“With the chance to get into USC’s Elite Training Center.”

  Trevor nodded vigorously. “All right. So, I’ve got something that’s going to sound crazy, but I want you to think about it. I want you to think about how great it would be for you and for me.”

  Sam squinted at Trevor. The fancy house and pool and the maid and pool house, along with the eager look on McKenna’s face, made him feel like a fly in a spider’s web.

  “What would?” Sam asked.

  “I want us, you and me … to trade places.”

  15

  TREVOR

  “For how long?” Sam asked.

  Trevor was surprised at Sam’s question, but maybe he shouldn’t have been. If they really were twins—and Trevor had no doubt now that they were—then it made sense that they’d think alike, too.

  “I don’t know how long. A couple weeks? Not forever.” Trevor laughed at that idea.

  Sam nodded, thinking. “Why?”

  “You can live the life of a movie star.” Trevor opened his hands and held them out to Sam as if to give it all to him right then and there. “You want to go to the beach and have a campfire? You fly in a helicopter to Malibu. You want to have a party? We’ve got a video arcade, a soda fountain, a home theater, a bunk room, pool, guesthouse, bowling alley, dance floor, three-hole golf course, almost anything you can think of.”

  “No,” Sam said, cutting him off. “I’m not asking why for me. I’m asking why for you?”

  Trevor laughed. “Baseball. I want to play.”

  “Why can’t you play?”

  Trevor felt his face scrunch up. “Why can’t I? I know. It’s crazy, but my mom says no. My career is the reason. My career and my parents’ lifestyle. When I’m not in a movie, we’re off living in Paris or Tahiti or someplace nuts on location with my dad, or with my mom. Travel team baseball doesn’t have a place in my world. Man, I don’t even go to school.”

  Trevor almost said “It stinks,” but he kept his wits about him and held his tongue. He wanted this trade, so he didn’t want Sam thinking his life was anything but a fun-filled adventure on Easy Street.

  “How are you gonna play for me?” Sam asked. “I play all the time. I’m good. I’m real good. My team’s gotta make it into the finals for me to get to USC.”

  “I can carry your weight. I don’t play, but I bet I practice as much as you, if not more. Every chance I get. I’ve got my own batting cage. I’ve got a coach who comes three times a week. You know who Tom Royal is? He used to play for the Dodgers. He says I’ve got what it takes. My dad laughs and says he’s trying to sell me more private lessons, but I know I’m good. I could do it. I just need the chance.”

  Sam went quiet. He looked down at his bare feet. “I live by a landfill.”

  “I don’t care,” Trevor said, the excitement building in him. “Listen to this, this is why, no matter what else, I know you’ll want to do it.”

  Trevor allowed a dramatic pause, the way he would if he was delivering a big line in a movie.

  “You can get your dad’s script into the right people’s hands.”

  “The right people?”

  “Producers, agents, directors, studio executives,” Trevor said. “When you’re me, you’re going to have access to everyone, and if you say you want them to do it, if you say you want to act in it? Then you can get your father’s movie to get optioned and then all the way to a green light.”

  16

  SAM

  Sam’s eyes lost focus for a moment. Trevor flashed a grin at McKenna.

  She clapped her hands. “This is like something in a movie, only it’s real.”

  “Won’t people know?” Sam asked.

  “Not if we cut your hair. McKenna’s got some tanning spray and a way to give you a birthmark like mine. No one will ever know, and if either of us has questions or problems? We’ll just text each other.”

  “How is she going to give me a birthmark?”

  “A Sharpie.”

  Sam wrinkled his nose. “Like, a Magic Marker?”

  “Just trust me. We tested it. Look.”

  Trevor turned his neck so Sam could see the dots right next to his birthmark made by a Sharpie marker.

  “What about my hair?” Sam asked. “People are going to ask why I all of a sudden look like you.”

  “I bet they won’t,” McKenna said.

  Sam gave her a puzzled look.

  “Listen, think about any picture you’ve ever seen of Trevor, any movie he’s been in,” McKenna said.

  “Why?” Sam asked.

  “His hair. He’s never had his hair short like this before. The only people who’ve seen him are the people on the set and his closest friends and family. Your dad, the guys on your baseball team, anyone you know won’t think your hair looks like Trevor’s, and Dragon’s Empire won’t be in theaters for over a year.”

  “She’s right.” Trevor ran a hand over his scalp. “People are going to notice you cut your hair, but they’re not going to say, “Oh, that looks like Trevor Goldman.’ None of them have seen me like this in the movies.”

  “What about your mom?” Sam asked.

  Trevor shrugged. “I love my mom, but she doesn’t pay that close attention. I usually don’t see her outside of breakfast, and she’s usually got a headache. My dad might pick up on it, but he’s in Australia for the next three weeks.”

  “My dad will know,” Sam said. “He’ll ask about the hair. He’ll know you’re not me. I’m with him all the time.”

  “Let me ask you something,” Trevor said. “What kind of a guy is your dad?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nice guy? Mean? Easygoing? A hard nose? What’s he like?”

  “He’s nice,” Sam said. “Kind of easygoing. He’s smart.”

  “Give me a shot at him,” Trevor said. “I’m an actor, and I’m not bad, right, McKenna?”

  McKenna nodded.

  “Let me see if I can’t convince him that I’m you and that you asked McKenna to buzz your hair because it’s in style. I can lighten my skin with some makeup and cover the birthmark. I’ll give it a shot. And if it doesn’t work? That’s when I tell him about the script. You think he’ll play along if we get his script into the hands of the top producers and agents in Hollywood?”

  Sam looked around at the beautiful pool, the gardens, the clean-cut hedges, all of it painted in golden sunlight. He knew it was how his dad wanted to live, his dream, what he worked so hard for every day. Sam stared at Trevor for a moment, then nodded his head. “Yes. I do.”

  “Okay, McKenna,” Trevor said, “get the clippers.”

  17

  TREVOR

  Sam’s eyes shifted nervously as Trevor buzzed up one side of his head and down the other. He sat on a bar stool they’d brought out onto the garden path. His long blond hair fell away in sheets.

  McKenna, who now wore an oversized T-shirt over her suit, held some up and giggled. “Aw, I liked the long hair.”

  Trevor thought Sam looked like he might throw up. When Trevor was done, Sam ran his hand over the stubble and winced.

  “It’ll be worth it,” Trevor said. “The chance of a lifetime.”

  McKenna clapped.

  Trevor and Sam traded clothes, then the three of them ate dinner. A woman McKenna said was the cook served them out on the terrace above the pool—filet mignon grilled with vegetables. She gave Trevor and Sam funny looks, but said nothing. Trevor insisted they swap as many stories about each other’s lives as they could, from the boring everyday routines to the more fabulous events, like when Trevor met the Dalai Lama or when Sam’s father won a baseball mitt signed by Sandy Koufax at a Hollywood charity fundraiser that he’d emptied his savings account to attend.

  “Let me ask you something,” Trevor said. “What bothers you about your dad?”

  Sam shrugged. “Nothing, really.”

  “I don’t mean anything bad. Is there something you nag him about? Something he does that you can’t stand?”

  “I guess I’m always trying to get him to eat,” Sam said. “He’s pretty skinny and his mind is working all the time, and I think sometimes he just forgets to eat.”

  “Good,” Trevor said. “Where?”

  “Where to eat? I don’t know. Anywhere.”

  “Where do you like to go?” Trevor asked.

  “In and Out Burger, all the way.”

  “Chocolate shake? Well-done fries?”

  “How’d you know?” Sam asked.

  “A hunch.”

  While Sam wanted to know about the routine of a star on the set, Trevor couldn’t get enough about baseball and Sam’s team, the Blue Sox.

  That’s how Trevor found out about Dorian Klum.

  “He’s a big lug is what he is,” Sam said through his food. “But he’s a good player. Don’t pay any attention to him. He likes to give me grief, me and everyone else, especially when you make a mistake.”

  “The coaches don’t stop him?” Trevor asked, already thinking of the business he’d like to give to Klum.

  “He’s pretty sneaky about it.” Sam stabbed the last piece of his steak, stuffed it into his mouth, and chewed.

  “And, you said the USC Elite thing is between you and him?” Trevor asked.

  “That’s what everyone thinks. Klum and I are the best players on the team.”

  “You’re that good?” Trevor couldn’t help admiring his twin.

  Sam swallowed his food. “Better than Klum, too, but not by much. That’s why we’ve got to make the switch before the finals. I’ve got to be the one those USC scouts see.”

  “I told you. I’m good.” Trevor made a fist and thumped his chest.

  “Even if you are, I can’t take the chance. USC is everything to me.”

  “Don’t worry,” Trevor said. “I get it. I wouldn’t do that to you, and I won’t forget what you’re doing for me, I promise.”

  “Me, too.” Sam drank some Gatorade from his glass and rattled the ice. “If Dark Cellar gets made? I’ll be having you guys over for dinner by my pool.”

  “It’s a deal,” Trevor said.

  Sam gave him a quizzical look and Trevor realized he was staring. “Sorry, it’s just that I can’t get over it. You know how they say that when you die you float outside yourself? It’s like I’m afraid I’m dying and I’m seeing myself before I go.”

  “No,” McKenna said, punching Trevor’s shoulder, “you’re still here. Let’s put on the finishing touches. I can still tell you two apart pretty easily.”

  McKenna led them upstairs to her room. Trevor saw Sam’s eyes go wide at the sight of the room that looked like it belonged to a fairy-tale princess. In its center on a raised platform sat a huge four-poster bed with a red silk canopy. McKenna pulled out the chair at her dressing table by the window and looked at Trevor.

  “You first.”

  Trevor let McKenna apply dabs of makeup, rubbing it in with a soft pad before stepping back, then dusting him with some powder. She covered Trevor’s birthmark completely, then blended the makeup in with the rest of his neck.

  Trevor looked at his face in the mirror, then up at Sam, who stood over his shoulder. “Wow.”

  “Here, I’ll give you this makeup so you can do it yourself after you take a shower. Put it in your pocket, and don’t forget.”

  “I won’t.” Trevor stuffed the two round, flat containers in his pocket.

  “Okay, 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.

  “You 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.”

  “It’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.”

  “That’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.

  “Will 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.”

  “Are you sure?” Sam’s face was heavy with worry. “I mean, this all seems so crazy.”

  “Think 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.

  “Remember, 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.

  “What do I do when I get a text?” Sam asked.

  “Don’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.

  “So, 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.

  “Is 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.”

  “You’re not Trevor Goldman.”

  “You 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.”

  “We 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.

  “Really? What else happened?”

  Trevor was relieved when Sam’s dad put the car into gear and pulled out of the driveway. Trevor added some excitement to his voice and began to describe the pool, the gardens, the cook, and the maid.

  “Wow,” Sam’s dad said. “Nice.”

  “Speaking of food.” Trevor pointed to an In and Out Burger place at the corner ahead. “How about we stop and you get something to eat. Did you eat?”

  Sam’s dad rubbed the back of his neck. “No, I forgot.”

  “Dad.”

  “I know. I know. But you already ate.”

  “I can always go for a chocolate shake. You know that.”

  “‘He hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put all my substance into that fat belly of his.’” Sam’s dad gave Trevor a questioning look. “Well?”

  “Well, what?” Trevor asked, afraid he was blowing it, but able to think of nothing else.

  Sam’s dad sighed. “Come on, you can’t say I haven’t used this one on you before. Henry the Fourth, remember?”

  “Sure. Oh yeah.” Trevor realized Sam’s father had given him a quote from Shakespeare. At least the next time, he’d know to guess Othello or something.

  Sam’s dad didn’t seem upset, though. He patted Trevor on the shoulder and smiled. Trevor felt a warm glow inside him. The toughest part was over. All he had to do was hang in there until tomorrow morning and he’d be practicing baseball at a real practice with a real team, getting ready for a real game coming up on Saturday.

  19

  SAM

  Sam watched the car disappear down McKenna’s street. He let the curtain fall back into place.

  “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?”