The screech of metal scraping against metal announces Naomi’s arrival before I spot the truck turning the corner into our driveway. A burgundy-colored half-ton idles, belching a cloud of blue smoke. Naomi flips back the visor and smiles at me through the grimy windshield. She’s a senior this year, but to me she always seems much older.
The door creaks when I open it to hop in. “You still driving around with the front end making that noise?” I ask.
Naomi gives me a look over her aviator sunglasses. “You want to give me the money, I’ll fix it.”
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish