The Year I Became Isabella Anders (Sunnyvale, #1)(26)

After Grandma Stephy and Indigo pull out onto the street, I hike up the driveway, towing two of my four bags with me.

I can do this. I’m Super Confident Girl, who fears no evil, who skinny-dips in the hotel pool late at night, and who dances at overcrowded clubs and kisses guys on Ferris wheels.

By the time I reach the backdoor, though, Super Confident Girl has turned into Freak the Fuck Out Girl. I let go of the bags and stare at the door.

“You can do this, Isa. Just walk on in and tell them to go . . .” I bite down on my lip as fear pulsates through me.

“Tell them to go what?” Kai’s amused voice sails over my shoulder.

I sigh. Great. Just what I need right now. Intense, jokester guy next door who never texted me back.

“I was going to say go fuck themselves,” I answer, turning around to face him.

He’s rocking his typical look—a pair of shorts with no shirt. His blond hair’s a hot mess, and an amused grin is playing at his lips. But the smile vanishes as he presses his lips together. His gaze skims across the boots, black floral dress, and leather jacket I’m wearing, lingering uncomfortably long on my bare legs. When his eyes land on my face, I feel like that poser again, the one who stepped out onto the streets of Paris wearing that red dress. The feeling has faded over the last few months, but it was easier to be confident with who I am now when I was in a club full of strangers who didn’t know about my let-my-clothes-swallow-me-up-and-fade-me-into-the-background-of-my-sister’s-shadow phase.

“You look . . .” A somewhat perplexed, somewhat intrigued look crosses his face, and I seriously get a little excited over what’s about to come out of his mouth. “Weird.”

“Oh, for the love of God.” I turn back to my suitcases. Seriously. Seriously? All that changing and shaving and tweezing, and I get weird again.

“Hey, I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” he says, but I can hear him chuckling. “Seriously, Isa. I’m sorry.”

I hear a thump and then the sound of footsteps heading my way. I spin back around then stumble back when I realize Kai is way up in my personal space.

“It sounded a lot better in my head,” he says to me as I regain my footing. “But hearing it aloud . . . yeah, I’m thinking weird might not be a compliment.”

“It’s fine.” I brush him off. “But, just for future reference, maybe you should repeat your compliments in your head a few times before saying them aloud.”

“Duly noted.” He smiles again, going right back to his goofy, jokester self. “You know, that photo you sent me didn’t do you any justice. I mean, I could tell you looked different, but not this different.”

I consider asking him why he never texted me back, but don’t want to give him an opportunity to crack a joke about me obsessing over him.

“So, was the trip everything you hoped it would be and more?” he asks lightly.

I get whiplash from his sudden shift to formality, but whatever. “Yeah, it was pretty great. I seriously wish I could’ve stayed longer.” Forever maybe.

“Where did you even go? You said overseas, but that could be a ton of places.”

“That’s because we went a ton of places.” A smile touches my lips as I remember all the places I saw, all the people I met, how great I felt while on that trip. “But my favorite was probably Scotland.”

He goes all bug-eyed. “Holy shit, you went to Scotland? I thought when you said you were going with your grandma that you’d go somewhere cliché like Paris.”

“I did go to Paris too, with my grandmother and my cousin, Indigo, along with an entire old folks home,” I say, shooting him a smile when he raises his brows like what the hell? “And FYI, Paris is awesome, and so are old people.”

“Maybe it was just you that made the trip and Paris cool,” he teases with a cocky grin.

I stick my finger into my mouth and pretend to gag. “That line was sooo cheesy.”

“So what? Admit it. You missed my cheesiness.”

“Never.”

“Not at all?” He fakes a pout. “Wow, way to crush my ego.”

I want to tell him no, but can’t bring myself to do so. Deep down, I might have missed it just a bit. “Your ego needs crushing.”

He beams. “I knew you missed me.”

I roll my eyes. “Cocky much?”

“I’m cocky all the time.” He pauses, studying me in a way that makes me squirm. “You know, I don’t think I believe you that Paris was awesome. I think I need proof.” He makes grabby hands. “Let me see some pics so I can decide for myself.”

“I already sent you one,” I remind him. “You didn’t seem that thrilled about it.”

“I was too thrilled,” he says. “You looked so content in that photo. It made me want to be there with you. I even made it my screensaver.”

I resist another eye roll. “You so did not.”

“I did too.” He traces an x across his heart with his finger. “But I lost my phone, so I need new one.”

“Are you being seriously? Because sometimes I can’t tell.”

“You think I’d lie to you?” he questions, jutting out his lip. When I stare at him, unimpressed, he sighs. “Look, I promise I’m not lying. I was at a party when you sent me the photo. I looked at it and remember thinking how great of a photo it was. Totally screensaver worthy. So that’s what I did with it. Then I went back to the party, totally planning on texting you back and telling you how awesome of a photo is was. But then I got drunk and lost my phone.” He shrugs. “Sorry. I really did like the photo.”