Pinch Hit (8 page)

“Well, he must have done it.” McKenna grinned.

“So far,” Sam said, rubbing bristles on the top of his head.

“It won't get any tougher than the shock of seeing you with that haircut.”

“You don't know my dad,” Sam said.

“You don't know Trevor. He said he's not bad as an actor, but that's not true. He's not just ‘not bad,' he's excellent. He'll
be
you. I've seen him do it. It's pretty amazing.”

McKenna led Sam back through the house and outside to the pool, where they sat down in the lounge chairs. Even though the summer sun had dropped behind the trees, lowering the temperature, it was still quite light out.

Sam chuckled, feeling a bit uncomfortable. “He can't just
be
me.”

McKenna's face was serious. “He can. Really. Did you see him listening to you when you told him about your life? Did you watch his eyes, studying you like that, not only what you said but how you said it? It's like he can open his brain and suck in who you are.”

“You like him a lot.”

McKenna studied him, then put a finger under her chin and tilted her head. “Not like you think.”

“What do I think?”

“Like a boyfriend. Not like that. He's great, though. Nice. Smart.”

Sam let his head hang, and he ran a finger along the lines of his other palm. “If he can be me, you think I can be him?”

“I don't think you should.” McKenna gently poked his shoulder. “I think you should be you.”

Sam felt his face catch fire. When he looked at her, she didn't blink but only smiled, and it seemed to him like a dream. He couldn't speak.

“Come on.” McKenna got up and walked over to a hot tub sunken into the garden at the other end of the pool.

“Can I?” Sam looked at his newly tanned arms.

“It's waterproof,” she said. “The Sharpie, too. Both should last three or four days easy.”

McKenna turned the bubbles on and slipped in with her T-shirt still on, then tilted her head back, looking up at the sky. “I like the clouds, and the way the sky is so many different colors of blue and then sometimes yellow and pink, purple, even green. Do you ever look at the sky?”

“Most of the time where I live it's pretty brown.” Sam slipped into the tub and tilted his head back too, surprised at how pretty it really was, the high horse-tail wisps of white cloud turning yellow, and the blue like a robin's egg.

After a couple minutes, Sam asked, “When do I go home? To Trevor's house, I mean?”

McKenna rolled her head over to look at him. “Bet you can't wait to see it.”

“I guess. I'm more worried about his mom than I am excited about seeing the house. I don't know if I'm going to be having too much fun.”

“Oh no.” McKenna sat up. “You've got to have fun. That's what this whole thing is. It's about fun. It's a story. I said that. It's a real story. Sam's mom won't notice. She'll be on her phone, that you can bet on.”

“Her phone?”

“The woman is either texting or talking twenty-four seven. Except when she sleeps. I've seen her texting in the bathroom. Yeah, don't shake your head.”

“I'm sure she looks at him.”

“Maybe a glance here and there,” McKenna said. “I don't think she listens much, even if she looks. You'll be fine.”

“That sounds lonely,” Sam said.

“It's just his mom. She's a workaholic.”

“He said he doesn't even go to school.”

“Trevor has people around him all the time. Everyone loves him. Everyone wants him. It's fun.”

Sam shifted in his seat, the bathing suit suddenly feeling wound up and tight from the bubbles. He tugged the legs back down to his knees. “I think I'm getting waterlogged.”

“Let's get out. We can play Xbox until she gets here.”

“Sounds good.”

Sam dried off and changed into Trevor's clothes in the pool house. When he came out, McKenna had on a robe. She led him inside to a small TV room with a leather couch and bookshelves on either side of the TV. McKenna opened a wood panel beneath the screen and took out two controllers.

“Most girls don't play Xbox,” Sam said, feeling silly at the sound of his own words.

“I'm not most girls, right?” McKenna winked at him.

Sam's face burned again.

“Nazi Zombies?”

“Halo?”

“How about something in between?” She laughed and sat down, and they logged into a game of Left4Dead2. They fought side by side, reviving each other, sharing health packs, and laughing out loud.

Sam was surprised when his phone buzzed and the text was from Trevor's mom.

I'm here:)

Sam looked at McKenna. “She's here.”

McKenna put down her controller and stood up. “You okay?”

“No. I'm not a great actor. I'm not even an actor. I'm a baseball player.”

McKenna led Sam to the front door. “I think you should pretend you don't feel well. That's even if she notices you.”

“Is she really that bad?”

“She's not bad. She's a movie star. You'll like her. I do. But she's got a lot going on.”

Sam looked at the doorknob. He reached for it, but his hand trembled. There was a mirror on the wall beside a grandfather clock. Sam peered into it.

“You're sure this can work?”

“I'm not sure of anything.” McKenna's eyes seemed to sparkle. “That's what makes it fun. Don't worry. Nothing
bad
can happen.”

Sam nodded, and McKenna swung the door open for him. She kissed Sam on the cheek, and he seemed to float down the steps and across the walkway to the big rumbling blue car. He opened the car door and smelled leather. He slid into the seat, clutching Trevor's phone.

Trevor's mom put her own phone down and looked over at him. “Oh, angel, look at you. Don't you feel well?”

Too afraid to talk, Sam clutched his stomach and shook his head.

“Like you're going to throw up?”

Sam nodded.

“Well, roll the window down if you do. Maybe roll it down anyway, just in case. The air might help make you better.”

Trevor's mom circled the driveway and headed out into the street. Sam glanced at her once, stunned by how pretty she was, even though he already knew what she looked like from the movies. McKenna was right about her, though, because she was already at work texting on her phone and paying no attention to him at all. Sam breathed a little easier, and by the time they pulled through the gates of the Bel Air mansion, he felt like the whole thing really might play out okay.

Trevor's mom stopped at the front entrance, where wide marble stairs rose up toward columns that reminded Sam of a Greek temple. The house seemed to go on forever in both directions, disappearing behind towering trees before he could see its end. Trevor's mom left the car's engine running as they got out. She was busy talking on her phone and Sam wondered if she had simply forgotten to turn it off, but when he glanced back over his shoulder from the top of the steps, he saw a man in a dark suit appear from nowhere, get into the car, and drive off.

Another man in a suit stood just inside the entrance wearing a calm look on his face. Softly he asked, “Is there anything you'll be needing, madam?”

Trevor's mom waved the butler away without stopping her phone conversation and began to climb the wide spiral stairs, evidently forgetting all about her son being sick. The towering white statue of some naked guy in the entryway took Sam's breath away. The statue's stern eye seemed fixed on Sam.

“And you, Master Trevor?” The butler was completely unruffled by the mother's treatment. He spoke with an English accent, as if hot food filled his mouth.

“Oh. Me? What?”

The butler gave Sam a funny look, then cleared his throat. “Is there anything you need?”

Sam didn't know what to say. Trevor hadn't mentioned a butler. Sam wondered what his name was and how Trevor would normally treat the man. “No, no. I'm fine.”

“Not a chocolate shake?”

Sam started to say yes, then remembered he was supposed to be sick. He clutched his stomach and shook his head. “Not feeling too well.”

“I see.”

Sam felt the butler's eyes on him as he climbed the stairs. Sam knew from Trevor to go to the top of the stairs, then take a left and go all the way to the end, take another left, and his bedroom was the first door on the right.

“Left, left, right.” Sam whispered to himself as he looked around, trying to keep his feet moving instead of stopping to stare at the rich surroundings of dark, shiny wood, polished marble, glimmering crystal, heavy curtains, and thick rugs. One painting made him freeze, though. It was Trevor's mom and dad. The painting filled the landing wall on a second stairway. It stood at least twelve feet high. Trevor's father wore a dark suit with a bloodred tie. His silver hair seemed to flow back from his face as if he'd been looking into the mouth of a coming storm. His dark eyes scowled under a thick brow and seemed to be fully charged with death rays.

Sam swallowed and kept going. He finally arrived, and knew it was Trevor's room because the ceiling looked like outer space. He stepped slowly across the threshold, marveling at the huge flat-screen TV, the giant Mac computer screen at the desk, and the movie posters with Trevor's face on them.

Sam fished through the drawers and poked around the closet, amazed at the sports jerseys signed by people like Sammy Sosa, Peyton Manning, Shaquille O'Neal, and Drew Brees. Apparently Trevor
wore
the jerseys instead of framing them for the wall. Sam looked around, feeling almost guilty, then saw there were actually
two
signed by Nolan Ryan, so he pulled one over his head. He took a deep breath and spotted a baseball mitt on a shelf by the window. Sam put it on. It fit perfectly, but it needed more breaking in. While his own glove responded to the slightest flex of his fingers, this one moved a bit stiffly. He flexed his hand, thinking about the batting cage and wondering if he could try it out.

He couldn't remember if Trevor said he used it at night. He didn't recall Trevor saying he had a bedtime, either. Sam's father made him go to bed at ten every night. If Sam wanted to read until eleven he could, but once eleven came around, it was lights out. Sam pushed open two glass doors and stepped out onto a terrace. Little white flowers hung from the green vines that crept up the side of the house. Sam moved his face closer to the flowers and inhaled a scent so sweet it nearly lifted him off his feet. He looked out through the trees and across the lawn and saw the golf course Trevor spoke about, lit by spotlights in the bushes, glowing green even in the night. Beyond the course and the treetops, Sam could see the huddled shapes of the hills and the twinkling lights of the other nearby mansions tucked into their flanks like gems. He suddenly felt very alone and frightened.

He had no business being here and he knew it. Sam took off the Nolan Ryan jersey and laid it on the bed. He tugged Trevor's phone from his pocket and sent a text to his own phone.

i cant do this. we got 2 switch bk

Sam paced the room, waiting for Trevor's reply.

Finally, the phone buzzed.

Trevor lay in bed with the light on, pretending to read Sam's book,
The Count of Monte Cristo
. He was too excited to really read. He loved it—his tiny room at the end of a short hall, the cramped bathroom. Trevor smelled only the hint of garbage beneath Sam's father's apple pipe smoke. It was all so real, so rough. It made Trevor's existence seem as fake as a movie set.

And Sam's dad? The man was a hoot, a character you just couldn't make up, with his snippets of Shakespeare, the click of his keyboard, and that delicious smoke snaking its way up from the doorway of his little office to crawl along the ceiling. Trevor looked at the baseball trophies glimmering down at him from the top of Sam's dresser. A bat bag stood in the corner, worn and dirty from heavy use. Trevor could just imagine the games and the tournaments, the crack of bats, the shouts of teammates, and the dusty tramp of feet over bases. He felt a shiver of joy before Sam's phone buzzed.

Trevor read the message and scowled, then his face relaxed. He typed furiously, explaining to McKenna what he needed. When the phone buzzed again, he smiled at McKenna's reply. She would get her publicist to help. Trevor wasn't crazy about the woman, but she did seem devoted to McKenna.

Trevor texted McKenna back that it was a good plan and asked her to send him a text, pretending he was Sam and saying that she wanted to help get his father's script green-lighted. She replied in less than a minute. Trevor forwarded McKenna's newest text to Sam, adding:

lk what McK sent me 2 shw ur dad

we'll get his script 2 b a movie!