Juniper rolls her eyes and puts her hands on her hips. “Might want to get off that high horse before you fall and break something.” “I think my high horse might be the safer option,” I say, still eyeing the car skeptically. “Could you reliably live out of your high horse for the better part of a week?” she says, pointing to the back of her car. I walk around the passenger side and lean down, cupping my hand over my eyes and peering into the backseat.
