The Year I Became Isabella Ande - Jessica Sorensen Page 0,19
how to put together an outfit. Plus, they were comfortable to wear while I was playing basketball.
After Lynn told me that, I felt as if I had to dress in baggy clothes, like I wasn’t good enough to dress nice.
What if that’s the real reason I do a lot of things? What if my general weirdo-ness was created around things my mom—Lynn—said to me. Like when she told me no one wanted to be friends with me because I was too strange. What if I stopped trying to make friends, because I believed no one would want to get to know weirdo, freak I was led to believe I was?
Pity briefly flashes in Indigo’s eyes, but the look swiftly vanishes as determination fills her expression. She strides across the room, opens the mini fridge, and grabs a bottle of wine. Using an opener, she removes the cork then takes a swig straight out of the bottle.
God, if Lynn were here, she’d have a fit with the lack of class Indigo is showing right now.
When I hesitate, Indigo says, “No one’s around. We don’t need to be classy.”
“That’s not why I’m hesitating.” Sighing, I grab the bottle, take a drink, and then give the wine back to her.
She sets the bottle aside then grabs my arm and pulls me toward the bathroom door.
“What are we doing?” I ask as I hurry after her.
“I’m giving you a little lesson. But take notes, because I’m only going to do this once. You can’t find out who you are if I’m trying to do it for you.”
Two hours later, I’m walking down an overly packed sidewalk with smooth legs and tweezed eyebrows, wearing a red dress I can barely breathe in.
“Come on, Isa,” Indigo says, motioning me to move quicker as she walks a ways in front of me. “If you keep walking this slow, the clubs are gonna be closed by the time we get there.”
“I’m trying.” I shuffle after her, trying not to roll my ankles. “These heels suck, though.”
She slows to a stop at a street corner and sighs as she leans down to untie her boot. “Come on, take them off and I’ll trade shoes with you.”
I stop beside her and grab the street post to get my balance. “I thought you said heels weren’t your thing.” Which really confused me, since she packed six pairs.
“I said most of the time they weren’t my thing.” She slips her foot out of the boot and unties the other one. “It doesn’t mean I never wear them.”
We exchange shoes and I feel ten times better in the clunky boots. “I think I’m a boots kind of girl for sure.”
“I agree.” After Indigo slips the heels on, she does a little spin in her dress. “How do I look?”
“Amazing,” I say as I finish tying the boots. “I like how the flowers on the shoes match your hair.”
“Me too.” She studies me with her head cocked to the side. “God, you look so great. It’s amazing what a little eyeliner and lip-gloss can do. Well, that, and my ever-so-awesome talent.”
I stand up, self-consciously tugging at the hem of the dress. “I honestly feel kind of silly. Like I’m trying to play dress up or something.” My gaze sweeps over the crowd of people walking around us. “I feel like everyone thinks I’m an impostor.”
She shakes her head with a smile on her face. “Trust me, Isa. No one thinks you’re an imposter.” She grabs my hand and pulls me with her as she moves with the crowd again.
We walk for what feels like hours, taking in all the closed stores, the bars, the Arc de Triomphe, and the twinkling lights of the Eiffel Tower.
“Let’s go up there,” she says as we gawk up at the tower that stretches to the night sky.
“I thought we were going to a club?” I ask as I rush to keep up with her.
“We can go to a club anytime!” she shouts over the music playing from a street band. “Going up there,” she tips her head up toward the sky, “now that’s an once-in-a-lifetime excitement.”
When we reach the ridiculously long line, I head toward the end. But Indigo has other ideas and starts searching the line for cute guys who will let us cut in front of them. It takes her three tries to find a couple of guys who even speak English. They let us get in line in front of them then Indigo spends the