Turn Left at the Cow by Lisa Bullard Page A

children are going to sing us a little song before grace. Children?”
    A bunch of munchkins gathered around her and belted out “Jesus Loves Me.” One little girl in front seemed to think she was Hannah Montana, swinging her hair and pretending her fist was a microphone while her mother snapped photos.
    After the applause died down, the pastor said, “Now, let’s please bow our heads.”
    Since all the people in the room had their eyes closed, I thought it was the perfect time for me to send up a little prayer of my own, asking the Big Guy Upstairs to levitate me out of there or maybe turn me invisible while nobody was looking. But I guess His ears were still ringing from the munchkin singing, because I hadn’t gotten my answer by the time we reached “Amen.”
    Then Iz and I were elbowed aside by a stampeding herd of small fry on their way to the food tables. Note to self:
don’t ever let yourself get trapped between the livestock and the feeding trough
.
    Two little girls came over and grabbed hold of Iz’s hands. “Aunt Jen says you both should come sit with us,” said the smaller one. She hid under Iz’s arm and peeked up at me with eyes as big and gray as Iz’s.
    The bigger munchkin giggled. “You’re the bank-robber boy! We talk about you all the time at my house. Do you really have all the money hidden somewhere?”
    I shot Iz a look and she shrugged. “That’s Kenny’s little sister, Krissy. And the shy one here is my sister, Linnea.”
    Krissy worked on dislocating Iz’s arm, yanking her toward the food. “Come on, I’m hungry.”
    It didn’t seem like Jesus was going to beam me up anytime soon, so I figured I might as well eat while I was waiting for My Man to do that saving thing he’s gotten all the press for.
    We worked our way down the food tables. It was a whole new universe of chow choices from what I was used to in California; nothing even pretended to be healthy. There wasn’t a hunk of tofu in sight, although I guess Mrs. Tunsen could have hidden some under the Cool Whip. I loaded up and headed for the table where an adult-size version of Krissy was sitting next to Gram.
    â€œYou must be Trav. I’m Kenny’s mom, Jen. Thank you for finding my butter head!” She got up and gave me a big hug that started all the Jell-O wobbling on my plate. She turned back to Gram. “Lois, these dark eyes. He looks just like—”
    â€œLet the boy sit, Jen.” A big blond guy next to her stood up and pulled a chair out for Iz. “He’s probably starving.” Then, as soon as I set my plate down, he stuck a hand out and said, “Ken Nelson, Sr. We’ve heard a lot about you from our boy and Iz.”
    We shook hands the old-school way, and then he gave me back my arm so I could start in on the taste-testing. I pretty much checked out of the conversation for a while, focusing on working my way through a rainbow of Jell-O. I had just found what had to be Mrs. Ingersoll’s when Big Ken spoke up.
    â€œAlmost time for them to wrap up at the ticket table. Anybody here still need to buy some?”
    â€œWe’ve already got ours.” Iz and the little girls each held up a colored slip of paper.
    â€œI’m gonna win, Daddy!” Krissy flapped hers overhead.
    Gram started fishing around in her purse. “Travis, go over and get yourself some tickets so you can play too. Here.” She handed me a twenty.
    I almost crossed my fingers like you do to ward away vampires. Wasn’t I already in enough trouble from spreading around Gram’s stash of dead presidents? But my breath whooshed out when I looked at the bill more closely. It was a normal one, with the colors and all; no way it could be fourteen-year-old bait money.
    â€œThanks, Gram,” I mumbled.
    Krissy grabbed one of my arms. “Can we help you pick? Pretty please with cherries on top?”
    I