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

“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?”

Her eyes widen, and I literally feel the perfection and freedom I felt on the Eiffel Tower go poof.

“I heard some of the stuff you and my dad said and . . . Lynn isn’t my real mom, is she?” I ask, sounding eerily calm. “That’s why she hates me so much.”

Grandma Stephy’s lips part, but then she rapidly shakes her head. “No, I’m not going to lie to you anymore. I told your father I was sick of this bullshit and that it was time to tell you. That they couldn’t just keep treating you like crap—that it was time. And I meant it.” She sits down in a chair beside me and squares her shoulders. “Isa, I love you to death. You need to understand that, okay? I love you so much and you’re my fantastic, wonderfully weird, keep-me-on-my-toes granddaughter. Your grandpa loved you, too. He even told me once that you were his favorite.”

“Hey,” Indigo says, but then holds up her hands. “You know what. Never mind. I’m not going to open my mouth anymore tonight.”

“Good girl,” Grandma Stephy says to her, then focuses back on me. “I need to know you understand all of this. That you’re loved.”

I nod apprehensively, picking at my fingernails. “Okay, I get it.”

“And your dad loves you, too,” she tries to press.

“Okay.” This time, I sound way less sure.