Pinch Hit (13 page)

Sam had never wanted to know who his biological parents were. He'd never wondered about them. If he thought about them at all, it was like they were nameless, faceless, cutout card-board figures. He knew who his parents were. His father was one of the best human beings on the planet, a man Sam loved with every fiber. His mom was a shadow he never knew, but even she had form and substance in Sam's mind, a ghost whose voice he could almost hear, pictures on the walls or in photo albums of Sam as a baby. Pictures that sometimes came to life.

But this, this idea was something new. It was a link between not only him and Trevor as twins, but then the two of them tethered back to two living, breathing human beings like matching balloons on a string. Eyes, hair, noses, moods, and yes, even talents that came directly from two people who were not only
real
, but
out there
. Somewhere, two people who created Sam and Trevor were walking around at that very moment. What were they doing? Who were they, and where?

Most of all, what would it be like to have a mother, a loving woman who cared about you no matter what you did or who you were, someone to hug you when you were beyond sad, or beyond happy? Sam had always felt an ache in his heart over his missing mother. It was another thing that he and his father shared. The ache he had now was something new—similar, but also different. He ached for the mother he had lost, but more than that, he now ached for the mother he'd never found.

That brought him to an idea that was as confusing as it was frightening: what if Sam—especially Sam in the role of Trevor Goldman, with uncounted money and power and fame—could actually reach out into the world … and
find
her?

Sam scooped up Trevor's phone off the dressing table to text Trevor and tell him what he planned to do. Before he did anything, though, he saw that a text from Trevor was already waiting for him.

Trevor took his turn in the field without the phone. One of the rules Sam had been very clear about was texting during practice.

“Coach Sharp will eat your liver if he catches you texting out on the field,” Sam had said. “I'm serious. I've never seen him kick anyone off the team for good—even though he'll toss people out of practice for goofing around—but if he caught you texting, that'd be it. I'm sure.”

Trevor tried to stay focused on playing defense but was probably lucky that nothing came his way. Finally, it was his third turn at bat. He jogged to the dugout, checked to see that the coach wasn't looking, and snuck a peek at Sam's phone. His spirits lifted when he saw he had a message from Sam, and he quickly opened the text.

curvbll is ez key is 2 c it. just look

4 red dot n keep ur wght n bat bk

till it breaks. fyi im going 2 find our

bio mom n dad

“Sam!”

Trevor heard the coach's shout but was so puzzled and horrified by the text that he forgot he was supposed to be Sam.

“Sam! Don't even tell me you're texting during practice!”

Trevor slipped the phone back into the bag and bolted up out of the dugout with his bat. “No, Coach, just looking for a stick of gum.”

“Well, get up here, will you? I swear....”

Trevor walked toward the plate, his brain overheating from the part of the message about a biological mom and dad. Finding his biological parents was something Trevor never even considered before, let alone actually setting out to find them. Questions bombarded his brain. Could Sam actually find them? How? Where were they?
Who
were they? His mind went foggy, like it all had to be a dream, and Trevor realized that Coach Sharp was losing patience with him. He pushed the entire crazy idea from his mind.

Now it was time to be baffled by Sam's message about a red dot. The part about keeping his weight and bat back until the break, Trevor got that. It made sense. He wanted to swing at the ball when it crossed the plate and swing accurately. If the ball was going to drop and veer a bit to the outside of the plate, he needed to stay back, watch it, and swing fast. Trevor knew from his coach that he had a quick bat—at least, the coach always said so. So, he should be
able
to stay back.

It was the red dot that he didn't understand. Trevor had heard about batters who could read the spin of the ball and therefore recognize the type of pitch, but he'd never really worked on it since all his batting was done with the yellow rubber balls of the pitching machine. Trevor could hit them well and with a fast swing, but making the adjustment obviously wasn't going to be easy, and the first thing he had to do was
see
the pitch.

He took a couple practice swings, then a deep breath before he stepped into the box. Graham couldn't help but smile. He wound up and let the ball fly. In the white blur of the ball, Trevor saw it. He actually saw it! The faint illusion of a red dot created by the fast downward spin of the curveball. Trevor stayed back, waiting, swung, and missed.

The ball clapped into the catcher's mitt. Trevor looked back at Coach Sharp, who stood behind the plate with his arms crossed and a stern look on his face. Trevor grinned at him. “I saw it!”

The coach's face went slack. “Saw what?”

Trevor instantly realized that Sam, who could obviously hit a curveball with ease, wouldn't be excited about seeing the red dot. He wouldn't think twice about it.

“Just the pitch, Coach. My eyes have been bugging me. When I got my hair buzzed, the girl who did it bumped my eye,” Trevor said, pointing to his left eye, “and it's a bit blurry, but I saw it this time. I'll be okay.”

“She hit your eye?” The coach moved toward Trevor, looking with real concern. “Let me see.”

The coach tilted Trevor's head back and examined his eye. “It looks okay.”

“It's feeling better. I'm okay.”

The coach got back behind the plate. This time, Trevor grinned right back at Graham. The ball came. Trevor saw the dot. He stayed back with his weight and his bat, waiting for the pitch to fall and drift.

When it did, he swung.

Sam put the phone down, worried that things might not be going so well for Trevor. If he was asking how to hit a curveball, Sam could only imagine the struggles he was having during practice.

“I bet Klum is loving it.” Sam spoke aloud in the empty dressing room.

A knock on the door disturbed him.

“Come in.”

Gabriel peeked around the edge of the door before walking in and handing Sam a sheet of paper with a schedule on it. “Your next scene isn't until after lunch. You've got a half hour of radio interviews from twelve-thirty until one.”

“Interviews about what?” Sam asked.

Gabriel paused a beat, then said, “For
Bright Lights
, remember?”

Sam couldn't help looking confused at the list of radio stations and times in three- and five-minute segments.

“The studio publicist set up five half-hour blocks for release week. It's in your contract. Your father said it was okay, so…”

“Man,” Sam said, realizing there were way too many things he didn't know, but figuring
Bright Lights
must be a movie Trevor was in that was coming out this week. “We shot that a while ago. I barely remember it.”

“No, but you could probably tell me Matt Kemp's batting average, couldn't you?” Gabriel folded his arms across his chest before he pulled another sheet out of his shoulder bag. “Don't worry, I've got the press release right here and bullet points the studio asked you to stick to as much as you can.”

Sam took the sheet and read the summary of the movie, a story about a young boy kidnapped by his own father, who escapes, gets lost, and ultimately is found after a series of adventures in New York City. The studio wanted him to use buzzwords like “heart wrenching” and “inspirational.” Sam shrugged, thinking the whole thing couldn't be too tough. “Oh yeah. I got it.”

“What about lunch?” Gabriel asked.

“Okay.”

Gabriel looked at him for a moment. “What would you like?”

Sam shrugged. He felt his face warming. “I don't know … uh … mac and cheese?”

Gabriel smiled. “Seriously? From sushi and sirloin tips to mac and cheese?”

“I don't know. Sushi is good, too. Stop looking at me like that. Jeez. Who cares? It's lunch. PBJ. Hot dogs. Sushi. Whatever they have is fine.” Sam wasn't acting because he truthfully didn't like Gabriel's squinty eyes glistening at him like a cat's.

Gabriel puckered his lips. “Whatever
you
want is what they'll have.
I'm
not the finicky eater. You are. You're the star, remember?”

“Well, I'm feeling easygoing today,” Sam said. “And I've got a headache.”

“Aspirin?” Gabriel reached into his shoulder bag and shook a couple out of a bottle.

“Thanks.” Sam spoke quietly as he took them.

“And sushi for lunch.”

“Fine.”

“And radio satellite tour at twelve-thirty.”

“Got it.”

“Good, I'll be outside if you need me. I'll be back with lunch at noon. Meantime, I'll let you get some rest.” Gabriel looked at the big overstuffed couch facing a huge plasma screen connected to an Xbox.

“Thanks.”

Sam watched him go before flopping down on the couch to think.

It wasn't long before McKenna knocked. She let herself in before he could even answer and clapped the whole way across the room.

“You were fantastic! I couldn't believe it. I heard Pierce Everette gush about how great you are. How did you like it?”

“Honestly?” Sam said, sitting up. “It was awesome.”

“See? I told you.”

McKenna hugged him and Sam closed his eyes, breathing in the strawberry scent of her hair before she separated from him.

With wide eyes, she said, “Now let's call Stu. Let's get this script made into a movie. Can you imagine if we pulled that off? Are you ready? How fun is this?”

“Sure, we can call him now. How'd your scene go?”

“Oh, who cares. Fine, I guess. Blah blah blah. Stu's on your speed dial.” McKenna nodded at the phone on the coffee table beside the Xbox controllers. “Number seven. Lucky.”

Sam put a finger on the speed dial and recited his lines. “Hey, Stu, I've got this script you've got to see. You've got to help me get it made. I know you can do it. I want to help McKenna. She wants to play the girl. What do you think?”

“Perfect,” McKenna said, “only don't ask him what he thinks. You don't care what he thinks. You tell him you want him to come over to the set. You want to give it to him
personally
—that's a big deal in Hollywood—and you want him to read it tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“You're right.
Today
.”

“I thought he's a big agent. I can just tell him ‘today'?”

“You're Trevor Goldman. Of course you can. And say it like you mean it.”

Sam nodded and pressed the speed dial. Stu Lisson's assistant answered the phone. “Hello, Stu Lisson's office.”

“Hi, it's… Trevor. Goldman. I need to talk to Stu.”

“Hang on, Trevor.”

Sam got put on hold. He gave McKenna a thumbs-up. It was less than a minute before the assistant got back on. “He'll be right with you.”

Ten seconds later, Stu got on. “Trevooor. How's my franchise?”

“Hey, Stu. Great.”

“You got a cold? You sound funny.”

Sam cleared his throat. “A little. I'm okay.”

“Attaboy. I heard
Bright Lights
knocked it out of the park with the focus groups. How's
Dragon's Empire
? You happy? You got what you need? Dressing room with Xbox? Plenty of Skittles?”

“I'm great, Stu.” Sam was blown away by his agent's enthusiastic kindness and felt funny making demands. “Um, I've got this script I really want you to look at. I
need
you to look at. Today. If you can.”

McKenna shook her head violently and stabbed her finger at the floor.

“I want you to come here. Can you do it right now?”

Silence greeted Sam from the other end of the phone.

“I want to help McKenna.” Sam spoke under his breath. “She loves it, too, and she wants to play the girl. It's called
Dark Cellar
.”

“Oh, McKenna? You sly dog. I love it! Tell you what, I've got a lunch with those sharks from Universal so I'll swing by on my way out there. Good? By the way, what's
Dark Cellar
? A prison movie?”

“It's a horror flick. Old-school.”

“Ah, the things we do for love. The things we do for love. I heard about your birthday present. Your father told me you loved it. How many kids get to knock it around with the big boys like that, huh? Wow. I can tell you, I remember when the Dodgers were in Brooklyn. Now
that
was baseball. Okay, I'll see you around twelve. I got Michael Eisner calling me. You good?”