The Year I Became Isabella Anders (Sunnyvale, #1)(17)

“What’s that look for?” she asks innocently as she fans her face with her hand.

“Those guys were gross and smelled like bad cheese. Seriously, if that’s your definition of excitement, then count me out.”

“That’s not even close to what I meant by excitement.” She kicks off her shoes and tips her head up to take in all the stairs.

“We could take the elevator,” I say, eyeballing her bare feet.

“No way. That’s like cheating the excitement.” She steps back with her heels in her hands then sprints forward, laughing as she charges up the first flight of stairs. “Race you to the top.”

Laughing, I barrel after her and up the stairway. People skitter out of our way as we jog side-by-side up each flight of stairs. With each step, I feel closer to soaring, closer to flying away from reality, like I’m outrunning my problems.

By the time we arrive to the second floor, though, we slowed down to a sluggish walk, because, holy crap, there are a lot of stairs.

“My feet hurt,” Indigo gripes, catching her breath. “But this makes it totally worth it.”

“Holy shit, this is so cool.” I slip my fingers through the railing and stare down at the glittering city stretched out below us.”

“It’s more than cool. It’s exciting.” Indigo reaches into her purse and fishes out her phone as I shut my eyes and breathe in the cool air kissing my cheeks.

While it might seem lame to most, tonight has been one of the best nights of my life. I’ve never ran around and had fun without worrying about being judged by my sister or scolded by my mom.

“I feel so . . . I don’t know, free,” I say as I open my eyes.

“That’s how you should feel all of your life.” She leans in close to me and snaps a picture of us with her camera phone. “Look how good you look,” she says as she admires the picture. “And happy.”

As I examine the photo, I think about all the family photos on the wall back home, most of which don’t include me. But the few my mom let me be in, I never smiled, mostly because I felt uncomfortable, like I didn’t belong.

“I do look happy, don’t I?” I smile at the girl in the photo, a girl who only hours ago didn’t exist. “Thanks, Indigo, for everything.”

“Dude, we’re only getting started.” She puts the phone away then we turn back to the view. “By the time this trip is over, there’s going to be so many pictures of you smiling you’re going to be posting them for days.”

I don’t bother telling her that I don’t have a social media account, that I don’t have friends, so there’s no point. Maybe when I get home, I’ll change that, too. Maybe I’ll change everything. And maybe that change will finally make Hannah see me differently.

The plan is far from perfect, but standing up on the Eiffel Tower, stories high from the ground, anything feels possible. I wish I could hold onto the moment forever. But then we have to leave, and with each step down the stairway, I feel the perfection fading as I head back down to reality.





BY THE TIME we make it back to the hotel room, my grandma is waiting for us, and she doesn’t look very happy.

“Where the hell have you two been?” she asks as she stands up from the bed, swaying to the side, a little tipsy.

“Um,” I glance at Indigo for help, “we were out walking.”

Indigo slips her purse off and sets it on the table. “Chill, Grandma Stephy. We just went and did a little sightseeing.”

She scowls at us. “You should have told me you were leaving. I was worried sick.”

“We honestly thought you wouldn’t even notice.” Indigo flops down on the bed and yawns. “You’ve been super busy with your friends.”

“Of course I noticed. I’m old, not blind.” She inches toward me, and I can smell the alcohol rolling off her. “I promised your dad I wouldn’t let you wander off.”

“Really?” A smile starts to touch my lips. My dad cares about me?

But then Grandma Stephy hesitates, and I know she’s lying.

“He really didn’t say that, did he?” Sighing, I sink down in a chair to untie my boots.

“He might not have said it, but he’d kill me if anything happened to you,” she says.

I keep my head down, focusing on unlacing the boots. “What were you and my dad talking about while you guys were in your bedroom?” I don’t know why I ask. It just sort of slips out.

Indigo lets out a cough. “Not right now. She’s too upset.”

“What do you mean, ‘Not right now. I’m too upset’?” Grandma Stephy asks, sounding drunkenly confused. When neither of us responds, she warns, “Okay, one of you two better start talking; otherwise, I’ll ground your asses to the room for the rest of the trip.”

“I’m nineteen,” Indigo says, pushing up on her elbows. “You can’t ground me.”

“And I’m sixty and don’t give a shit how old you are,” Grandma Stephy snaps. “I’ll ground you if I want to.”

Indigo tenses and keeps her trap shut.

I want to back off, too, but now that I’ve opened Pandora’s Box, there’s no going back. All these words just keep pouring out of me. “Is my mom . . . Did my dad . . . Who’s my real mom, Grandma Stephy?”