Unraveling Isobel Read Online Free PDF Page A

brother, which means he’s fair game. Totally legit. Besides, could he be better looking? It’s always open season on someone that hot. If you don’t want him, I’ll swim over there and take him off your hands.”
    â€œHe’s not on my hands. He can’t stand me.”
    â€œNot stand you? With all your wit and charm? He must be playing hard to get.”
    â€œMore like impossible to get. Besides, he’s my stepbrother. I’m hoping that somewhere on this island there will be someone who is reasonably attractive, not a weirdo, and not related to me.”
    â€œNegative energy! Blow it out. You want to attract positive energy. Think white-light stuff. Happy thoughts.”
    I suddenly missed her like crazy. “I wish I was there. This sucks.”
    â€œJust remember, by this time next year we’ll be roommates.” We had already vowed to apply to the University of Washington and get an apartment together near campus. “Visualize the end goal so the universe knows what you want. Besides, you’re living on an island in the middle of nowhere. Think of it like an artist’s retreat. People pay big money to go to those things, and you’re there for free. You can get a bunch of stuff done for your portfolio without being distracted by civilization and stuff.”
    â€œMy mom is still dead set against me getting a degree in art.”
    â€œYou don’t have to do what your mom says at that point. You’ll be eighteen.”
    â€œEighteen with about a hundred and fifty bucks to my name. I’m pretty sure college tuition is going to cost me more than that.”
    â€œThat’s why they have student aid, to aid students. Have faith that the universe will provide, but you have to be willing to do your part. You can’t expect fate to carry the whole load.Take steps toward your goal to show your commitment. The universe needs to know you’re not screwing around. A portfolio demonstrates to the universe that you’re serious. Draw some pictures, suck in all that island air and inspiration.”
    â€œThat assumes living in an old, broken-down house will inspire me.”
    As if in protest to my statement, a burst of static blared, and I yanked the phone away from my ear. I could hear Anita call out my name, but her voice was distant. It sounded like we were talking on one of those tin can string phones.
    â€œAnita? Can you hear me?”
    The phone gave a blare of static in return. I called her name again, but the call went dead with a click and then silence. The lights flickered, and then they went out completely. A second later they were back on, but it was long enough without power to make my clock radio blink 12:00 at me.
    I knew the storm outside, combined with the poor cell service, was to blame, but for an instant it felt like the house was mad I’d insulted it.
    I shivered and then shook off the feeling. I checked my phone, but there was zero reception. Annoyed, I tossed the phone into my bag. Well, if I couldn’t finish my conversation with Anita, at least I could take her advice. I pulled my sketchbook off the shelf and flipped through it until I found a clean page. Anita was flakey, but she was also right a lot of the time. I had my heart set on being accepted into the art program at U-Dub, which meantI had to have a portfolio ready to show by the time I sent in my application, especially if I wanted any kind of scholarship. I was going to need some money to pay the bills, because when my mom found out I wanted to major in art, she was going to freak out. “Freak out” being an understatement.
    My mom blamed my dad’s passion for art for everything. She often pointed out that van Gogh cut off his own ear and you never heard of accountants doing something like that. She wasn’t sure which came first, the crazy or the art, but she wasn’t taking any chances with me. As far as my mom was concerned, I should go