Read Turn Left at the Cow for Free Online

“Here we are. Come along, Travis.”
    I peered around while Gram climbed out of the truck. She had said we were going to town, so I had been watching for, well, a town.
    This was, like, a block. I mean, there were those few buildings we’d passed going to the dump the day before. And one stop sign. And that giant fish statue. But I was still looking around, trying to figure it out, when I suddenly got it. This was it. All of it.
    Gram went marching (as much as somebody with a limp can march) into a building that had—wait for it—a sign over the door saying THE BIG STORE . I guess when you could fit the whole town onto one block, then you could fit everything you needed into one store. We paused in front of some cow-size plastic animals that had trees or something growing out of their heads and looked around. Then Gram spotted bikes back behind a big display of pooper-scoopers.
    â€œWhat do you think?” she asked, pointing to a black bike.
    She had this excited “it’s your birthday” look on her face. It told me that the Big Store was selling Trav a bike today even if there was an earthquake in the next five seconds. But I was pretty sure Gram wasn’t exactly rolling in the dough. She drove an old beater and her furniture was all faded and I think maybe there were still dinosaurs around when she bought her TV. So I kind of pretended to be all interested in the pooper-scoopers while really I was trying to get a look at the price tag without Gram’s noticing.
    â€œUm—you know, Gram, you don’t have to buy it for me. I mean, it’s a great bike, but I can buy my own bike. I mean, I can pay you back later. I have a bunch of money in my room.” And I did too. Not that I’m saying that made me special or anything, but it was true. My stepfather seemed to think he could buy my acceptance if he just threw enough cash my way.
    Gram gave me a funny look. “That’s very . . . manly of you, Travis, to want to pay for it yourself. I guess you really are growing up. But I won’t be denied the pleasure of buying my grandson a bike. Try it out.”
    A guy in a green vest popped up while I was giving the bike the once-over. I noticed that his vest had THE BIG STORE “KING” stitched across the front. I wasn’t sure why His Majesty had it in for me, but he was giving me the kind of look the substitute teacher gives the class when she’s had her back turned and somebody rips a big one. It was starting to seem as if most of the people I met around here were ready to hate me on sight.
    Gram turned to him. “Milo, you’ve never met my grandson, have you? Travis, this is Mr. Svengrud. He used to be on the football team with your father.”
    It was clear the King wanted to drop-kick me right on out of there, but I guess he figured he couldn’t actually injure a customer without a fat lawsuit on his hands.
    Gram asked a bunch of questions about the bike, and the King was stuck having to answer them even though he still had that “who farted?” look on his face. At least it wasn’t some dork-mobile ride or anything, which certainly wasn’t a given in this town, considering that just across from the bikes was a rack of T-shirts that said “Minnesota: Home of the Loon-atics.”
    Gram finally said, “We’ll take it.” There was a moment when I thought the King was going to grab it away instead of letting us leave with it, but then he shoved it at me and stomped off. Gram watched him go, shaking her head with her eyebrows raised high, as if they were going to fly right off her forehead.
    She turned and slipped me a big wad of cash from her purse. She lowered her voice. “You go ahead and pay for the bike yourself like you wanted to—nobody else has to know I gave you the money. I’m going to go pick up some charcoal.” She limped away, all happy and pleased with herself, leaving me