“Why didn’t you ever say anything to me?”

“Isa, this is like the longest the two of us have talked. Usually, at reunions, your family stays in a hotel and spends a whole lot of time sitting around in the corner with your noses stuck in the air like a bunch of snobs.”

“My mom makes me do that.” It hits me as I say it, like a bull charging straight into my stomach. “Wait. Am I even supposed to call her mom?” I push to my feet and pace in front of Indigo, reaching full on crazy panic mode. “Or am I supposed to call her Lynn. Oh, my God, I just realized that my sister’s middle name is after my mom’s first name, but I’m named after no one. It has to be true.” I crouch down again as my legs turn into Jell-O. “I don’t even know who my mom is.”

“Hey, chill out.” She scoots toward me to catch my gaze. “My theory is just a theory. And I should probably tell you that I had a theory that Grandpa was reincarnated into Beastie.” She smiles as I blink at her. Wow. She sounds as crazy as . . . well, me. “What? They have the same eyes, okay? And you have to admit it’d be pretty cool if reincarnation existed.”

“That mean, old cat isn’t Grandpa,” I say. “But I get what you’re saying. I need to get some answers before I have a meltdown.”

“Or you could just skip the meltdown and use this as an opportunity,” she suggests with a smile.

“An opportunity for what?”

“To take a self-discovering journey.”

“But I already know who I am.”

She inspects my outfit with her brows raised. “I’m not sure I agree with you.”

I tug on the bottom of my hoodie. “Just because I dress a little different doesn’t mean I don’t know who I am.”

Her head slants to the side as she studies me. “Okay, answer this for me. What’s the most exciting thing you’ve ever done?”

“I don’t know.” I try to think of something, and it’s pretty dang sad how hard it is to come up with anything. “I entered a comic contest once. That was really cool.”

“I’m not talking about doing stuff that’s cool. I’m talking about stuff that’s exciting. Like screaming-at-the-top-of-your-lungs-at-a-concert exciting. Dancing-in-a-room-full-of-people-like-no-one’s-watching exciting. Or sporadically taking a trip to nowhere with no plans other than to drive.” She smiles as she gets a faraway look in her eyes. “Or like being kissed in the rain by a total stranger, who you have no plans of calling again.” She looks at me, grinning. “That one I plan on doing while we’re on this little trip.”

“How do you know it’s exciting if you haven’t done it yet?” I ask, tucking my feet under me.

“Oh, Isa, the fact that you ask that means you haven’t nearly experienced enough in your life. Life is all about the experiences, the good ones and the bad ones.” She stands to her feet, yanking me with her. “Stick with me, and I promise that’ll change.”

I almost open my mouth to tell her I don’t want to change, but then I remember her theory, and my grandma and dad’s argument rings loudly in my head. What if Indigo is right? What if my entire life has been a lie? What if the reason my mother—Lynn—has always liked Hannah more is because Hannah’s her daughter and I’m not?

“Okay, I can try to do more things that are exciting, but what about the theory?” I ask as we cross the parking lot.

“What about it?”

“How do we find out if it’s true?”

She links arms with me. “We’re going to do a little researching. And if all else fails, we’ll wait until Grandma Stephy gets good and drunk and then get her to spill the beans.” She grins deviously. “You know she’s a talker when she gets too tipsy. Plus, people tend to get a little crazy when they’re on vacation, especially out of the country.”

“Grandma Stephy is already a little crazy,” I say with a small laugh, but it hurts to smile. Hurts to think.

She chuckles. “Yeah, so just think how crazy she’s going to get while we’re chilling in London or Paris. After a few glasses of wine and a little pushing on our part, we should be able to get the truth out of her.” She pats my arm. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise. And we’re going to teach you what excitement is.”

I nod, silently vowing to go along with the plan. But inside, I’m terrified. Because what if it’s true? What if I don’t even know who my own mother is?

A WEEK LATER, I’m chilling out on the balcony of a very nice hotel room, staring out at the sparkling lights of the Eiffel Tower. I’m half listening to Indigo plot out our plan to weasel the truth out of Grandma Stephy, who’s downstairs at the bar having drinks.

Ever since I discovered I might not know who my real mom is, my head’s been stuck between reality and daydream land, where my mind creates all kinds of scenarios on where this is all going to go, where I’m going to end up if I find out I’ve been living a lie. I keep replaying all the times my parents acted strange around me, including when my dad didn’t even hug me goodbye before he left Grandma Stephy’s.

“Have fun, okay?” he said as he walked toward the front door to leave. “And take care of yourself.”

I forced a stiff smile. “Okay.”

He gave me an awkward pat on the arm before rushing out of the apartment without even saying goodbye to Grandma or Indigo.

“It’s going to be okay,” my grandma said with a tense smile. Then she clapped her hands together and made herself smile for real. “All right, you two. Let’s finish packing. We leave really early Monday morning.”

And that was that. The last seven days have been filled with packing, driving to the airport with a bus full of older people, taking the twelve-hour flight to Paris, and getting to the hotel. We’ve been here for over a day, but have spent a lot of time catching up on sleep. But after sleeping for most of the day, I feel super awake right now, even though night just fell.

“I was thinking tonight might be the best night to put our plan in motion.” Indigo balances an ashtray on her stomach then kicks her feet up on the railing and takes a drag of her cigarette. “I know we just got here and everything, but I don’t think we should waste any time. You’re already stressing out way too much as it is.”

“I’m not stressed . . . I’ve just been thinking.” I try to focus on her and the conversation. “And which plan are we talking about? The excitement one? Or getting Grandma drunk?” I fan my hand in front of my face to cool off.

In Sunnyvale, June temperatures usually hover in the seventies, maybe the eighties on a super intense day, and the nights bottom to forty. Right now, it’s eight o’clock and feels like it’s ninety degrees outside.

“We aren’t going to get her drunk. We’re going to wait until she gets drunk. And we might not have to wait that long.” She taps her cigarette against the ashtray. “Dude, did you see all the mini bottles she drank on the plane?”

I giggle. “Yeah, I know. I can’t believe she was playing a drinking game with her friends.”

“I think it’s so cool. I hope I’m that cool when I’m old.” She lowers her feet to the ground, leans forward in the chair, and rests her arms on the balcony railing, staring over the edge at the sidewalk below. “I was talking about your self-discovering journey.” She pauses, musing over something while puffing on her cigarette. “I think we should start tonight, but not go too crazy.” She seems to be talking more to herself than to me. “We have to ease you into this.”

“I know I’m not the most exciting person ever,” I say, “but I’ve done some exciting things. You don’t have to go easy on me.”

She gives me a sidelong glance. “Careful, Isa. Giving me free reign like that can end up being dangerous.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s just partying. What’s the big deal?”