerking his thumb up in the air.

It was an amazing play and a fantastic victory.

Sam knew he had a chance to win the MVP, but Dorian had pitched so well that it really was only a chance. Dorian's fastball was as good as any twelve-year-old's Sam had ever heard of, and Dorian's hitting—something Sam counted on to be average only—had been outstanding on this day.

While Sam celebrated with his team, slapping backs and trading hugs, he felt like he was back in the studio, acting. All he could really think about was getting the MVP and a spot in the USC Elite Training Center. Dorian appeared to be thinking about it, too. The big pitcher had removed a comb from his bat bag and ran it through his hair, maybe so he'd look good in the picture-taking that would come with winning the award.

The USC coaches—all three of them, including Coach Cruz—gathered together around home plate, talking in low voices to one another in an obvious debate. Sam could tell the other two disagreed about who should be the MVP. They both finally looked at Coach Cruz and shrugged, apparently leaving the decision up to him.

Sam and his team shook hands with the Sherman Oaks players before lining up down the first-base line near home plate. They stood at attention as Coach Cruz emerged from the group of coaches with the three-foot-high MVP trophy. Only Frankie Schmelling stood between Sam and Dorian Klum.

Coach Cruz walked their way and offered Sam a small smile. But something was wrong with the smile. Sam knew what when Coach Cruz stopped walking.

The smile for Sam had been the smile you give someone you feel bad for.

The coach looked away from Sam, stopped directly in front of Dorian Klum, and cleared his throat to speak.

Like everyone else, Sam knew he wasn't going to get the MVP.

Dorian grinned so hard it looked like his face was a balloon ready to burst. Unable to contain the incredible glee of his victory over Sam, he leaned behind Frankie, made a fist, and whispered, “You suck so bad, Palomaki. I told you I'd be MVP!”

The pure hatred and rudeness shocked Sam, even though he knew Klum well. What shocked him even more was when Frankie bent down to tie his shoe and Klum's fist stuck up in the air for everyone to see, including the USC coaches.

Coach Cruz's expression changed from joy to disgust as he stared at Klum's fist until the pitcher realized what had happened, went red-faced, and tucked his arm away behind his own back.

With a firm nod of his head, Coach Cruz held up the trophy for the crowd to see and spoke in a voice they all could hear. “Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in congratulating the Blue Sox MVP and winner of one of the prestigious spots in our USC Elite Training Center. We all know there are no guarantees, but we also know that many, even most, of our Training Center graduates go on to become not only part of the USC baseball program but then to play in the pros. For most young players, it's a dream come true. The center is a place not only for the most skilled players but for players with
character
, who embody everything good about the game. So, I'm very happy to give this award today…”

Dorian stepped forward, reaching for the trophy.

That's when Coach Cruz sidestepped the big pitcher, keeping the trophy well away from him.

“… to Sam Palomaki.”

“Impressive.” Sam's father stretched his neck and angled his nose up to take in the full height of the gates as they passed through.

Dolph glanced in the rearview mirror and offered Sam a smile.

The limo pulled into the circle and came to stop at the bottom of the front steps. Dolph hurried around the car and opened the door. Sam slipped out and they climbed the steps. Thomas, the butler, stood waiting at the top, unable to hold back a grin.

“Master… Sam,” he said, his eyes flickering at Sam's dad.

Sam's dad held out his hand. Thomas hesitated, then shook it.

“Thanks for taking care of my son,” Sam's dad said.

“Please,” Thomas said, regaining his composure and opening the front doors. “Everyone is waiting.”

They followed the butler through the house. Sam's dad didn't bother to hide his amazement at the towering entryway, the sculptures, paintings, and elegant furniture. Sam was surprised when Thomas led them all the way through the house only to find the pool area abandoned. When Trevor said a party out back, Sam assumed it would be a few people around the pool with some fancy food.

Thomas saw his confusion and pointed at the steps leading down through the gardens and into the trees. Sam and his dad followed, all the way through the leafy canopy and out onto the lush and spacious lawn.

“Wow,” Sam said, staring.

In front of them, in the middle of the lawn, a tent—no, a pavilion—rose up to a point that nearly outreached the trees. At its peak, a red pennant waved in the breeze. Music from a string quartet and the buzz of voices floated across the grass. They walked along a red carpet and entered the tent between two thick columns supporting a flowered arch above the opening.

The carpet ran through the tent's center, and at the far end a long table sat raised up above the rest. Sitting at the center place was Trevor's dad. On one side sat Trevor's mom, busy texting. Trevor and McKenna were next to her. On the other side of Trevor's dad were two empty chairs. When Trevor's dad saw Sam and his father, the Hollywood power broker rose up from his spot and held his hands out to ask for everyone's attention.

A crowd of people stood by their chairs around circular tables bursting with flowers and glittering with silver, crystal, and china place settings. A handful at a time, they followed the sight line of Trevor's dad and grew quiet with curiosity, staring at Sam and his dad. Finally, the entire crowd was staring at them, some pointing and whispering quietly to their neighbors.

Sam felt very alone until his father put a hand on his shoulder, and Sam saw from his expression that his father didn't know quite what to do, either. Sam saw Trevor smile at him and offer up a big wink. McKenna grinned as well and pointed to the two empty chairs at the end of the raised table.

Thomas took Sam's dad by the arm, breaking their frozen pose, and led them through the whispering crowd to the table in front, where he mounted the steps and pulled out the chairs at their places.

Before they could sit down, Trevor's father raised his glass and spoke so that everyone could hear. “As you all know, we're here to begin a project that will keep many of us very busy for the next twelve months. And, while I'm sure the project we all know as
Dark Cellar
will be a blockbuster, this is a pretty extravagant party for a movie that has yet to earn a dime.”

Everyone laughed politely. Trevor's dad smiled until silence fell again. Sam caught many of the people stealing looks at him and then Trevor, comparing the two.

“But this is a special project. I knew that from the moment I read the script. There's a passion in this story that's off the charts. Then I met the writer and his son, and I knew it was meant to be. That's why this party is something more than the kickoff to a major Hollywood project.”

Trevor's dad looked around at the entire crowd, smiling warmly.

“It's a homecoming, of sorts. No, the boy at my right isn't the result of the latest three-D special effects. He's very real, and yes, he looks exactly like our son, Trevor.

“Please allow me to introduce you, and the world, to our son's brother, Sam. Sam is the son of Randall and Mary Palomaki.... They are biological brothers, identical twins, two boys separated at birth, but back together now.

“And I want you all to know that they—and
we
—are
not
friends....”

Sam swallowed.

Trevor's dad raised his glass even higher. His eye twinkled at Sam.

It was Trevor's mom now who put a hand on her husband's arm so that she could finish his sentence. She smiled warmly at Sam.

In a voice everyone could hear, she said, “That's right; we're family.”

TIM GREEN
played Little League baseball for many years before specializing in football. After graduating as covaledictorian from Syracuse University, he was a first-round NFL draft pick and played as a star defensive end for the Atlanta Falcons for eight years. He earned his law degree with honors and has worked as an NFL analyst for FOX Sports and an NFL commentator for NPR.

When his sons began to play baseball, Tim drew on his early love of the game to coach their teams. His exciting books for young readers include the
New York Times
bestselling
BASEBALL GREAT
,
RIVALS
, and
BEST OF THE BEST
. He has also written the novels
FOOTBALL GENIUS
,
FOOTBALL CHAMP
, and
THE BIG TIME
, starring Troy White, and
FOOTBALL HERO
, starring Ty Lewis. Troy and Ty meet in Tim's exciting new Football Genius novel,
DEEP ZONE
.

Tim lives with his wife, Illyssa, and their five children in upstate New York. You can visit him online at www.timgreenbooks.com.

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Cover art © 2012 by Cliff Nielsen

Cover design by Cara E. Petrus

Pinch Hit

Copyright © 2012 by Tim Green

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

ISBN 978-0-06-201246-3

EPub Edition © FEBRUARY 2012 ISBN 9780062102003

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First Edition