in his hands.
âShe knows . Did you see how she looked at me? And that stuff about keeping a secret. I couldnât even speak. I had no idea what to say. This isnât working.â
âNo, you were great. Polite, but not gushing over her. I think Trevor would have scowled back at her a little more; maybe you could do that, but itâs all good.â
âScowl? I almost wet my pants.â
âStop fooling around. Now we call your agent and get a deal going for your fatherâs script.â
Since Trevor didnât know what Klum had done to the boy named Brian Leonard, he had no reply for Coleâs question. Coach Sharpâs whistle tweeted, saving him from having to answer. Instead, he hustled into action with the rest of the team, smiling all the while. First they loosened their arms, working their way to a long ball throw before doing a series of defensive drills that included scooping up grounders and firing the ball to first, snagging pop flies, and working situations around the infield. Trevorâs favorite was the double play drill. Since Samâs position was shortstop, Trevor got to both throw to second and cover the bag if the ball got fielded by the second baseman. The body positioning, steps, and techniques of catching the ball not just to catch it, but to make the fastest throw possible, got Trevorâs blood racing.
When Trevor was actually able to scoop a grounder, tag second himself, and then make the throw to first, he almost burst with pride, until Frankieâwhoâd caught his throw to firstâbegan to chuckle.
âWhat?â Trevor couldnât help from asking.
âYouâre goofing on me.â
Trevor hid his confusion with a smile and a nod, but the next time he threw to first, Frankie didnât laugh.
âCome on, Sam,â Frankie said. âStop with the wild throws. Put it in my mitt. Practice like you play.â
âWhere do you want it?â Trevor blurted out the question.
âRight here.â Frankie held out his glove, chest high. âNot here or here.â Frankie moved his glove down near his ankles, then up over his head, the two places Trevorâs throws had gone.
Trevor nodded like he knew all along, but, try as he might, he couldnât make the throw with the kind of accuracy Frankie was used to from Sam. Since Frankie said nothing more about it, though, Trevor relaxed and again began to enjoy the practice.
When they changed over to a pop fly drill and Coach Sharp called Trevor over for a private word, he couldnât help beaming at the coach. It was the first time heâd ever interacted with other players in this way and it felt so natural and goodâit was everything heâd always imagined.
âUh, Sam,â the coach said, putting an arm around Trevorâs shoulder, âyou okay?â
Trevor blinked up at the coach. âSure. What do you mean?â
The coach shrugged. âOkay. Everyone has an off day, right?â
Trevor felt his insides twist. He couldnât help from speaking. âWhat do you mean?â
The coach chuckled and mussed Trevorâs hat. âGo on, stop biffing me. You and I both know that wasnât the real Sam Palomaki I just saw.â
Trevor remembered Frankieâs complaint, and his insides went cold. If he was discovered, heâd never get to play in tomorrowâs game. He had to play in that game. He quickly and coldly calculated what had happened: As good as he thought he was, he was no Sam Palomaki. So, the right thing to do was go along with what Coach Sharp wanted to believe, that Sam was having an off day.
Trevor grinned and tried to sound as casual as he could. âItâs not the Sam Palomaki youâll see in the game tomorrow, Coach. Thatâs for sure.â
The coach grinned back. âGood. Get back out there.â
Trevor ran and caught and threw for all he was worth while at the