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

“I’m more into him than my cocky neighbor next door,” I quip with a sassy smirk.

His eyes darken as he backs away from me. “You know, if you bring me back a present, it means that’s not true. That you do really like me.” He winks at me again and walks into the house before I can get another word out.

His advice echoes in my head.

He may joke around a lot with me, but when he gets all serious, he actually gives pretty good advice.

I make a vow to myself right then and there that when I get back from this trip, things will change. I’m not sure how it’s going to happen, but if I can survive seventeen years of being picked on, I sure as hell can figure out a way to finally make it stop.





I’M STILL TRYING to create an awesome plan on how to get Hannah to respect me, when my dad returns to the car.

“Ready?” he asks me as he fishes the keys from his slacks.

Nodding, I hop into the passenger seat.

My thoughts remain stuck in Awesome Plan Land for most of the thirty-minute drive across town. The only time the quietness is broken is when we stop at the drive-thru to get ice cream like my dad promised, and he asks me what flavor I want.

By the time we pull up to the Sunnyvale Bay Community, I’m still lost on how to make Hannah see me differently. It doesn’t seem possible, considering I’m basically trying to figure out a way to get Hannah, The Wicked Wench of the Anders’ House, to be nicer to me.

No, I can do this, I tell myself. I need to be more optimistic. I have a whole three months to figure this all out.

The Sunnyvale Bay Community looks like an ordinary apartment complex, except all the tenants are fifty-five and over. Grandma Stephy moved here about a year ago after my grandpa passed away from cancer. While my grandpa was a man of few words, he was probably my favorite family member besides Grandma Stephy. Whenever I visited, he’d take me down to the gas station to buy a soda and candy. We’d cruise on the back roads in his old truck, listening to old country singers, mostly Hank Williams and Johnny Cash, with the windows down, even if it was wintertime. He never took Hannah with us. Said she threw too many tantrums. Our drives always made me feel special, like someone actually wanted to spend time with me, like I was more than just Hannah’s dorky little sister who no one ever wanted around.

Man, I really miss those days and our drives.

“I’ll get your bags if you want to go up,” my dad says, interrupting my thoughts as he parks the car.

“Sure. Sounds good. Thanks.” I climb out of the car and head up the path to my grandma’s apartment.

I knock before opening the door and strolling inside. As I step foot over the threshold, my shoe bumps into Beastie, my grandma’s fat, old calico cat, and I fall flat on my stomach.

The cat hisses at me, like the crabby old fart he is.

“Dammit, Beastie,” I curse as I roll over onto my back, rubbing the knee I banged against the floor.

He growls and the hairs rise on his back as he scurries at me with his claws out. I scramble to get to my feet, but right as his claw is about to reach my leg, a pair of hands wrap around his belly.

“Now, Beastie, I thought we talked about this.” My cousin, Indigo, who’s two years older than me, scoops up the cat and lifts him so he’s eye level with her. Looking him dead in the eyes, she lectures, “It’s rude to trip people then try to eat their faces. You’re not a zombie. You’re a cat.”

Beastie hisses at her in response.

Sighing, she sets him back down on the floor and offers me her hand. “I’ve been telling Grandma Stephy that she needs to teach him some manners, but she says it’s useless, that he’s too old and already stuck in his ways.”

“She’s probably right.” When I take her hand, she helps me to my feet. I massage my achy knee. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what’re you doing here? I thought you were in New York attending art school.”

“I was.” She tucks a strand of her blood red hair behind her ear and fiddles with one of her gauges. “Some stuff came up, though, and I had to leave.”

“Did you move back home?”