Pinch Hit by Tim Green Page B

shower. Put it in your pocket, and don’t forget.”
    â€œI won’t.” Trevor stuffed the two round, flat containers in his pocket.
    â€œOkay, Sam,” McKenna said, “your turn.”
    Trevor got up and watched McKenna transform Sam with some long-lasting tanning spray. When his skin tone was dark enough, she moved to his neck. She took out a purple Sharpie marker and removed the cap before dabbing at the base of Sam’s skull to re-create Trevor’s birthmark just below the hairline in back. She worked slowly and carefully, then stepped back.
    â€œYou did it,” Trevor said.
    McKenna looked back and forth at them. “Yeah. I did. It’ll last a few days at a time, and I can keep touching it up at the studio.”
    â€œIt’s scary.” Sam peered hard into the mirror.
    Suddenly the phone on the dressing table blinked and beeped and a voice came over the intercom. “McKenna? Your friend’s father is here.”
    Trevor looked at his watch—just after eight. “He’s early.”
    â€œThat’s my dad.” Sam stood up.
    The three of them walked downstairs. When the maid saw them, her eyes went wide and she put a hand to her open mouth before walking away shaking her head and muttering to herself in some foreign language.
    â€œWill she tell?” Sam asked.
    McKenna watched her go and giggled. “Not a peep, neither will the cook. That’s why my parents love them. They won’t say anything about anything. My parents don’t know that it works for me, too.”
    Trevor shook Sam’s hand. “Good luck.”
    â€œAre you sure?” Sam’s face was heavy with worry. “I mean, this all seems so crazy.”
    â€œThink of all the good things.” Trevor didn’t want to turn back now. Not only was he hungry to play in a real baseball game with a bunch of really talented kids, he loved the thrill of the ruse, and the challenge. And, he couldn’t think of anything bad that could come from it, even if they got caught. “Think of Dark Cellar and your own swimming pool.”
    Sam nodded, and McKenna patted him on the back.
    â€œRemember, text me if you have questions, and I’ll do the same.” Trevor took out his phone, handing it to Sam before holding out his hand for the trade.
    â€œWhat do I do when I get a text?” Sam asked.
    â€œDon’t worry. Sometimes I answer people, sometimes I don’t,” Trevor said. “No one will know but McKenna. If it looks like an emergency from someone else, just forward it to me. Okay, McKenna. Here I go.”
    Trevor let himself out of the front door, jogged down the steps, and let himself into the passenger seat.
    â€œSo, how was—” Sam’s dad stopped talking. His mouth fell open, his eyes widened, and he leaned toward Trevor. He blinked, then his face turned dark.
    â€œIs this supposed to be a joke? Where is Sam?”
    Trevor took a deep breath.

18
TREVOR
    Trevor ran a hand over his buzzed scalp, even though the novelty had worn off for him months ago when he’d first cut it. “Dad, it’s me. I cut my hair.”
    Sam’s dad sat, stunned, then narrowed his eyes. “Cut your hair? Why?”
    Trevor shrugged and put on an embarrassed face. “McKenna said it’s the style. That’s how Trevor Goldman wears his.”
    â€œYou’re not Trevor Goldman.”
    â€œYou don’t like it?”
    Sam’s father’s face softened a bit. He spoke softly. “Sam, I love you for you. You don’t need style. You don’t need to look like a movie star. It’s scary how much you do, though. Look like Trevor Goldman, I mean.”
    â€œWe had filet mignon grilled on the barbecue,” Trevor said, remembering Sam’s face when he first saw their dinner and knowing that if it had impressed Sam, it would impress his dad and throw him off.
    â€œReally? What else happened?”
    Trevor