Fantasy League by Mike Lupica Page B

Coach. And he got to play. He could be Brain the rest of the week. He could be the boy Fantasy King. In that world, he did feel like the star of the team.
All
his fantasy teams. There he could throw like Jarrod and run the way Kevin Fallon did. But in his heart he knew something:
    On Saturdays, the thing he wanted the most was to go home with a dirty uniform.
    A dirty uniform made him feel like a real player, even if he had probably done more to help his team standing next to Coach than he had on the field.
    Normally playing a game like this and winning it would have felt like the best part of his Saturday, even before he and Anna and Kevin went into town, maybe had lunch at Wildcraft Pizza and then went over to the Coolhaus Shop, which used to just be a fancy truck, for ice cream.
    Just not this Saturday.
    This Saturday his mom was driving him home and he was going to take a shower and put on a polo shirt to go with his good shorts before she drove him to Anna’s house. After that Anna’s mom was going to drive them over to Joe Warren’s house in Bel Air for lunch.
    â€œI
told
you,” Anna had said to him on Friday at school, telling him about the invitation to have lunch with her and her grandfather. “You and Gramps really are boys now!”
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    Charlie already knew that even though Anna’s grandmother had died when she was in the first grade, Joe Warren still lived in the same big house a couple of blocks from the Hotel Bel-Air.
    Anna had told Charlie that her Gramps wasn’t alone in the house; there was a couple, husband and wife, who lived in a small cottage on the property. The wife cleaned and cooked for Anna’s grandfather. The husband drove him around and tended to the grounds, which Anna said required a whole lot of tending, wait until Charlie saw them.
    â€œGramps giving up driving himself around was a big thing,” Anna said. “But it had just turned into bumper cars for him.”
    â€œ
Anna
,” her mom said from the front seat of the car as they headed toward Bel Air, “your grandfather just had a couple of little fender benders.”
    â€œ
Mom
,” Anna said, trying to imitate her mother’s tone. “One time he hit a mailbox and a tree coming out of his own driveway. Dad said if he’d clipped the doors to the gate and the fire hydrant by the street, it would have given him a grand slam.”
    There was a huge iron gate at the entrance to the driveway, one that didn’t open automatically. Anna’s mom had to punch in a code. Then they drove up a steep hill, past more old, thick trees than Charlie thought he’d ever seen.
    Like everything on the property was as old as Joe Warren was.
    He was waiting for them when they got to the top of the drive, wearing a light green sweater, khaki pants with a sharp crease in them, and loafers without socks.
    â€œLook at you, Gramps,” Anna said, jumping out of the car and running to hug him, “you look like a movie producer.”
    â€œThat, young lady, is a very mean thing to say to a senior citizen,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Or any citizen, for that matter.”
    He turned to Charlie and said, “Well, hello, Mr. Gaines.”
    Charlie nodded respectfully. “Mr. Warren.”
    â€œAnna told me on the phone that your team got its first win this morning.”
    â€œTwo tackles for him,” Anna said. “The college scouts will be coming around any day.”
    â€œShe’s just making stuff up,” Charlie said.
    Anna said, “Not about the two tackles.”
    Charlie looked at Joe Warren and said, “Played special teams and got in at garbage time, is all.”
    â€œYou played, you won, it’s a beautiful day in the City of Angels,” Joe Warren said. “I believe I’d much rather be you—and be your age today—than me.”
    Anna’s mom said she was going shopping in Brentwood