I hear the screech of metal scraping against metal before I spot the truck turning the corner into our driveway. A blue half-ton idles, belching a cloud of blue smoke. Sarah slips back the visor and smiles at me through the grimy windshield.
The door creaks when I hop in. “You still riding around with the front end making that noise?” I ask.
Naomi shoots me a look over her aviator sunglasses. “You want to give me the money, I’ll fix it.”
When I don’t answer, she make a smug noise, flips her long braid over the other shoulder, and spins around to back out. “Mom’s having a cow over hosting this show. There’s like a million little kids there and parents taking pictures already. No one’s listening to her and getting the horses ready.”
I laugh picturing it. “Your mom’s a little OCD. She must be going nuts.”
“You know it.” Naomi pushes her glasses back. “’Cept you know who’s going to catch the worst of it.” She shoots a finger back and forth between us. “Not the clients.”
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