CORY HATED MARCH. It wasn’t winter any longer, but it sure wasn’t spring. On the way to the showgrounds, she studied the fields through the early morning mist, trying to detect that luminescent green in the grass that signaled the return of warmer weather. The truck cab was cold, since Jack would never turn on the heat. Cory sat huddled in the middle next to Vee, who was studying the directions on the back of the show’s prize list.
“I think we have to take eighty-three.” She looked, scanning the road ahead.
“I know a back way,” Jack replied.
“But the directions say we have to take eighty-three. We can’t be late.” Vee rolled and unrolled the program in her hand and stared out the passenger window. “This doesn’t look familiar to me.”
Jack gave Cory a sly smile. She guessed he was used to this. In fact, Cory was getting used to it, too. She’d been afraid that her month away from the barn would have changed things, but when she climbed back on Epiphany, she felt as comfortable as settling into her favorite chair. But they had lost a lot of time, and like Vee said, if they hoped to qualify for Washington, every show counted.
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