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

As I make my way back to Nyle, I can’t help but think that maybe Indigo’s right. Perhaps I should get over Kyler. After all, he’s probably back home, in a lip lock with Hannah.

I wince as I realize how big of a possibility that is, and before I even know what I’m doing, I march straight up to Nyle and seal my lips with his.

He taste like beer, is the first thought that crosses my mind, which only makes me giggle.

Bravo, Isa, on being the weirdest kisser in the world.

Nyle seems to find me amusing, though, and chuckles along with me, before deepening the kiss. While there’s no fireworks or explosions, I do discover that kissing is fun. I might have to try it again sometime.

Or a lot.

We kiss a lot that night, in the pod, on the street in front of Big Ben, and at a bakery shop we stop at to get cupcakes.

At the end of the night, Nyle and I say goodbye. We don’t exchange numbers or emails. We just kiss and tell each other we had fun. There’s no expectations to try to talk to each other again and I like that.

“Was I right? Or was I right?” Indigo asks me.

It’s well after midnight, but I feel wide awake as we skip through the glitzy hotel lobby and toward the elevators.

“You were right.” I push the up button and wait for the doors to open.

Indigo is grinning like a dork as we jump into the elevator, but her mood swiftly shifts. “You are having fun, though, right? I just want to make sure that you are. I know after what you found out in Paris . . .” She sighs, slipping off her purple platform shoes. “I just want to make sure you’re having fun, despite what you found out.”

“I promise I am.” I link arms with her. “You’ve done good, cuz.”

“Why thank you, cuz.” She laughs, slumping back against the wall. “So what did you think of your first kiss?”

“It actually wasn’t that bad. And Nyle seems like a great kisser.”

“Did it help you forget about Kyler?”

“It actually did for a while,” I answer truthfully.

“Good. I’m glad.” She presses our floor button with her toe, too lazy to lean forward and do it with her fingers. “You should have seen the look on Nyle’s face when you kissed him. He was so into it.”

I replay the kiss in my head. The girl in the memory looks like me, yet she’s almost unrecognizable, doing things I never thought I’d do.

I look at my reflection in the mirror on the wall. My eyes are big, my cheeks flushed, and my lips are swollen. I look wired, happy, hyped up on life and experiences. I wonder if Kyler, Hannah, or even Kai saw me right now, they’d know who I was. I think about texting Kai a photo of me and finding out, but am too worried he’ll know exactly who I am, still see me as the nerdy girl next door. And I’m too worried he won’t, that through this exterior transformation, I’ve somehow lost my entire identity.

But that can’t be true. I still feel the same. For the most part, anyway.

I vow to myself right there and then that I won’t lose sight of who I am, no matter what happens. Not just while I’m here, but when I get back home too.





OVER THE NEXT couple of weeks or so, I hold onto my promise to myself as much as I can. It becomes increasingly complicated, though, with each crazy endeavor Indigo and I embark on.

Like the first time we went clubbing in Scotland. We spend half the night chatting with complete strangers before we head into a club. Indigo orders us drinks then fixes her attention into coaxing me into dancing with her.

“You want me to what?” I gape at her like she’s a raving lunatic.

She laughs as she picks up a shot glass. “I said let’s dance. We look too hot not to dance.”

While I agree that we both look hot in our short dresses with our hair all done? I don’t think dancing is necessary, especially when I can’t dance.

“Don’t look at me like that. You’ll be fine.” She angles back her head, throws down the shot, and then sets the glass down on the counter.

“Yeah, clearly you’ve never seen me dance; otherwise, you wouldn’t be suggesting that,” I say, peering around at the people laughing, drinking, and grinding all up on each other.

“That’s a lame excuse,” she says. “Give me a better one and I’ll let you off the hook.”

The dim lighting makes it hard to see anyone’s face, and with the atmosphere buzzing and the music throbbing, there isn’t a good excuse I can see anywhere.

I look back at her, sulking. “Do I have to?”

“You don’t have to do anything,” she says, shimmying her hips as she backed toward the dance floor. “But you’re missing out on one of life’s great experiences.” Then she raises her hands in the air as she reaches the edge of the dance floor, rocking out to a bass driven song. “Dance like no one’s watching!” she shouts over the music then starts head banging like a freakin’ punk rock chick.

I wait for someone to laugh at her, but I quickly realize no one gives a shit about what anyone else is doing. Everyone’s too focused on their own thing, like I should be.