Текст книги "The Year I Became Isabella Anders"

Автор книги: Jessica Sorensen

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

“Hey, Isa, wait up,” Indigo says as she chases after me.

I pause at the bottom of the stairway and wait for her to catch up. When she reaches me, out of breath, I give her an are you kidding me look.

“What’s that look for?” she asks innocently as she fans her face with her hand.

“Those guys were gross and smelled like bad cheese. Seriously, if that’s your definition of excitement, then count me out.”

“That’s not even close to what I meant by excitement.” She kicks off her shoes and tips her head up to take in all the stairs.

“We could take the elevator,” I say, eyeballing her bare feet.

“No way. That’s like cheating the excitement.” She steps back with her heels in her hands then sprints forward, laughing as she charges up the first flight of stairs. “Race you to the top.”

Laughing, I barrel after her and up the stairway. People skitter out of our way as we jog side-by-side up each flight of stairs. With each step, I feel closer to soaring, closer to flying away from reality, like I’m outrunning my problems.

By the time we arrive to the second floor, though, we slowed down to a sluggish walk, because, holy crap, there are a lot of stairs.

“My feet hurt,” Indigo gripes, catching her breath. “But this makes it totally worth it.”

“Holy shit, this is so cool.” I slip my fingers through the railing and stare down at the glittering city stretched out below us.”

“It’s more than cool. It’s exciting.” Indigo reaches into her purse and fishes out her phone as I shut my eyes and breathe in the cool air kissing my cheeks.

While it might seem lame to most, tonight has been one of the best nights of my life. I’ve never ran around and had fun without worrying about being judged by my sister or scolded by my mom.

“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.

“I know he’s not the best dad in the world, but I promise he loves you,” she insists, looking a tad bit apprehensive. “He just hasn’t always been able to show it.”

“And what about Lynn?” I’m looking her dead in the eyes, so I see the fear flicker across her face.

She swallows hard. “Lynn is . . .” She rubs her hand across her face, looking stressed.

“She’s not my mom,” I answer for her in an uneven voice.

She looks utterly remorseful. “I’m so sorry, Isa. I really am. I don’t want you to hurt, but I guess there’s no easy way for you to learn about this.”

Her words sink in, but it takes a moment or two for them to really, really hit me. And fucking hell, they hurt, like a kick to the shin, a slam of the elbow, a gash to your heart hurt.

“Who’s my real mom?” I ask quietly, refusing to look at Indigo, even though I can feel her trying to catch my gaze.

Grandma Stephy smashes her lips together as her eyes well up. “I wish I could tell you, but . . .” She kneels down in front of me. “I don’t know who she is. Only your dad does . . . and Lynn. They’ve kept it a secret from the rest of the family, which was pretty easy for them, since they barely keep in contact with anyone except for the few reunions they attended.”

Her arms circle around me, and she hugs me with everything she has in her. “The only reason I know about any of this is because your dad once asked me to raise you. Your mother . . . she couldn’t take care of you for some reason, and your dad . . . well, at first he asked me if I could take care of you, because he didn’t want to put you into foster care. But then something changed, and he decided he wanted to keep you. I tried to talk him out of it, especially because of Lynn, but he’s too goddamn thickheaded to listen to anything I say.” She leans back and takes my hands in hers.

I realize my fingers are shaking—that my entire body is shaking. “My dad never said why he took me in?” I whisper. “Why he changed his mind? Or why my mom needed to give me away?”

She shakes her head sadly. “I’m sorry, honey, but he never talks about it at all. The only time it’s ever been brought up is over the phone the few weeks before they dropped you off with me, and that’s because I forced the subject on him. I was tired of the way they treated you, and wanted to get some goddamn answers over what the hell happened fourteen years ago between your mother and him.”

My mind swirls with confusion. “Wait . . . fourteen years . . .”

Her hold tightens on my hand, like she’s afraid I’m going to run. “You lived with your mother for a few years before you went to go live with your dad.”

I press my quivering lips together as tears burn in my eyes. “Why can’t I remember any of this?”

“Honey, you were barely three when all this happened.” Her voice is gentle, but her hold on my hand is firm as tears slide down my cheeks. “I know this is hard to take in, but—”

Before she can finish that thought, I yank my hands out of hers and run to the bathroom. “I think I’m going to be sick,” I say, then slam the door shut and lock it.

After I throw up the wine I drank earlier, I sink to the tiled floor in front of my bag. I dig out my sketchpad and open it up to one of my favorite comics I drew, starring me and the woman I always wished was my mom. Maybe she wasn’t just a wish, though. Maybe she was a faint memory I was trying to hold onto in dark times.

I touch the dark lines I meticulously drew. “Who are you?” I whisper.

Silence is my only answer, and it hurts almost as badly as my heart.

Curling up into a ball, I hug the sketchbook to my chest. Indigo wanted me to spend the summer discovering myself, but how the hell am I supposed to do that when I have no idea where I came from?

After bawling my eyes out for what feels like hours, I finally pull myself off the floor and drag my ass out of the bathroom. The lights are still on, but Indigo is passed out in one of the beds, still wearing her dress, snoring away.

My eyes are so swollen I can barely see anything, but I stand with confidence. I have to in order to hide the nerves sloshing around inside me. “When I get back, I want to find her,” I tell Grandma Stephy.

She quickly aims the remote at the television, shuts off the show she was watching, and rubs the sleepiness from her eyes. “Honey, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“I don’t care if it’s a good idea or not.” I sit down on the edge of the bed, still holding onto my sketchbook. “It’s what I want—need—to do. All my life, I felt like I was crazy, because I never, ever fit in with my family. And now I learn the reason why . . . and I want to know who she is, if she’s like me. Maybe she can understand me.” Maybe she’ll love me.

Grandma Stephy ruffles her hair into place as she sits up in the bed and lowers her feet to the floor. “Isa, I know it’s been hard living in that house, but I worry what’ll happen to you if this doesn’t turn out the way you want it to.”

“But I don’t even know how I want it to turn out,” I point out. “I mostly just feel . . . lost right now.”

She scoots toward me. “I hate to be blunt, but I feel like I have to.” She blows out a deafening breath. “But there was a reason your mother chose to give you to your father. Whether it’s because she couldn’t take care of you, or . . .” She shakes her head. “I just want you to make sure you think about all the scenarios, how this could turn out before you dive into this.”

I get where she’s coming from. I can think of a ton of reasons off the top of my head of how this could end up going down. From my real mother being just as mean as Cruella de Lynn, to her being dead.

God, what if she is dead? What if I never get to know her? What if I continue to drift through life feeling so out of place?

I have to know. Have to understand. Where I came from. What makes me tick. What makes me so strange. What makes me . . . well, me. And even though I know it might hurt more than anything else, I have to know why she gave me up.

“If I do that—If I spend the next few months thinking about how this is going to turn out—and I still want to find her when I get back, will you help me?” I ask.

She’s silent for a maddening amount of time, and I end up chanting one of my songs to keep from shouting at her.

Chocolate fudge. Caramel. Cinnamon rolls. I wonder if my mom bakes . . .

“If that’s what you decide you want to do, then yes; I’ll help you,” she finally agrees, but she doesn’t sound happy about it.

“Thank you, Grandma.” I feel even more nervous for some reason, now knowing I could possibly find my real mom. What will I say to her when I see her? What will she say?

“Don’t thank me yet.” Grandma Stephy points to the other bed. “Now, get some sleep. I have a lot of fun things planned for us tomorrow.”

I nod then climb into bed, still grasping onto the sketchbook. I may have told Grandma Stephy I’d really think this through, but I already know what my decision will end up being. Like Indigo said, good or bad, life is about experiences. And this is one experience I’m going through with, even if the outcome is brutal.

PARIS TURNS OUT to be fun. Like a lot of a lot of fun. And we spend so much time sightseeing, tasting the food, and going shopping that I don’t have too much time to dwell over my family situation. Still, during the late hours of the night, when Indigo is snoring and Grandma Stephy is tossing and turning, I lie awake in my bed going over every single memory I can scrounge up, trying to figure out how I missed it. Missed the truth. It’s hard to take in, hard not to cry, and sometimes I let the tears soak my pillow. I just make sure that when the sun comes up, I’m bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and ready to go on whatever adventure Indigo has planned for us.

“I’m so exhausted,” Indigo says to Grandma Stephy as we get on the elevator to go up to our room. We’ve been in London for a few days now, and there are so many sights to see, like Big Ben and the Tower Bridge, that we’ve had hardly any time to rest. “I think I’m going to crash early tonight.”

We’ve been on our trip for a couple of weeks now, so when she catches my eye and gives me the look, I know her feigned exhaustion is just a ruse. She really has a hidden agenda for us tonight. I’m excited to see what she has planned and cross my fingers that maybe it’ll wear me out enough I’ll pass out by the time we go to bed.

“That’s okay. I was thinking about going out with some of my friends, anyway,” Grandma says as the elevator doors glide open. She steps out into the hallway and we follow. “But could you two girls do me a favor?”

“Of course, Grandma Stephy, we’d be more than happy to.” Indigo lays on her charm thickly.

“Make sure the door shuts all the way when you decide to sneak out.” Grandma Stephy grins at us as she digs the keycard out of her purse. “Last time, you left it open. You were lucky we didn’t get robbed.”

Indigo gives her a guilty look. “That was all the way back in Paris. If you knew we were sneaking out all this time, then why didn’t you say anything?”

Grandma Stephy swipes the keycard into the slot on our room door. “Because I didn’t want to ruin the fun of sneaking out.”

“But you freaked out the one time you found out we left the room,” Indigo points out as the three of us enter the small, quaint room. “Why do you suddenly not care what we do?”

“I care. But I figured you two need to have some fun.” She looks at me, and I know by that you two she really means me. Grandma Stephy sits down to take off her shoes. “But now that we’ve got that all out into the open, I’d prefer if you two told me where you were going and I didn’t have to track you down with that little thing on your phone.”

“What thing?” Indigo asks as she unzips her suitcase.

“That little tracker thing that lets you know where your phone is,” Grandma Stephy gets up and heads into the bathroom to take a shower.

I flop down on the bed and stretch my arms and legs out. “So does it lessen our fun that she’s known this whole time what we’ve been up to? Because that whole we’re-being-so-rebellious-and-it-makes-this-so-much-more-fun speech you gave when we snuck out to go clubbing seems pretty insignificant now.”

“Nah, we still had fun, didn’t we?” she asks with her head tucked down as she rummages through her bag for the perfect outfit.

“That we did,” I agree, sitting up. “So what’re we doing tonight? Or is it another surprise?”

She looks up at me, grinning as she throws a shimmery black dress at my face. “Tonight, we’re going to find you a guy.”

I set the dress down on the bed and run my fingers along the glittery fabric, smoothing out the wrinkles. “I don’t need to find a guy.”

“Liar. You so need to find a guy, so you can get over that Kyler dude.”

During a drunken conversation, I told Indigo about Kyler. She wasn’t a huge fan of my crush on him, and said I deserved a guy who actually tried to spend time with me. I wanted to argue that we technically have spent time together, but knew my point was probably moot, since a few weekends doesn’t really count.

Knowing there’s no point in arguing with her, I get up and wiggle into the dress then curl my hair. I apply some dark red lipstick and kohl eyeliner then add a drop of eye glitter, just because I love looking sparkly sometimes. Since I’m a newbie at the hair and makeup thing, I make sure to get Indigo’s approval.

“You look fantastic,” she says, admiring my handiwork as she douses her hair in hairspray. “Seriously, you’ve caught onto this whole makeup and hair stuff way faster than I expected you to.”

“Thanks.” While I appreciate her approval, there are times where I still feel like the girl with shiny brown and green hair, wearing the glittery, probably too short dress isn’t me. That I look ridiculous and everyone around me knows it.

My phone suddenly buzzes from the nightstand. Indigo and I trade a quizzical look, because the thing never goes off.

I hurry over and pick it up, worried there might be something wrong at home. But my confusion only deepens when I see the message is from Kai.

Kai: U haven’t sent me any pics yet :( At first I thought maybe it’s because u forgot all about your cute, sexy neighbor next door, but then I realized how impossible that could be and started worrying that maybe something bad happened to u. That’s it, right? Something bad happened to u?

Me: So you’re saying u would rather something bad happen to me?

Kai: Ha! I knew that’d get u to respond.

Me: Whatever. I was never ignoring u, since this is the first time u sent me a message.

Kai: I didn’t want to seem too needy. But then I realized it wasn’t about me. It was about your wellbeing.

I roll my eyes. I can almost picture Kai smiling as he texts me, totally amused with himself.

Kai: So where’s my pic?

“You should probably send him the one we took at the top of the Eiffel Tower. You looked amazing in it,” Indigo says, reading the message from over my shoulder. “But first, you have to explain to me who Kai is.”

“He’s Kyler’s young brother who loves to annoy me,” I say, sinking down on the bed.

She coils a strand of her hair around her finger. “Annoy you, huh?” She seems wistful about something. “Because from what I read through the text, he seems like he’s flirting with you.”

I laugh so hard I almost pee myself. “Kai isn’t flirting with me. Trust me. He’s just made it his life mission to annoy the crap out of me.” I start to send Kai the pic Indigo suggested, but then stop myself.

I don’t fully understand why. Part of me whispers that my hesitancy is that I don’t trust him. But the other part of me whispers that I’m just not ready to take these moments overseas—this fantasy world I’ve been living, where I feel like I can be anyone and do anything—and share it with my old life.

Me: Don’t have any cool pics yet. Sorry.

I leave it at that and put my phone away. He doesn’t reply. I don’t know why I’m surprised or a tiny bit disappointed, but I am. The sucky part is I don’t know what I’m more disappointed about—Kai’s silence, or the fact I was too afraid to send him a damn photo.

I shake the feeling off, though, and focus on tonight. I focus on my next life experience, because that’s what I should be doing.