Now we need some hits!” Coach Parker told us. Then he walked out of the dugout and stood in front of the bleachers. “Could I get a volunteer to help coach first base?” he asked the crowd. Zach’s dad usually helps coach, but with Zach out, he wasn’t there. All the parents looked around at each other, but no one raised a hand. “I’ll do it!” came a scratchy voice from the back of the stands. It sounded like Gramps. I stood up and looked back. Not only did it sound like Gramps, it was Gramps. “Nice, your grandpa’s going to help. I love that old dude,” Graham said. “Yeah, me too,” I agreed. “It’s just that you never know what he’s going to say or do.” “I know.” Graham grinned. “That’s why I like him.” Gramps looked excited to help. He had told me a zillion stories about when he played baseball back in the olden days. “Hi, Gramps,” I said as he came around the fence. “That’s ‘Coach’ to you, sonny,” he said, passing me. He grabbed a hat from the bench and adjusted it to fit his bald head.
