The Year I Became Isabella Anders (Sunnyvale, #1)(62)

“I guess we’ll have to throw the ball around sometime then.” The dimple grin appears and my pulse quickens. “But I’ll try to explain it now, if that’s cool.” He gets an excited look in his eyes, like he’s pumped to be doing this.

The look is contagious and gets me pumped too, even if we’re going to be talking about football.

He faces the television again, sitting back in the chair and putting his arm on the back again. “Okay, so how much do you know about football?”

“A little bit.” I’m hyperaware that he’s playing with my hair. I don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it. “My dad watches it sometimes, but he’s not a fan of me being anywhere near him when he does.”

“But you’re good at sports, right?”

“I’m okay, I guess. But football’s always seemed kind of boring to me.” I offer him an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m not one of those guys who thinks the game is everything. You don’t have to like it. But I want to try to get you to kind of maybe like it enough not to be bored out of your mind when you’re at my game, okay?” he asks and I nod.

He smiles and jumps right in, yammering about downs, defense and offense, goals, two point conversions. By the time he slows down, my mind is on football overdrive.

“It’s okay if you don’t get it all at first,” he says when he notes the crazed, wild-eye look I’m probably rocking.

“Good, because I’m definitely not getting it at all.” I look at the television screen. “I mean, I get the gist of it, but there’s so many rules and so many guys just running around on a field.”

“I’m probably boring you to death, aren’t I?” He shifts positions, sitting up straight and lowering his hand to his lap. “I have an idea. How about for every rule I tell you, you get to tell me one thing about comics and superheroes.”

“You know I’m into that stuff?”

He nods. “I’ve seen some of your drawings at school too. They’re pretty good.”

I mull over his offer. “All right, Kyler, you have yourself a deal.”



An hour later, he’s leaving with his freshly baked cookies and his head crammed full of superpower knowledge. I feel like I’m floating on clouds and skipping on rainbows, even if my head aches from football facts.

The second the door closes, I overdramatically fall to the floor. “What the hell just happened?” I say, draping my arm over my head. “Did I seriously just spend over an hour talking to Kyler about football and Jedi mind skills?”

Grandma Stephy laughs at me as she starts piling dirty bowls into the sink. “To be young and in love again. I’ve completely forgotten how silly love can make someone.”

“I’m not in love with Kyler. I’m just . . .” I push up on my elbows. “You did hear him, right? I mean, I didn’t dream what just happened, did I? Because I’ve dreamt about him asking me out for a long, long time.” Well, up until recently. Lately, my dreams have been chock full of worries about never finding my mom.

“You’re awake. I promise.” She grabs a dishtowel and tosses it at my face. “Now, get your ass over here and help me clean up this mess.”

I drag myself off the floor and put the flour and sugar into the pantry. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Isabella Anders, you need to stop asking that question before you ask a question,” she gripes as she puts the egg carton back into the fridge.

“Sorry, but I kind of wanted to prepare you for what I was about to ask.”

She pauses, worry creasing her face. “What is it?”

I sigh then tell her about the photo and the birth certificate, omitting the details of what Kai and I did with the certificate.

“I thought I told you to leave this alone and let me handle this. That snooping around wasn’t a good idea,” she says when I’m finished.

“I can’t just sit around and wonder what’s going on.” I pull out a barstool and sit down. “It’s driving me crazy not knowing what happened, where she is, who she is. I feel like I don’t know who I am anymore. Like I’m just this person floating around in the world, lost, without a family. And I don’t want to float anymore.”

She takes a seat on a barstool beside me. “Honey, I know it’s confusing right now, but give me some time to get the story out of your father. I know it’s not happening as fast as you like, but I really do believe that eventually he’ll break down and tell us if I push him just enough.”

I glance down at my bandaged knee, remembering the last time she tried to push him. “You really think you’ll be able to get him to tell you?”

She hesitantly nods. “Eventually, yes.”

I want to believe her—I really do—but I’ve heard the two of them yelling on the phone at each other over the last couple of weeks, and my dad seems pretty dead set on no one telling me anything about my mom.

“Do you have that photo on you?” she asks, wiping her hands off on a dishtowel.

I retrieve the picture from my pocket and hand it to her.

A faint smile rises on her lips. “You look a lot like her.”

“Have you ever seen her before?”