The Year I Became Isabella Anders (Sunnyvale, #1)(36)

Indigo climbs into the car and turns on the engine. “Isa, I don’t want you to get too excited. Grandma may have gotten a name, but your dad wouldn’t tell her anything else. And he’s super pissed. Like, really, really angry.” She backs out of the parking space. “He even broke a vase.”

“That doesn’t matter.” All that matters is I’m about to learn my mother’s name. I can do a lot with a name. I can even track her down if I want to, without my dad’s help, which I plan on doing.

Because like I promised myself in Paris, I’m going to find her, no matter what it takes.





THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Indigo is parking the car in front of Grandma Stephy’s apartment. I have so much pent up energy inside me that I jump out of the car before it comes to a complete stop. I’ve done the ninja move before, but never in four-inch platforms, and I end up rolling my ankle and eating asphalt as I fall to the ground.

“For the love of God.” I clumsily push to my feet and look at the damage. My knee is bleeding and pebbles are stuck in the open cut. I think a piece of glass might be in there too. I almost throw up. I’m cool with seeing blood and gore on television, but it’s a whole different story when the blood’s gushing out of me. But determined to make it inside, I force the vomit back and pluck out the glass.

“Oh, my God . . .” Oxygen is ripped from my lungs as more blood trickles out of the wound.

“Jesus, Isa, are you okay?” Indigo rushes around the front of the car toward me.

“I’m totally fine.” I can do this. Be tough. I take off, limping up the sidewalk toward my grandma’s place.

“Isa, would you please slow down?” Indigo’s sandals scuff against the ground as she jogs to catch up with me. “You’re leaving a trail of blood all over the ground, for God’s sake.”

I look down and, sure enough, blood is dripping out of the cut, down my leg, and onto the concrete. I gag, but fuse my lips together.

“Holy shit, I think you might need stitches,” Indigo remarks as she bends over and squints at the open wound.

“The stitches can wait until I talk to Grandma.” I hobble toward the apartment again, refusing to look down at the cut.

Cotton candy. Gummy worms. Licorice. I chant in my head, trying to stay calm.

“You’re going to end up with a scar if you don’t take care of it,” Indigo points out, stopping by the front door to light up.

“I’ll take care of it.” I open the apartment door and stumble into Grandma Stephy’s living room.

She’s sitting on the couch, surrounded by tons of used Kleenexes, and her head is in her hands. When I enter, she quickly looks up, blinking her puffy eyes.

“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry.” She stands up and winds around the coffee table toward me. “I think I messed up.”

“Indigo says you got a name. Please tell me that’s true.” I hunch over and place my hand on my knee.

Now that the adrenaline rush is fading, the pain is becoming way more knock-me-on-my-ass intense and the vomit burning at the back of my throat is harder to keep down.

“He accidentally let it slip out when he was yelling at me,” she says with a cautious edge to her voice. “But I’m not even sure he realized he said it.”

Unable to stand any longer, I sink down on the floor and straighten my knee. “What happened, anyway? Why was he even here? I thought we were going to do this together?” I blink a few times as everything around me spins.

“Honey, what did you do to your leg?” She kneels down on the carpet beside me to examine the cut on my knee. “My word, Isa. This looks really, really bad.”

“I jumped out of the car and fell.” I slump back, resting my head against the door. “Please, Grandma Stephy, just tell me her name.” Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe through the pain.

“Her name is Bella,” my grandma says right before I pass out.



When my eyelids flutter open, my eyes are instantly assaulted by florescent light, the smell of cleaner attacks my nostrils, and my knee feels like a zombie took a bite out of it.

“Where the hell am I?” I mutter as I sit up.

“Easy, Isa.” My grandma Stephy appears by my bedside, looking paler than normal. “We had to take you to the hospital.”

I take in the privacy curtain, the thin bed I’m lying in, and Indigo sitting in a chair. “How’d I get . . .” I cup my head then my mouth sinks. “Oh . . .” The last few hours rush back to me.

Grandma Stephy pats my hand that’s resting on my stomach. “You’ve never been good with blood, but you worried me to death when you blacked out.”

I look down at my knee, which is now wrapped in a bandage—thank God. “Did I have to get stitches?”

“You did.” Grandma Stephy smoothes my hair from my forehead so she can look me in the eyes. “How are you feeling? About everything?”

“The leg hurts,” I admit. “And the thing with my mom . . . you said her name was Bella.” I smile at that. “I have to be named after her, right?”

“I guess so.” Grandma Stephy glances over her shoulder at Indigo. “Honey, would you mind going and getting me a soda from the vending machine?”

Indigo nods and Grandma Stephy waits until she ducks out from the curtain before she sits down on the edge of the bed. “Isa, your dad knows I told you about your mom. That’s why he came over to my house today.”