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

“OH. MY. GOD,” Indigo groans as she stuffs her face with a double cheeseburger. “I missed you, my dear, sweet hamburger, even though you treat me poorly and go straight to my thighs.”

I giggle in the backseat of Grandma Stephy’s car then pop a fry into my mouth. “The food wasn’t that bad over there,” I say.

She narrows her eyes at me with a drizzle of grease dripping down her chin. “Dude, are you fucking crazy? It was terrible. Everything was either burnt or topped with some weird sauce.” She sets the burger down on her lap and dunks a fry into a cup of ranch. “Good God, I’ve missed ranch on my fries. I’m seriously about to have a foodgasm.”

“No foodgasms in the car,” Grandma Stephy says as she turns the car off the main road.

I set the fry that I was about to eat down as I suddenly lose my appetite as we get closer to my house. We’ve been back in Sunnyvale for a couple of nights now, but this will be the first time I’ve been home in three months. And it’ll be the first time I’ve seen my family since I discovered the secret about my mother.

It’s crazy that I managed to hardly think about it the entire trip. Now that I’m back in the states, it’s all I can think about twenty-four seven.

Time to get some answers.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay with me for a little bit longer?” Grandma Stephy asks me for the millionth time.

“I wish I could,” I say truthfully. “But my senior year starts in a couple of days, and I need to get stuff ready.”

“What stuff?” Indigo stares at me while she chews on a huge mouthful of hamburger. “We already have your wardrobe fully taken care of. You’re seriously going to look edgy hot.”

I smile. She’s been calling my style edgy hot ever since around London, when I started wearing boots and leather jackets with dresses and knee-high socks. “I’m not talking about needing to get clothes. I’m talking about getting supplies and stuff. You know, pencils and notebooks and books. I also need to get started on my blog again. I haven’t done anything with it all summer, and I want to get it going again.” I tuck a few strands of my long brown hair with reddish highlights behind my ear. “I actually think I’m going to blog about our trip.”

“Good. It was an awesome trip full of tell-all adventures.” She grins at me, and I smile back. “Although, not all of them are tell-all.” She points a finger at me, warning me to keep my mouth shut about some of the more interesting stuff we did on our little trip, like our skinny-dipping adventure in the pool.

I draw my fingers over my lips, silently telling her I’ll keep my trap shut.

“What are you two girls yammering about?” Grandma Stephy asks as she makes a right into my neighborhood.

“Nothing,” Indigo and I say at the same time.

Grandma Stephy shakes her head. “Fine. Keep your secrets. Just know that I have mine, too.”

“Oh, we know you do,” Indigo says then moans through a giggle, “Oh, Harry.”

Grandma Stephy’s eyes widen. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You don’t know?” Indigo questions with doubt.

Grandma Stephy rolls her eyes. “How on Earth would I know what the hell you’re giggling about? You two think everything’s funny.”

“Only things that are funny,” Indigo says through choked laughter. “I know this might be past your time, but the customary rule for having roommates is to leave a tie on the door when you’re hooking up. That way, someone doesn’t accidentally walk in on something they don’t want to see.

The two of them start bantering, and I sit back in the seat and watch the homes as we pass them.

I’ve never been a fan of where I live, but after traveling and seeing so many historical places, Gothic buildings, and even an underground tunnel filled with bones, I kind of hate the homes built to show off the upper class. But the hatred I feel for the houses dissipates the moment we pull up to my two-story home, and is replaced by the deepest, nerve-striking anger I’ve ever felt.

It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to change. You’re stronger now, and you’re going to find out about your mother. Maybe you’ll even be able to go live with her.

After my grandma parks the car, I get out, go around to the trunk, and start piling my bags onto the ground.

“Here, let me help you.” Grandma Stephy shoos me out of the way, takes the last of my bags out, and sets them aside in the driveway. “You want me to help you carry them in?”

I shake my head. “I can do it.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, stealing a hesitant glance toward my house, probably afraid to leave me.

“I’m positive,” I say. “Would you stop worrying so much? Everything’s going to be fine.”

“You’re my granddaughter. It’s my job to worry about you.” She pulls me in for a hug. “If you need anything at all, you call me, you hear?”