Turn Left at the Cow by Lisa Bullard

you brought Tater Tot hotdish,” Kenny said, pulling the aluminum foil off the top of Gram’s dish as Iz set it on a table loaded with other food. “Touché!”
    Huh? I looked at Iz.
    â€œKenny likes to pick out a new word of the day once in a while. He doesn’t really care if he actually uses it right,” she said.
    I shifted my eyes toward the torch-bearing villagers. “I’m not feeling it. Maybe I’ll just take off.”
    â€œAh, ignore ’em, man,” said Kenny. “They’re just hungry. They’ll forget all about you once they start eating. Besides, we got six kinds of Jell-O. Stay away from Mrs. Ingersoll’s, though—she puts carrot scrapings in hers. But Mrs. Tunsen, she goes all out with these little multicolored marshmallows and Cool Whip.”
    Before I could suggest he get his own gig on the Food Network, this football-jersey-wearing mammoth swaggered over to us. “Nelson,” he said, nodding to Kenny, real man-to-man for two guys who were barely old enough to shave.
    Then he turned to Iz. “So nice they let you out once in a while, Izzzz-abella.” He smirked while he said it, but I thought that just proved the local connection between football and lowered IQ levels; man, I’d been in town only a few days and I knew better than to mess with her. I could tell by the look on her face that if this bruiser wasn’t careful, Iz was going to blast him back to the Ice Age.
    Finally he turned to me. “Who’s your new little friend, Izzzz-abella?” Dude was oozing attitude and testosterone in equal parts. Considering we were in a church, I probably should have given him the benefit of the doubt and figured there was some really sad story explaining why he was acting like a Neanderthal. I guess I’m not that good a person. I was fine with hating him on sight.
    Without waiting for an answer, the brute looked back at Kenny and said, “Football players are sitting over in the corner, Nelson,” and swaggered off again. “Svengrud” was spelled out in big letters across his shoulders.
    Kenny glanced in the direction Mr. Congeniality had headed, then gave Iz a sad puppy-dog look.
    â€œOh, go on and sit with the ster-idiots. I don’t care.” Iz glared and crossed her arms across her chest.
    Kenny gave me a sheepish look. “If you wanna come too . . .”
    For some reason, the story about the rugby team who crashed in the mountains and then eventually started eating one another to survive came to mind. All things considered, I figured I was better off not finding out what Svengrud and his buddies might be cooking up for me.
    â€œBro, I’d rather eat than be eaten, but thanks anyway.” I waited until he’d headed off before turning back to Iz. “Svengrud?” I asked. “Heir to the Big Store Kingdom?”
    â€œDaddy’s own little darling. Gets anything and everything he wants handed to him like he’s a prince or something.”
    This party was just getting better and better. I wanted to ask Iz why the prince wasn’t acting so charming, but then this woman stood up in the center of the room and raised her arms for quiet.
    â€œEveryone, I’m Pastor Jackie. Thank you all for coming. I especially want to welcome our visitors tonight! I know you can’t wait to get to all this wonderful food the Church Ladies have prepared. The donation baskets are here at the end; we appreciate whatever you can contribute. And don’t forget the special event up in the parking lot afterward—remember to buy your tickets from the men’s group!”
    She waved her hand toward a row of tables over on the side wall where some of the men from outside were now standing. I wondered if they were selling tickets for my tar-and-feathering; it seemed like one way to make sure their fundraiser was a whomping success.
    The pastor continued. “The Sunday-school