The Year I Became Isabella Anders

He giggles like a girl, and I think he might be drunk. "I'm invisible."

  I rest my arms on the railing, squinting through the dark until I make out his silhouette in the driveway just below my balcony. "You know, you once told me you wanted to have the superpower of invisibility. Do you remember that?"

  "I do remember that," he fully admits. "I'm still working on getting that superpower, though."

  "You'll never be invisible," I tell him. "You're just not that kind of guy."

  "Hey, maybe I can be . . . I mean, look at you. You turned un-invisible."

  I'm glad he can't see me as my skin warms. "I'm not un-invisible. Nice word choice, by the way."

  "Thank you. And that's what you are. Un-invisible." As he shuffles backwards, the moonlight hits his face and I can see the swaying in his movements.

  "You're drunk, aren't ya?" I tease.

  He holds up his fingers an inch apart. "Just a tiny, tiny bit."

  "Were you at a party?"

  "I was . . . but not one of those lame-ass parties Kyler always goes to. This party was my kind of party. Not his."

  "Okay," I say, again sensing tension between Kyler and him.

  "Maybe next time you can come," he says softly. "I mean, I know I'm not my brother or anything, but I can be fun."

  I catch the underlying meaning of his words, but before I can get too worked up, he staggers toward the fence that divides out yards.

  "See you at school tomorrow, Isa." He clumsily hops over the fence and trips up the steps to his house.

  "Yeah, see ya." I gather my things and head inside, trying not to stress over the fact that school starts tomorrow, and I have to go through with my plan to actually try to make friends. But as I lie down in bed to go to sleep, I'm nothing but a bundle of nerves.

  I've always walked to school, even after I turned sixteen. While Hannah got a brand new car and a pool party for her sweet sixteen, I got her old bike and a cupcake. And while I was glad just to get something, the old bike does me absolutely no good today as I walk to school in black velvet platforms, not made for pedals. Seriously, what was I thinking? Yeah, the shoes looked cute when I bought them, and they are, as Indigo put it, 'fucking ama-zing', paired with my knee high socks, denim shorts, and grey crop tee. But by the time I reach school, the killer shoes are filled with my blood.

  I'm trying not to limp as I cross the crowded parking lot toward the entrance. I have my attention on my schedule that came in the mail while I was gone, my thumb is hitched through the handle of my bag, and the wind is threatening to ruin my hair. But I'm rocking a side braid with these cool hair rings in it, and I manage to make it safely inside school without a hair moving out of place.

  I should probably look up as I start down the hallway, but I want a couple more moments to collect myself before I have to stroll past people who have either never noticed me, or noticed me too much, thanks to Hannah. Even though she's now at college, some of her younger friends are still hanging around somewhere and might be ready to make fun of me, and God knows what they're going to say about that stupid rumor Hannah spread at the beginning of the summer about me being in a mental institution.

  "Great, I have math first period," I gripe to myself as I weave my way down the crowded hallway toward my locker with my eyes glued to the schedule. "I hate ma--"

  A shiver shoots up my spine as someone grabs me by the waist. Their palms graze the sliver of space between my shirt and shorts, and I just about lose my shit, because I know there's no way it could be one of my kinda, sorta friends touching me like that.

  "What the hell?!" I squeal, reeling around and jumping back.

  Kai is standing there, wearing a pair of dark jeans, and a shirt for once--we are in school, after all. His hair is a mad mess, but in a bedhead sorta way, and he's biting his bottom lip, struggling not to laugh at me.

  "What are you doing?" I hiss, shoving his shoulder.

  "Clearly making a scene," he replies, his gaze skimming the hallway.

  I glance behind me and cringe. Almost half the people standing near us are gawking, probably because I squealed like a rabid beast. Great. So much for making a good first day impression and not drawing attention to myself.

  Facing Kai, I lightly shove him. "Dude, you can't just grab people like that. You scared the shit out of me."

  "When I grab most girls like that, they like it," he says with a smirk.

  "Well, I'm not most girls . . . and I'm not used to people touching me." I fidget with a bracelet on my wrist, feeling all sorts of jittery standing here, with half the damn school gawking at me. "You feeling better?"

  His brows dip. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, better than you did last night. You were a little out of it."

  His eyes widen. "I talked to you last night?"

  I nod, loving how shocked I made him. "You did. You actually yelled up at my balcony just to get my attention. It was very Romeo and Juliet." I shoot him a grin so he'll know I'm kidding.

  He crosses his arms and shifts his weights. "Did I say anything . . . I don't know . . . weird?"

  When I shrug, he narrows his eyes at me.

  "Nothing too weird. Well, other than you declared your undying love for me. Oh yeah, and for zombies." I smile when he grows even more uneasy. "Relax, you didn't say anything weird. Although, you did invite me to come to the next party with you."

  "I did, huh?" He rubs his scruffy jawline, musing over something. "Interesting."

  Silence stretches between us, and my thoughts wander back to the people watching us.

  I wanted today to go great, but I already have blisters on my heels and screamed in front of half my class. Maybe Hannah was right with what she said to me this morning. "Once a freak. Always a freak," she sneered when she saw me all dressed up.

  I shake my head. No. She's not right. I won't let her be.

  I straighten my shoulders and prepare myself. Time to do this. Face the music. Walk in head-on. I just cross my fingers and toes that the majority of the people here have forgotten the rumor Hannah spread at the beginning of the summer, that I was being admitted to a mental institution.

  "I have to figure out where all my classes are." I wave bye to Kai. "See ya later, maybe."

  "You've been going here for three years, Isa. You know where all the classrooms are." He snags ahold of my arm and hauls me toward the stairway that leads to the second floor.

  I shuffle after him, noting that people are still staring at us, either because they think I'm insane or because Kai has his hand on my arm. Sure, he's talked to me in school before, to tease me mainly, but he's definitely never dragged me up the stairway.

  He doesn't let me go until we reach a locker toward the end of the hallway on the second floor. By the time his fingers leave my arm, my skin is tingling in the nicest way ever.

  "What's with all the touching?" I ask him as I shift the handle of my bag higher onto my shoulder.

  He shrugs as he twists the combination of his locker. "You're the one who let me do it."

  "I didn't really have a choice."

  "You always have a choice."

  "Yeah, you're right." I anxiously glance around the hallway, noticing people are still eyeballing us with fascination. "But you've never done that in the past. I mean, held onto my arm in public. Or talked to me." I want to say so much more. Want to point out that back in the day, he wouldn't be caught dead with me. But this doesn't feel like the time or place to bring it up.

  He opens his locker. "Actually, I have before. Or at least I tried to. But usually when I tried to drag you down the hallway to . . . what did you call it the other day?" His head tilts to the side as he smirks. "Oh, yeah, 'to get my kicks and giggles', you pulled away and ran away from me like I was on fire."

  I cross my arms, feeling self-conscious. "That's because I knew you were making fun of me."

  "No, that was all in your head." He taps his finger against my temple. "It's all psychological, but now that you're," he glances up and down at me, l
ingering extra long on the sliver of skin peeking out of my shirt, "yeah, now you're okay with it, because you're more okay with yourself."

  "Is that why you brought me up here? Just to see if I'd come with you?" I ask curiously.

  He smiles at me, and I playfully swat his arm.

  He places a hand over his arm where I swatted him, laughing. "What's with all the abuse?"

  "Sorry, but you're purposely trying to make me mad." I tuck my hands into the back pocket of my shorts. "Now, if you're done playing with my mind, I'm going to go track down my locker."

  As I turn to leave, he catches the bottom of my shirt and tows me back to him. "I didn't just bring you up here to play with your mind," he says. "You owe me a gift."

  "The gift. Yeah, I forgot about that." I slide my backpack off, unzip it, and dig out the small box his gift is in, taking my time just so I'll drive him crazy. When he reaches for the box in my hand, I tuck it behind my back. "Ask nicely."

  His eyes narrow to slits, but it's a playful move. "Fine, Isa, can I pretty please," he juts out his bottom lip, "with cherries and sprinkles and caramel on top, have my present?"

  "I'll give it to you, but only because of all the dessert references." I hand over the box.

  "You know, you've been promising you're going to give it to me a lot lately." His lips quirk as he opens the box and takes out the leather bracelet engraved with his name on it.

  I ignore his dirty remark, but my cheeks warm. "I got it while I was in Paris. I know it's not anything super awesome, but there was this guy on the street making them, and it made me think of you." I flick his wrist, where he already has an array of bracelets. "I wasn't even positive you'd still be wearing them by the time I got back, since you never used to up until . . ." I shrug, "well, you changed. I wasn't sure if this bad boy thing of yours was going to be a phase."

  He looks up at me, his expression dead serious. "Is this hot girl thing of yours a phase?"

  "It's not a hot girl phase," I promise him, although my tone's a little shaky. "And no, it's not a phase. But I do need to figure out some stuff."

  "What kind of stuff?"

  "I don't know. Just stuff."

  He stares at me just long enough to make me uneasy then drops the gaze to the bracelet as he ties it to his wrist. "I like it."

  "You don't have to like it." But I kind of want him to. "Although, it was way better than the painting my cousin tried to talk me into getting you. You don't seem like a painting kind of guy."

  He flicks the bracelet on his wrist. "This is way, way better than a painting." He smiles at me, a genuine smile. "But you know what this means, right? You liiiike me."

  Biting back a smile, I shake my head. "It so does not."

  "Does too."

  "Oh, fine. Whatever."

  "Ha! I won that round."

  "Only because I let you."

  He's grinning from ear to ear. "I like this." He points back and forth between the two of us. "We should do this more often."

  "Do what more often?" I ask.

  Before he can respond, Braden, one of his stoner friends, strolls up to Kai.

  "Hey, did you bring that thing we were talking about the other night at that party?" he asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

  Kai glances at me, and Braden tracks his gaze. He blinks, either stunned or high--it's hard to tell for sure, because his eyes are really, really bloodshot.

  "Hey," he says, blinking again as he checks me out, "I know you, right?"

  I shake my head, trying not to squirm from his attentive gaze. "Probably not."

  Kai rubs the back of his neck and tensely glances around the hallway. I know what's coming. Like the time he was caught walking home with me, he's going to make some lame-ass excuse of why he's here with me.

  "I'll see you later," I say, deciding to let him off the hook.

  Before anyone can say anything else, I turn around and walk back toward the stairway. As I make my way downstairs, I notice that fewer people are looking in my direction, but some still stare. I ignore the gawking the best I can, but by the time I make it to my locker, I feel sick to my stomach. I have no idea how I'm going through with my plan of making some real friends, when I can barely handle people staring.

  Give it time. You'll get used to it.

  That's what I try to tell myself through my morning classes and during lunch, when I sit at the same corner table by myself, like I did the previous three years. I get desperate enough that I try to spot Kai at one of the tables, but he must leave campus for lunch, because I don't see him anywhere. I end up eating lunch while texting Indigo, so I won't have to deal with the staring plague that seems to have taken over my school.

  I'm not positive what's causing the gawking. I haven't heard any gossip that includes my name and my mental stability, so I don't think the rumor is causing people to act crazy. Still, the thought hovers there in the back of my mind. What if they all think I'm insane? Do I care? I don't want to, and the Isa who was overseas wouldn't, but being back at home, where everyone knows the real me, I kind of do.

  By the time the final bell rings, I've made a total of zero friends, and strangely, the handful of people I did talk to during my junior year won't even look me in the eye.

  Frustrated, I hurry out of the school, pushing my way through the mob of people on the sidewalk. As I reach the parking lot, my phone buzzes from inside my pocket, so I dig it out.

  Indigo: Dude, I forgot how lame high school is.

  Me: What r u talking about? You're at school? What school?

  Indigo: I'm talking about the lameness of your high school and all high schools in general.

  Me: R u here?

  Indigo: Duh. How could I not come pick u up after all those depressing texts u sent me?

  My gaze lifts to the parking lot and I spot her, sitting on the trunk of my grandma's car, with her hair pulled up in a bun, smoking a cigarette. I run to her. I don't even care how crazy I look at the moment. I'm just so damn glad she's here.

  She hops off the trunk, and I hug the bejesus out of her. "So, I'm guessing by the crazy hugging that your first day totally sucked?" she says as she hugs me back.

  "It was awful," I tell her. "Everyone kept staring, and even my old friends wouldn't talk to me. The only person who said anything to me at all was Kai, and that's because he wanted his present."

  "Aw, Kai." The tone of her voice implies something. "He wouldn't happen to be around, would he?"

  I move back and eye her over suspiciously. "Why?"

  She shrugs, dropping her cigarette to the ground and stomping it out with the tip of her boot. "I'm just curious. I mean, other than Kyler, he's the only person from Sunnyvale I've heard you mention. And you're in love with Kyler, so it makes sense why you talked about him, but with Kai," she bobs her head back and forth, wavering, "I want to find out why he's always so stuck in your head."

  "He's not stuck in my head. I talk about him, because he's, like, one of the few people who's ever talked to me at school, and that was only on rare occasions." I frown as she stubbornly keeps looking at all the people walking by us. "And I have no idea where he is. I haven't seen him since this morning." I head for the passenger side of the car. "Please tell me you're taking me for ice cream, because I'm in desperate need of some sugar."

  Her back stiffens. "We actually need to go straight to Grandma's."

  I grasp the door handle. "Why? Is everything okay?"

  She won't look me in the eye, which is completely out of character for her. "Something happened between her and your dad. They got in a fight and . . ."

  "And what?" I press.

  She sighs, meeting my gaze. "And she got a name out of him."

  "She did. Yes!" I fist pump the air then hop into the car, bubbling with excitement. Holy shit, she has a name. A freaking name. I'm so excited I can't sit still.

  Indigo climbs into the car and turns on the engine. "Isa, I don't want you to get too excited. Grandma may have gotten a name, but y
our dad wouldn't tell her anything else. And he's super pissed. Like, really, really angry." She backs out of the parking space. "He even broke a vase."

  "That doesn't matter." All that matters is I'm about to learn my mother's name. I can do a lot with a name. I can even track her down if I want to, without my dad's help, which I plan on doing.

  Because like I promised myself in Paris, I'm going to find her, no matter what it takes.

  THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Indigo is parking the car in front of Grandma Stephy's apartment. I have so much pent up energy inside me that I jump out of the car before it comes to a complete stop. I've done the ninja move before, but never in four-inch platforms, and I end up rolling my ankle and eating asphalt as I fall to the ground.

  "For the love of God." I clumsily push to my feet and look at the damage. My knee is bleeding and pebbles are stuck in the open cut. I think a piece of glass might be in there too. I almost throw up. I'm cool with seeing blood and gore on television, but it's a whole different story when the blood's gushing out of me. But determined to make it inside, I force the vomit back and pluck out the glass.

  "Oh, my God . . ." Oxygen is ripped from my lungs as more blood trickles out of the wound.

  "Jesus, Isa, are you okay?" Indigo rushes around the front of the car toward me.

  "I'm totally fine." I can do this. Be tough. I take off, limping up the sidewalk toward my grandma's place.

  "Isa, would you please slow down?" Indigo's sandals scuff against the ground as she jogs to catch up with me. "You're leaving a trail of blood all over the ground, for God's sake."

  I look down and, sure enough, blood is dripping out of the cut, down my leg, and onto the concrete. I gag, but fuse my lips together.

  "Holy shit, I think you might need stitches," Indigo remarks as she bends over and squints at the open wound.

  "The stitches can wait until I talk to Grandma." I hobble toward the apartment again, refusing to look down at the cut.

  Cotton candy. Gummy worms. Licorice. I chant in my head, trying to stay calm.

  "You're going to end up with a scar if you don't take care of it," Indigo points out, stopping by the front door to light up.

  "I'll take care of it." I open the apartment door and stumble into Grandma Stephy's living room.

  She's sitting on the couch, surrounded by tons of used Kleenexes, and her head is in her hands. When I enter, she quickly looks up, blinking her puffy eyes.