The Year I Became Isabella Anders (Sunnyvale, #1)(34)

I straighten my shoulders and prepare myself. Time to do this. Face the music. Walk in head-on. I just cross my fingers and toes that the majority of the people here have forgotten the rumor Hannah spread at the beginning of the summer, that I was being admitted to a mental institution.

“I have to figure out where all my classes are.” I wave bye to Kai. “See ya later, maybe.”

“You’ve been going here for three years, Isa. You know where all the classrooms are.” He snags ahold of my arm and hauls me toward the stairway that leads to the second floor.

I shuffle after him, noting that people are still staring at us, either because they think I’m insane or because Kai has his hand on my arm. Sure, he’s talked to me in school before, to tease me mainly, but he’s definitely never dragged me up the stairway.

He doesn’t let me go until we reach a locker toward the end of the hallway on the second floor. By the time his fingers leave my arm, my skin is tingling in the nicest way ever.

“What’s with all the touching?” I ask him as I shift the handle of my bag higher onto my shoulder.

He shrugs as he twists the combination of his locker. “You’re the one who let me do it.”

“I didn’t really have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I anxiously glance around the hallway, noticing people are still eyeballing us with fascination. “But you’ve never done that in the past. I mean, held onto my arm in public. Or talked to me.” I want to say so much more. Want to point out that back in the day, he wouldn’t be caught dead with me. But this doesn’t feel like the time or place to bring it up.

He opens his locker. “Actually, I have before. Or at least I tried to. But usually when I tried to drag you down the hallway to . . . what did you call it the other day?” His head tilts to the side as he smirks. “Oh, yeah, ‘to get my kicks and giggles’, you pulled away and ran away from me like I was on fire.”

I cross my arms, feeling self-conscious. “That’s because I knew you were making fun of me.”

“No, that was all in your head.” He taps his finger against my temple. “It’s all psychological, but now that you’re,” he glances up and down at me, lingering extra long on the sliver of skin peeking out of my shirt, “yeah, now you’re okay with it, because you’re more okay with yourself.”

“Is that why you brought me up here? Just to see if I’d come with you?” I ask curiously.

He smiles at me, and I playfully swat his arm.

He places a hand over his arm where I swatted him, laughing. “What’s with all the abuse?”

“Sorry, but you’re purposely trying to make me mad.” I tuck my hands into the back pocket of my shorts. “Now, if you’re done playing with my mind, I’m going to go track down my locker.”

As I turn to leave, he catches the bottom of my shirt and tows me back to him. “I didn’t just bring you up here to play with your mind,” he says. “You owe me a gift.”

“The gift. Yeah, I forgot about that.” I slide my backpack off, unzip it, and dig out the small box his gift is in, taking my time just so I’ll drive him crazy. When he reaches for the box in my hand, I tuck it behind my back. “Ask nicely.”

His eyes narrow to slits, but it’s a playful move. “Fine, Isa, can I pretty please,” he juts out his bottom lip, “with cherries and sprinkles and caramel on top, have my present?”

“I’ll give it to you, but only because of all the dessert references.” I hand over the box.

“You know, you’ve been promising you’re going to give it to me a lot lately.” His lips quirk as he opens the box and takes out the leather bracelet engraved with his name on it.

I ignore his dirty remark, but my cheeks warm. “I got it while I was in Paris. I know it’s not anything super awesome, but there was this guy on the street making them, and it made me think of you.” I flick his wrist, where he already has an array of bracelets. “I wasn’t even positive you’d still be wearing them by the time I got back, since you never used to up until . . .” I shrug, “well, you changed. I wasn’t sure if this bad boy thing of yours was going to be a phase.”

He looks up at me, his expression dead serious. “Is this hot girl thing of yours a phase?”

“It’s not a hot girl phase,” I promise him, although my tone’s a little shaky. “And no, it’s not a phase. But I do need to figure out some stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“I don’t know. Just stuff.”

He stares at me just long enough to make me uneasy then drops the gaze to the bracelet as he ties it to his wrist. “I like it.”

“You don’t have to like it.” But I kind of want him to. “Although, it was way better than the painting my cousin tried to talk me into getting you. You don’t seem like a painting kind of guy.”

He flicks the bracelet on his wrist. “This is way, way better than a painting.” He smiles at me, a genuine smile. “But you know what this means, right? You liiiike me.”

Biting back a smile, I shake my head. “It so does not.”

“Does too.”

“Oh, fine. Whatever.”