Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Bet

 

JACE

“You are such a…BASTARD!”

Yeah, like I haven’t heard that one before. I stood there, uncaring while my latest—now ex—girlfriend spat profanities at me. Her cheeks were flushed and mascara streaked her face—she looked so much less attractive than I found her a week ago. Sure she was a nice time, pretty enough, decent in bed—but she started to get too clingy. Once girls start looking for emotions it’s time to pull the plug.

“Hey look, I don’t have time for this.” I huffed. I really didn’t give a flying fuck what she had to say to me now. I waved off her attempts to call me back and headed towards the exit instead. “Whatever, Stacey.” I said dismissively and left her there screaming in the middle of the crowded mall.

I sighed in relief when I gripped the wheel of my car. I couldn’t bear to be around any girl I’d just broken up with for more than a few minutes. Maybe once I would’ve felt bad. There was always a spark of guilt, but that’s all it was now. A spark, a flash. There was nothing more, I was numb to the feeling.

I floored it before I could remember what real guilt feels like.

Speeding down the highways home, I felt it again. Not the guilt, no, the superiority. The freedom. Now I can finally leave the summer drama behind me. Well, not really, I still have to see her at school tomorrow. But not even the horrible look on her face I saw just now—or the hate filled death stares I’ll get later—could shake the feeling of release that comes with letting a girl go. Now that summer’s over, I can start with a clean slate. No drama. No attachments.

Tomorrow’s gonna be a bloodbath.

All the girls that spent all summer reworking themselves for the infamous Jace Wayland might actually have a shot, now that Stacey’s out of the picture. Hannah looked pretty cute at the end of the year, and I hear that Lauren’s not a virgin anymore….

This year is sure to be interesting.

 

ISSABELLE

The minute Jace walked in the door, I knew something was up. No, not even something—I knew exactly what was up. It happens every Sunday for fuck’s sake….           

He sauntered in with his jacket slung over his shoulder, keys jingling lightly on the tips of his fingers. I noticed the sort of bounce to his step and he was even whistling to himself. Whistling? Jace? He was too much of a distraught, girl-dumping, doom cookie for anything that happy! This is getting ridiculous.

“Hey, Izzy!” He called brightly as he passed by.

I sighed, not even pausing to look up from my book. “How did Stacey take it?”

He slowed his pace. “Fine…?”

“Yeah, I doubt that.”

“Well, am I supposed to care?”

My eyes flickered to his now. “No, I guess not since it’s you.” I sneered.

“Oh,” He feigned offence. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You spoil every girl you touch.” I accused. “Don’t act like you didn’t notice.” I gathered my things and started up the stairs. Not even bothering to look at him as I breezed by.

“Well I didn’t spoil you, did I?” He yelled after me.

“Fuck off, Wayland!” I shrieked and slammed by bedroom door. Asswipe. Everything was calm for a moment, I had enough time to set my book down and plop on my bed before I heard him bounding up the stairs. Seconds later there was a rumble on my door and Jace popped his blond head in. “Love you, Izzy!” I flung a pillow at him. And he deflected it easily. He left but I could still hear his snickers from down the hall.

Ugh. That player! He goes through girls like a nerd goes through books. He treats them like garbage and yet all the girls still fight for him. They get bitchy about it too—don’t they know if they wait it out, he’ll get to them eventually? No doubt they’ll be flocking him when school starts tomorrow now that the news is out. Of course by now it’s all over twitter. Stacy’s page is full of those typical break-up tweets: “Boys suck. Don’t trust Jace Wayland #loveisdead.”

So now she finally gets it.

Love screws us over. We all know that, what I don’t understand are the girls who go looking for it even after they get burned. Sure, if I find a guy that’s cute I’ll screw around a little, but nothing too serious. I found it a lot easier to play it safe—no emotions, no relationship. But it’s Jace’s fault I turned into a heartbreaker—that little fucker. Now I’m just like him, just the less concentrated girl version.

To love is to destroy. And it took an encounter with a certain golden boy for me to figure it out.

 

XXX

 

My alarm blared on, and instantly the classic sound of Coldplay filled my room. 6AM, it flashed. Damn, school. At least this year was the last—finally Jace and I were seniors—and this one has to be the best. Either that or it would suck terribly. I’m hoping for the first.

I went through my normal routine: shower, clothes, hair, makeup, tumblr, and just as I was packing the last of my things there was a loud banging on my door. “Come on Izzy! I want to go to Starbucks before school!” Jace whined. I shut off everything and grabbed my stuff, opening the door in his face. “Fine, but you’re driving. I do not feel like making the drive to Dallas today.”

He smirked. “Fine. Just hurry.” He bolted down the stairs. I sighed and followed after him, pausing to check my reflection in the large mirror in the living room.

“You look fine, Izzy. Although, I’m not sure school would approve of those shorts.” My mother called from the kitchen. She waved her finger in mock disapproval.

I smiled lightly. “Mr. DeLuna won’t care. It’s an arts school. Fashion is a way of expressing my artistic ability!” I sauntered over to her to accept my awaiting hug, not expecting to get jumped. But of course, that’s exactly what happened. Attack of the Overprotective Mom.

“Oh, my baby’s a senior! One more year left! What to do?” My mom said between gushy kisses.

“Okay mom, no need to get sentimental….The year just started….Mom!” I squealed while trying to squeeze out of her embrace.

“Hey, Mayrse! Can you let your daughter go so we can leave?”

Instantly she stopped and all eyes flew to Jace, who was impatiently waiting by the stairs. I could tell he felt uncomfortable watching Mayrse show affection towards me like this. Mayrse must’ve noticed it too because she promptly flew over to Jace and showered him with kisses also.

“Oh, Jace! You’re practically my son! You are so talented, my senior!”

Jace made a gagging noise. “Did Alec get this much attention when he was a senior? I don’t remember this many—” Jace paused to wiggle out of Mayrse’s death grip and succeeded, but not before she planted another kiss on his forehead. “This many kisses….”

I grabbed Jace’s hand and dragged him to the door before this lovefest could start again. “Bye mom!”

Her face dropped. “Where are you going so early?”

“First day Starbucks!” Jace called over his shoulder.

“But I made breakfast!” She whined.

“Give it to Max!” We both yelled in unison. We passed by his door on the way out and shouted a chorus of “Bye buddy! Have fun at school! Yay 5^th grade! See ya later!” And bolted out the door before Mayrse could say another word.

 

XXX

 

I sat down at one of the little café tables and rolled my eyes at the obvious sight. “Who could you possibly be texting at 8 in the morning?”

Jace’s eyes flicked up. “It’s 8:15,” He said sassily. “And Jackie. She got really cute over the summer and—“

“You disgust me.” I shook my head slowly. “Didn’t you just break up with Stacey?”

“Yeah, so?” He shrugged.

“Haven’t they been best friends since like, 3^rd grade?”

“Your point?”

“I’m trying to help you here!” I nearly squealed.

“Well, help me help myself! Talk to Jackie for me! You know her right?”

I glared at him over my tea. “I’m not going to help you ruin some girl’s senior year!”

“Who says I’ll ruin it?” He smirked and casually leaned back in his chair. “Hell, I’ll probably make it her best year yet!”

I scowled at him. “Why do I talk to you again?”

“Because we live in the same house.”

“Sometimes I wish we didn’t.” I muttered too low for him to hear. Not that mattered. He was tapping away at his phone again. “I bet you couldn’t even stay with a girl for a year.”

“Of course I could Izzy! I just never have the motivation.”

Instantly an idea floated into my head. “But what if you did have the motivation?”

He paused mid sip and gave me a guarded look. “What are you getting at Izzy?”

I sat for a minute, thoughtfully sipping on my drink. What could be better than proving him wrong? I laughed inwardly. Playing with his weaknesses and watching him lose!

I had to admit; sometimes I can go too far when it comes to toying with Jace. But this time it was slightly different. This might actually help him….I might be able to get him to care. Suddenly my idea went from something masochistic to something beneficial. Maybe I could bring the old Jace back. There was a dull aching in my heart, and then a fire. I had to do this! It’s for the good of the female population!

It wasn’t hard to find his weakness. All I had to do was list of all of Jace’s faults when it comes to his relationships. He can barely stay with a girl for more than a week, and he only wants them in bed. He never really gets to know them nor does he even like them for their personality…what to do? I wanted to make this as hard as possible—at least if he doesn’t learn anything I would have the pleasure of watching him squirm. I smiled at the thought. It was perfect! Surely this would make this year exciting for the both of us. Everything seemed to be working itself out in my head—all I had to do was give him a prize and he would be won.

“Make a bet with me, Jace?”

His confusion turned to shock, and then interest. “It depends…” He mused. “What are the guidelines and what happens if I win?”

 Oh it’s on now.

 “I bet that you couldn’t stay with a girl for longer than a school year. So to prove me wrong, you must do so…with the girl of my choice.”

His face dropped immediately. He opened his mouth to protest but I cut him off.

“You scared, Wayland?”

His mouth popped closed.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be too mean! Clary Fray isn’t a bad girl after all!”

“Clary Fray?!” He nearly screamed. “The red head in visual? Are you crazy?!”

“No I’m not. I’m doing you a favor!”

He stared at me, eyes wide. “Oh really? How?”

“Because I know you like her. You told me yourself.”

“I did no such thing.” He said quickly.

“Actually you did.” I countered. “Don’t try to deny it.”

He got quiet for a moment, either trying to remember or regretting the truth. He threw his hands in his face and groaned at the table. “It was freshman year, Izzy! This will kill my reputation!”

“Oh, I’m sorry this little bet will hurt your ego!” I said sarcastically. “And you know those crushes never really go away, right?”

I waited, feeling superior when he slowly dropped his hands. “Fine, I’ll do it. What else then?”

“Well first you have to get her to like you and—“

“That won’t be an issue.” His arrogance was back on, as usual. “Every girl likes me!”

You’d be surprised about Clary. I thought. She’s stronger than you think.

“So, you have to get her to like you—in fact, you two will have to be together by Christmas break. And then you have to stay with her until after graduation—get to know her, learn to love her. And try not to sleep with her. Or cheat on her—that’s an automatic forfeit. Oh! And I want a paper! Tell me all about her and why you like her! Due the last day of school!”

Okay, maybe this is a little much. Oh, wait. Do I care?

Nope.

His expression had changed somewhere during my speech. Now his face was a mix of boredom and irritation. “Remind me again why I’m doing this?”

“Because you’re Jace Wayland! You never back down from a challenge!” I teased. “And also, if you win I’ll…” I struggled to say the words. “I’ll be your bitch for the day!” I cursed myself. The last thing I wanted was to give into Jace’s demands for a whole day—but I did want to see him fight for Clary’s affection…and who said he could win anyways?

He seemed to be pondering my offer also. The light had returned to his eyes and there was a devilish smirk creeping onto his face. “My bitch, you say?”

I pursed my lips and nodded. “Anything you want for a whole day.”

The devilish smirk had turned into a full-fledged evil grin that turned my body stone cold. I didn’t even want to think about what terrible things he was thinking of making me do. Jace has a very vivid imagination, mix that with the possibilities in reality and he’ll go wild.

I’m starting to regret this….

“I’m sold!” He chortled and extended his hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal!”

“Not so fast! You didn’t even hear what I had to say if you lose!”

His golden eyes flashed up to mine as he shot me a charming grin. I grin that I’m sure has won the hearts of many girls. But not mine. Not anymore at least. “Do you really think I’ll lose, Isabelle? Get ready to lose that inky black hair of yours!”

I rolled my eyes and shook his hand, sealing the deal. “I guess I’ll have to wait and see.”

Wait. What did he just say about my hair?!

Shit. What did I just get myself into?

 

 

 

 

Chapter Text

Encounters

Chapter Text

The Lovely Awkward Moments

JACE

“Slightly twisted, slightly out of control/ Seemingly crazy, seemingly true/ A patch of neon in a world of navy blue/ That quickly changes to prints to take over you…”

I was the kid that sat closest to the door in Mr. David’s cluttered room, ready to make a quick escape in case anyone looked at me funny. I kept my head down and my hood up—I might as well have dyed my hair and worn a dress for all the fucks I give.

Right now my count is at too many.

Keeping my distance, I silently listened as students read off their excerpts, and poems, and fanfiction to the rest of the writing club. It was all so foreign to me. Unknown yet…intriguing….By the time Clary stood read her poem I was itching for some pen and paper.

“So we might be crazy, but we’re a hell of a time/ We do not conform to societies’ line.” Clary continued, “We venture where most teens wouldn’t dare/ We obsess, we creep, we laugh, we cry/ All in front of anyone wanting to watch our show…” She paused. A faint blush crept onto her cheeks. “That’s all I have so far.” She said in a small voice.

A clatter of snaps—yes snaps—hissed around me. All I needed now was a latte and a plush chair and then it would’ve been an official coffee shop reading. Although, it was hard to be relaxed when the severed baby doll head on an empty Jack Daniel’s bottle was staring into your skull….

Yeah, it was time for me to get out of here.

Mr. David called out a “Thanks for coming!” just as the door closed behind me. Only then did I yank my hood down and shake my curls out. Being undercover was too much for me but it was worth it. Clary’s poem blew everyone else’s out of the water—even if it was unfinished. I’ll have to hear the rest when she’s done. That’s a must.

“Is that Jace Wayland?” Someone wondered from behind.

I turned around at the sound of my name and I instantly wished I hadn’t. Right in the middle of the hallway with a clear view of me was Clary Fray.

Oh shit.

“Were you just…in the writing club?”  She asked.

“I—uh….” I was at a loss of words I didn’t have one excuse, not one smart remark. I was fucking blushing for God’s sake!

“I um,” I tried again. “gotta go.”

I failed. I spun away from her and booked it down that hallway.

I heard a sigh. “Well did you at least like it?”

My pace slowed and debate fired up in my head. Should I tell her I loved it or lie and say I hated it? My reputation! No, fuck that. I should tell her I love her! No. Hell no. God, I can’t think straight with her staring at me like this…her eyes are so green….By the angel just say something already!”

“I liked the last part….” I hesitated—I can’t fuck this up! “’A Patch of Neon’ right? I’d really love to hear the whole thing sometime.”

Involuntarily—and my some strike of genius—I fished out a crumpled piece of paper and a pen, wrote down 10, highly exclusive, numbers, and handed it to her. “Text me when you finish?”

She eyed the paper cautiously but a slight grin burst onto her lips as she took it. I could only see delight in her eyes when she slid it into a safe place. “I’ll think about it, Jace.”

She started to walk away from me but turned around at the last minute. “You know, I’m really glad you like it. So…thank you I guess….” I could see the heat start to rush to her face but she walked away from me before I could see the full affect.

She is too effing cute and I promise you something just fluttered in my stomach.

 

XXX

 

ISABELLE

“I hope you guys are warm because we’re taking it from the top.” Mrs. Wise’s voice echoed throughout the theater.

We all sluggishly moved to our beginning positions for the collaboration piece. So Ben B. could have a fully functional stage at its use but never had any heat? Backstage was effing freezing! I had to have all my sweats on just so I could move. My muscles were warm, yes, but my socks were not coming off. I did not feel like having to dance with frozen toes—trust me it’s not pleasant.

We ran and spaced the piece again, and again, and again. It got to be tiring work after a while and we all got toasty pretty quickly. The sweats were long gone and I wore the shorts and tank top I had on underneath. Functional, but I’m surprised Mrs. Wise didn’t say anything about me not “following Benjamin B. Dance dress code”. Nobody follows it in the first place.

Often she would walk over to the sound system to start the music but I knew I was the only one who knew what the music sounded like live. Everyone else was in for a treat when the musicians get here—their rendition is so much better than this recording. But for the next hour I’ll have to put up with it, as well as mounds of corrections, second day sore muscles, and sassy male dancers for the cherry on top. These long rehearsals were beyond stressful, but I still loved this dance…and I’m guessing the one person in the audience did too. When Mrs. Wise gave us a water break I went into the rows of plush, red seats and sat next to our only fan. “Don’t you have until 5:00, Simon?”

“I…um…wanted to come in early. To watch you guys before we started playing.” He stuttered. I could’ve sworn I saw his cheeks flush up. I let it go. “Okay, that’s cool.” I kicked my feet up on the empty seat in front of me. “Don’t look at my feet, they’re gross.”

Of course, he started looking. I waited for his face to change as he discovered the calluses, the scabs, the scars of past marks, but it never twisted. Not one bit. “It’s a part of who you are.” He said sweetly. He held up his hands and just on the tips of his fingers were tiny, round calluses. “I guess dancers and musicians have something in common.”

My smile matched his as I ran my fingers across his. They weren’t as soft as mine but they emitted warmth that was just as comforting. Really comforting.

“Do your hands always get this cold when you dance?” he said.

“Uh—not usually.” I was caught off guard by his random question.  I didn’t even notice my hands were frozen until then. Now that I think about it, they’re actually solid blocks of ice…. “Only when I dance in here, I think.”

He took his fingertips off mine and sandwiched my hands between his. “Any better?”

I nodded slowly and felt the heat slowly seeping back into my skin. What I thought was his comfort before had been multiplied now. “So who else is coming to play tonight?” I asked, trying to make conversation.

“Oh, it’s me Jace, Josh, and a few others I don’t think you’ll know.”

“Josh is coming? Ew.”

Simon’s brow furrowed but there was a slight smile on his lips. “You don’t like Josh?”

“Hmm, I’m conflicted. He’s Jace’s best friend so I have to at least tolerate him, and sometimes he can be a real sweetheart, but he’s such a player!”

“And you’re talking about Josh? Not Jace who is the player who will also be here tonight?”

“Well, with Jace it’s different. At least he won’t be staring at my ass while I dance. Josh on the other hand….”

“Will try to see through the tank top?”

“I should probably put my jacket back on when he gets here.”

“Yeah, that’s probably best!”

We laughed it off. It was easy to with him. I had to admit, if I was going to be friends with any guy, Jace did right when he chose Simon. It was a really nice change to talk to a boy without having to worry if he wants to hook up or not. Normalcy, finally….

“I hope you know that I would never do that.” He said, and for a moment I thought he had read my mind. “You just worry about the dance. I’ll keep everyone else…focused.”

“Thanks.” I murmured. How else was I supposed to reply? It’s been so long since a guy’s been this sweet to me—there’s got to be a better way to handle this.

His smile mirrored mine and his eyes were brighter than ever. He held my gaze for a moment but his eyes cut to the stage before it got awkward. Mine drifted to our hands that were still intertwined even though my fingers were plenty warm now. I didn’t try to untangle them.

“I think you’re needed back on set, Ms. Lightwood.”

He was right, unfortunately. I could hear the voices of the other dancers coming back to the stage. Mrs. Wise trailed closely behind them, “Once more before the musicians get here!” I rolled my eyes. “I guess I’ve got to go.”

“I’ll be on stage in a little while. Just find me if your hands ever get cold.” He flashed me a grin.

Mine grew a little wider. “Will do.”

I swung my feet off the chair as gracefully as possible but the minute my feet hit the floor I regretted standing in the first place. Black spots started to cover my vision and I felt like I was swirling downward very fast. One of my hands shot out to keep myself from falling but warm arms caught me before I hit the ground and held me tight as I fumbled for balance.

“Isabelle, are you okay?” Simon whispered.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” I huffed, irritated. I fought my way out of his grip and scrambled to my feet. I did not feel like being saved. Especially by a guy I barely know—scratch that—by a guy in general. I know I’m stronger than that.

I stared at the floor with my hands on my knees. Making sure to take deep breaths so my vision could clear and so the ringing to subside. It may not seem like a big deal, but if it’s happening when I stand up I can’t imagine what it’ll be like when I’m low on breath and upside down.

Not again! I thought I got past this. Why won’t this ever go away?

I didn’t try to move for a long while and the entire time Simon stood behind me with the same tensed expression. “Does this happen often?” Concern coated his voice and covered his face.

Too much. I thought. “Not really.” I said. When I could see my feet I slowly started to inch my way forward. “I’ll have fun trying to dance after this!”

“Be careful!” he called out after me.

I started to jog away, but the ringing started again so I slowed to a walk. “I’ll try!” I called back and then took my glorious time crawling onto that frozen stage.

Before the dance began I thought, deep breaths. Between each lift, breathe! During my solo, open your mouth and take a breath. And at the very end, take it slow, you get more air through your mouth, don’t gasp, rest, fill your lungs.

Afterwards, while everyone else got to celebrate how good of a run that was, I had to sit down with my head between my knees so I wouldn’t pass out. Just like every other time.

 

XXX

 

JACE

“Dat ass,” Josh whispered. Although all the musicians could hear, I’m surprised Izzy didn’t turn around—it was her ass he was admiring.

“It’s not being shown off to you now is it?” I whispered back.

“Not intentionally but I’m getting a nice view. I knew there was a reason musicians were put in the back!”

“Is it really that hard to watch the movement?” Simon interjected, “That’s so much better than staring at their asses when we’re supposed to be focused on the music anyways.”

“Aww look at Simon being a goody two shoes!” Josh leaned across my seat to teasingly pinch his cheek. “Bet you don’t even like chicks anyways.”

“I like girls,” Simon murmured. “I just know how to respect them—unlike you….” His gaze flickered to me and then back to Josh. “The both of you, actually!”

“Whoa now!” Josh and I said in unison. “Don’t get nasty!”

“Do you guys hear what those girls say about you once you’re finished with them? Do you even bother to notice how you treat them like shit when you’re with them? It’s just…” he shook his head, “It gives guys a bad name.”

Josh held up a sassy finger, obviously pissed off. “Just because we see more action than you doesn’t mean you can shut us down like that! Okay?!” It was probably a good thing that I separated the two of them—Josh looked ready to shove a fist in the kid’s face.

Simon took his attention away from us and warily zoned back in on his music. It was quiet for a while, save for the slight sound of the dancer’s feet a little distance in front of us. “Good luck trying to get a girl that actually likes you for you.” He muttered.

That shut us up right quick.

 Not a soul on this earth except for Izzy knows how I feel for Clary, but Simon’s words just reminded me of the impossibility of this promise I’ve made. The usual “she likes me because I’m Jace” clause is void—to her I’m just a pretty face with a bad reputation.

A bad rep that likes writing club—but a bad rep nonetheless.

Josh may not care, but I sure as hell do. If not always then right now as I’m trying to win Clary’s heart.

Simon on the other hand seems to have everything going for him. He’s a nice guy with a good talent that doesn’t have any past relationships lurking around spreading terribly true rumors about him. I guess he’s…decent looking…Izzy should like him, right? I mean, here she is with her back turned to us, completely unaware that the guy playing the cello right behind us has the hugest crush on her. It’s kind of cute, actually.

“Hey,” Josh piped up. He should really give it a rest. “Lots of girls like me! Izzy does!”

Surprisingly, Simon and I both laughed. “No she doesn’t!” We said together. I glanced over at him as he tried to stifle his laughter. Did Izzy tell him that? I might be losing this bet sooner than I thought….

“…What?” Josh looked like he just witnessed a terrible tragedy—and for him it probably was. I love Izzy to death, but all the guys know—including me—that she’s a prize. That’s as good as it gets. And yeah, I guess it would be a tragedy if you found out she hated your guts.

Sucks for them. I can guarantee Simon’s the only guy she’s ever come close to liking.

“But everything we had. Everything we did did…it was so great….”

Simon cut in. Very fast. “Get over it dude! She doesn’t like you, okay?!”

“Oh, and she likes you?” Josh glared.

Yes. But nobody here knew that except for me. She didn’t even know.

Simon on the other hand grew quiet and drew back. “Well I don’t know about that….” His eyes were on his feet and even after his strike of bravery, he suddenly looked very small. “It’d be a nice thought, though.”

Josh’s fist was clenched hard around his bow and his lips were pursed in a thin line. He was starting to get flustered—a funny sight, Josh flustered—but still, he spoke. “When she sleeps with you I’ll believe it. Until then you’re nothing to her.”

That might as well been a punch in the gut, Simon nearly fell out of his chair. He can’t believe that’s true. My sister’s not like that, is she?

Josh looked ready to go again but luckily the dance director spoke up, “Musicians? Can we try the piece from the top and I’ll let everyone go? Great rehearsal you guys.”

The dancers cheered their way to their spots and the musicians sighed before we poised our bows, and on the director’s signal made our instruments sing.

It was extremely difficult to play and watch the dancers at the same time, but somehow I made it happen. It was amazing how the dancers just kept going and going—it was near 8:00 and they weren’t marking at all. Sure playing music was hard but even I had to admit that the dancers are the hard workers.

Near the end of the piece I had a break where Simon played his solo and Izzy did her thing. Here she was gliding across the stage and Simon was playing so effortlessly—together they were phenomenal and everyone knew it. Some of the dancers off stage stared in awe and others looked jealous—but they could fuck off. God knows how hard Izzy’s worked for this—she’s the best and she deserves every ounce of praise. The music was golden and Izzy was an angel on that stage.

Again, she’ll probably never hear this.

I came back in and the dance closed nicely, with only a few corrections from our directors. Once they were done everyone was dismissed.

I swear I’ve never seen anybody move faster than dancers after rehearsal.

I put my violin up and nodded a goodbye to Josh and Simon when Izzy came over to get me. I walked with her back to the dance studios so she could get her stuff, then slowly we headed towards the car, finally going home.

“The music sounds really good Jace. I love the piece.”

I smiled slightly in the darkness. “Thanks, sis. And um…you’re solo,”

“Yeah?” She said sweetly, she looked at me with wide eyes.

“It looks really good. You and Simon are great together.”

She gave me a quick hug around the waist. “Thank you, Jace! I never thought you’d say anything like that!”

“Me neither.” I muttered too low for her to hear.

“Shit!” She yelled and her hands went straight to her hair. “I left my sweats in the theater!”

“But you’re wearing pants….”

“No, these are my cutoffs I left my long ones—I’ll be right back just pull around please!”

I sighed and looked after her as she sprinted towards the school. Sometimes she could be annoying as hell and other times equally as cute.

And then there’s times like these where she’s both.

 

XXX

 

ISABELLE

I ran as fast as I could back into the school building, bounding around corners, bolting down stairs and just avoiding running into the deadly sculptures that lined the art hallways on the zero floor. Even though it was pitch black I knew exactly when I hit the backstage hallway—the cold was immediate. Trying to maneuver myself around chairs, props, light trees, tables, and fog machines made retrieving my sweats more like a secret agent mission than the simple task it should’ve been.

When I finally found my way to stage right I debated whether or not to get them at all. It was almost impossible to find anything backstage. It’s practically a vortex, not to mention it was extremely creepy this late at night.

I decided to go in. Those were my favorite sweats after all and I was not about to lose them tonight.

I treaded on carefully while my eyes searched the ground. So much so that I didn’t even notice the audience lights were on. Not that they helped, I was still without sight in the wings. It also took a while to notice that somebody was still on stage. It didn’t register until I heard the music start to play. I froze then, feeling oddly like I was invading this person’s privacy. Although it was hard not to stay and listen, the cello is a beautiful instrument after all.

Simon!

Of course.

I held my breath for a moment, unsure if I should keep looking or just give up all together. I glanced over my shoulder at him. He looked just like he did the first time I saw him play, he was in his own world and he looked like he loved it.

More importantly he looked like he wouldn’t notice me.

I made my way to my knees and slowly scoured the floor. I checked under props and chairs and after a long minute spotted my sweats in the very back corner next to the sound system. I swear they move on their own sometimes.

I crawled my way over to them trying to be as soundless as possible. How stupid I must look crawling around on this ice cold, pitch black floor for some pants that—maybe—would’ve still been here tomorrow. But no.  Instead I’m caught in this situation. FML.

This was too much for some warm ups. I regretted coming here in the first place but what happened next was what I regret most. I wouldn’t have stayed, honestly! I would’ve been out the door in a heartbeat—but the minute I got to my feet I finally recognized the song Simon was playing so beautifully. Hell, I’ve known it by heart ever since I saw the musical two summers ago. I sing it every time I hear the tune, and somehow I just knew that I my feet weren’t going to carry me out of that theater before I did so….

“Take this sinking boat, and point it home. We’ve still got time….Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice. You’ve made it now….”

The minute my mouth closed Simon’s head whipped in my direction, and he didn’t stop playing either. He was so focused and he smiled as he sang the next line, “Falling slowly, eyes that know me, and I can’t go back…”

His eyes begged me to continue, and I really did want to. I wanted my little glee moment, I could feel the next line on my lips but I was too stunned to make a sound.

Surely now he thinks I’m a stalkerish creep with a mediocre singing voice—I know, the whole “that’s why you’re in the dance cluster” deal. I just completely blew my cover and I was probably redder than a tomato. Nothing makes Isabelle Lightwood blush…except maybe total embarrassment. Fuck.

The only thing my body could do besides blush was run away. And that’s exactly what I did.

I could hear him calling my name from behind as he chased after me. But I had too much of a head start and I was gone. I ran out of that building as quickly as I came in—I nearly slammed full force into Jace’s car. I threw my sweats in the back with the rest of my stuff and slid into the front seat, breathing hard and eyes bulging.

“You okay, Izzy? That took a while….”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m sorry, I’m sorry but…” I paused in between gasps and started to calm down. “Did you know that Simon has a lovely singing voice?”

 

XXX

 

What is happening to me?

I threw my bags on the floor and crashed onto my bed. It’s the second day of school and I’m being nice to some guy I’ve just met? No. I did not spend years hardening my heart so I could crumble with this one boy.

But Simon was just so nice. And he caught me prince charming style when I fell and he’s just sokind and caring and geeky and…nice!

Well, I thought Josh was nice too. And Luke, and Chase, and Austin, and he who shall not be named. Yeah, they were all nice until they got what they wanted. Then I was the toy, or the rebound, or the bitch. I’m so done with that! Who’s to say Simon won’t be the like the rest of them? No, I can’t like him. Not possible.

But his smile and his eyes! This time it’ll be different. It’s got to be, right?

Ugh, there I go getting hopeful. I lost that a long time ago. I can’t go back down that road. Not again.

My internal battle continued until the moment I climbed into my bed and the entire time my status never changed. Either I like him or I’m telling myself to hate him. Jace did a good job choosing this bet. He couldn’t have known it was going to be this hard for me, yet I’m ready to forfeit because….

Because, honestly I’m scared. I hate admitting it but I’m terrified.

I’m afraid that if I trust him he’ll betray me and I can’t afford to have that happen again. The scars are still fading from last time….

I pressed my wrist to my side and tried not to think about it.

For the longest time I’ve wanted somebody to talk to—somebody to tell me that everything’s going to be okay. But I haven’t had that in years, and now I’ve got that chance….

I was on the edge of sleep when my phone beeped. 1 message from Simon. ‘I didn’t know you could sing? That’s awesome!’

            ‘But I can’t so…’ I replied.

‘But you can. And you sounded beautiful. Honestly.’

I didn’t reply for a while, so he asked, ‘Ever thought about cross-clustering?’

‘Please stop.’ I begged. I tried to kill all the butterflies in my stomach. ‘Don’t say things you don’t mean.’

‘When it comes to you, Isabelle, I mean everything I say.’

I stared at the screen for a long moment, and then later at the ceiling. Feeling so conflicted now more than ever if I’m going to go with my head or my heart—so cliché, I know. But love is cliché, and like every love-struck teenage girl I’m siding with my heart and hoping I won’t regret it in the future. I always do though.

Well this time better prove me wrong.

Thank you, Simon. I finally sent.

No way he could still be up—not for me, right? But here was an almost instant reply. ‘Just doing my job. Night Isabelle :) See you tomorrow’

My mind screamed no. My body screamed no. My gut screamed hell no. Don’t get yourself into this mess again Isabelle….

I squashed my thoughts back down and quelled my pessimism. I’ve been through hell and back, I deserve to be happy—everyone deserves to be happy. I’ve been denying it for too long, it’s time for a change and I don’t care what my head says. Before, it was a race I couldn’t win.

But now I’m gaining the advantage.

Chapter Text

 

Posses and Patches

 

JACE

30 New Messages.

            “You’re joking, right?” I muttered aloud as I glared down at my tiny phone screen. That would explain why my phone nearly rattled of my dresser last night, and not to mention my fabulously pissy mood. You don’t mess with Jace Wayland while he’s sleeping—electronically or otherwise. That’s a sure way to get on my hit list, and yes, I have one.

I moaned and squeezed my eyes shut again. Can we just pretend it’s not Monday and go back to thinking that the collaborative show isn’t tomorrow? I really liked my bed right now and school didn’t sound like the best alternative. I pried my eyes open stared at that clock for a solid 20 minutes, hoping desperately that the 5:27 would morph back into a 5:26. It never did.

Fuck me. It really is Monday.

Giving up, I yanked my phone off my charger, rolled deeper into my cocoon of covers, and began to click through my multitude of messages. What a hassle.About 80% of the messages were from the clingy, powder-faced, wannabe girls at school that fought for my attention. Of course—it happened every single day.

“Jaaacey!”

“Why don’t we ever talk?! We should totes talk moree”

 “Don’t you remember what we had last summer? At Jen’s party…?”

“I love you so much, Jace!!!”

“OMG! We should like, hang out!”

“You’re so sexy Wayland. Let’s be fuck buddies.”

Stop. No.

No. No. No. No. No. All deleted without a second glance.

Moving on….

Another 18%—we’re getting technical now—were from Josh and were all about Izzy, as expected.

“Oh god Jace, I’m dying”

“DYING”

“Izzy hasn’t texted me in TWO. WHOLE. DAYS.”

“What do you mean she doesn’t like me?! Tell me it’s BS!”

“And we haven’t hooked up in like, a week. Jace, this is serious.”

Ugh. This is too much! Josh needs to pipe the fuck down.

I was rapid-fire deleting now. It was habitual—a lot of the same. One from Jackie. Two from Megan. Two from Christina. One from Sydney. Eight from Josh. Three from Audrey. One from Clary.

One from Clary?

My finger stopped short over the delete button and hovered over to the open button instead.

“I finished it.”

Suddenly, there was a smile on my face.

Now, to anyone else this random message from a random girl would’ve meant absolutely nothing. But to me it meant a heart-stopping, blood freezing, fear inducing spaz attack. I can’t believe she actually told me.

I messaged her back immediately—and I didn’t care if it was 5 a.m. anymore. I needed to see it. I needed to see her.

“Awesome, haha! Coffee date? Today after school? I want to hear it.”

Now came the unbearable part where you have to go on with life while you wait for them to reply. It could be hours before then! Days! Weeks! Months even! What the hell was I supposed to do before—?

Bzzzz. My phone tolled. 1 New Message.

“Sure, Wayland. See you then.”

What? Instant reply? Really?

I like that. Now this is how you start off a Monday morning.

XXX

 

ISABELLE

I’m not quite sure how I ended up here.

It’s so rare that I do this. Two years ago I wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But now…everyone has a legitimate reason to judge me. Hate me even—and that becomes a major problem when you’re trying to sit with a new posse at lunch. And here I was, standing in front of a group of people I barely knew, hoping that they’ve never heard the gossip. Hoping they don’t assume. Hoping they don’t think of me as “Isabelle Lightwood: School Slut”. To everyone else I’m the epitome of confidence. Although in reality, my insides began to churn.

Remind me again why I agreed to do this?

“Connor, Alex, Jonsey, you three know Isabelle.” Simon introduced and pointed to me. “Well she’s awesome and will be sitting with us from now on.”

Oh right, Simon dragged me into this.

I channeled my irritation into a pleasant smile. “Hello!” I greeted in a sing-song voice and took a seat next to Simon, the only person even remotely familiar, while the other three just caught my eye and shouted a nice, welcoming, “Hey, Isabelle!”

That caught me way off guard. I was expecting some whispers, maybe a stare or two—which is what’s supposed to happen when you have a reputation like I do—but instead it was the exact opposite. The girls, Alex and Jonsey exchanged wide eyed, excited glances between each other at the sight of me. While the guy, Connor, was too busy to look up from his drawing pad. A typical art kid.

Almost instantly they shot into introductions.

Alex shoved a pale, freckled, eager hand forward. Well somebody’s excited. “Hi! I’m Alex! Nice to meet you!”

“Same!” I said with equal verve.

“A little about me,” she continued, “Junior. Dance cluster. Rep 2 with my best friend, Jonsey.” She flicked a thumb to the girl next to her that was smoothing out her dark hair.

“Hey girl hey!” She greeted excitedly.

“Hey! Love the hair by the way.”

“Thank you! It’s very Anne Hathaway-esque, Fantine, don’t you think? Don’t even get me started about Les Mis!” She gushed. “And the movie comes out on Christmas?! My little heart can barely handle it!”

“Calm down, Jonsey.” Connor nagged. “Just keep singing your songs and you’ll be fine.” He placed a hand on Jonsey’s shoulder, attempting to keep her from an obsessive breakdown, when he glanced sideways at me. “I’m Connor by the way. I’m not that interesting. You’re very pretty, Isabelle.”

 “Yeah!” Alex and Jonsey shouted. “Gorgeous!” And I swear I heard Simon mutter something like “Beautiful.”

Well, that was random.

I could instantly feel the blush that quickly painted my cheeks. “Oh, um. Thank you!” I stammered shyly.

“So you agree?” Connor asked intently.

“What?”

“You think you’re really pretty?”

“Oh God.” Simon mumbled into his hands. “Don’t go starting this again.”

“You know it’s too late for that, Simon.” Alex declared. “Once one person quotes Mean Girls, everyone has to quote Mean Girls!”

“And if it you don’t like it then…” Jonsey glared. “YOU CAN’T SIT WITH US!”

This sent everyone into tears of laughter and already I felt at home. I had warmed up to them in no time at all. I can’t quite explain how the first 10 minutes at Simon’s table felt, but it’s like they’ve already accepted me as a part of their group, and that was a really nice feeling. Say what you want about the flawless, fearless Isabelle Lightwood, but not everyone actually likes me. Rejection still hurts, I just don’t show it.

“So Isabelle, tell us a little more about yourself!” Jonsey asked after a moment and quickly everyone else agreed.

My mouth was glued shut from instinct, but when I saw their eager faces my resolve melted instantly.

Not everyone wants to screw you over, Isabelle.

When I spoke I tried sound as friendly and open as possible. I flashed them a dazzling smile, hoping to distract them from the lackluster summary that I’m about to spew. And by the light in their eyes, I knew I had this in the bag.

“Well, I’m Isabelle Lightwood but my friends call me Izzy. I’m a senior in the dance cluster, and I’m in the collaborative show with Simon!”

“Oh yeah! I heard about that!” Alex blurted. Her grey eyes lit up with excitement along with Jonsey’s as they obsessed over the dancers in Rep 1. Little did they know how much of a pain in the ass they were to the people actually on the company….

“Ohhh.” Conner sighed. “Is this the girl you were talking about, Simon? She’s the one that’s in your piece that you—?”

“Shut up man!” Simon growled behind clenched teeth as the girls tried hard to stifle their giggling. He shot them an irritated look, attempting to shut them up, but that only made them giggle more.

“I feel extremely out of the loop here.”

“It’s okay, Izzy. Just forget it. Continue!” Simon stuttered with clipped words.

Okay…

“Um, I’m really into Chemistry and I want to move to New York. I’m kind of obsessed with music, and if you buy me tea I’ll love you forever…oh, and you probably know my brother, Jace. He’s a dick, ladies, stay away from him.” I shot a playful, warning look to the entire table, which was their que to start laughing hysterically.

Alright, I’m done. No more!

“Um, you forgot to say that you can sing, Izzy.”

Shut up, Simon!

“No way, really?!” The girls cried.

“Apparently.”

“I can too!” Jonsey shrieked, nearly jumping across the table in her elated frenzy. “I cross cluster! I’m in vocal tech!”

“I cross cluster too, but I do percussion! Alex interjected. “In case you didn’t know,” She added “I’m a rocker at heart.” So that would explain her very edgy, short clipped, red hair…but her floral t-shirt made her outer punk rock appearance void.

I’ll take her word for it. The more I stared at her, the more I believed it to be true.

“So Connor, you’re a senior this year, right?” I questioned while sipping on my vitamin water.

“Oh…yeah.” He answered quietly. “Along with you and Simon.”

“But we all know you’re a five year old at heart, Connor.” Jonsey stated, earning a slow glare from Connor. “At least my celebrity crush isn’t twice my age!”

“Are we judging, Connor? Really judging?! There is no judgment at this table! We’ve been over this!”

Wait a second. No judgment? Are they serious?

Up until now it was impossible for me to walk by without something thinking that I’m the sleaziest girl in school. Knowing now that I’ve found a group of people that won’t judge me for my…unfortunate title…is something worth smiling about.

Yeah, I’ll be sitting here again tomorrow. I never knew what I was missing!

Simon, who had stayed quiet through most of lunch, nudged me on the shoulder. “What are you smiling about, Lightwood?”

“Nothing important really,” I sighed. “I’m just glad everything worked out today.”

“So…tomorrow?” He murmured, too low for anyone else to hear over Jonsey and Connor’s bickering.

“I’ll be here.”

His smile reappeared just as the bell rang and dismissed everyone to class. Alex, Jonsey and I were headed off to dance. Simon and Conner were headed who knows were. I said my goodbyes and started walking away when Simon caught my arm.

“Hey, see you at rehearsal tonight. Text me later!” He added before he let me go.

Next to me, Alex and Jonsey snickered.

XXX

 

JACE

I saw her before she saw me, which in one way is super cute…but can also come off as a little stalkerish. Not that I meant it in a creepy way—I never do. Well…okay I take it back. Maybe that one time it was a little creepy. But I had to do it! If I hadn’t snuck into writing club I wouldn’t be going on this date tonight!

A nervous jolt shot through my body. What am I doing?! I don’t know how to do this! I don’t know how to be Clary’s guy!  I’ve got to be cool, but not too cool. Nice, but not too obvious. How does Jace Wayland win over a girl when he can’t be Jace Wayland?

Mindfuck! Izzy what have you done to me?

I never thought I would live to see the day I got nervous over a girl. She must know that I’m struggling with this bet she’s got pinned over my head. It was a genius move though—I’ll give her props for that. As much as I hate to admit it, I know this will be a challenge. And she knows it too.

Even though my ongoing spaz attack was devouring my insides, I couldn’t let it show. I stood coolly at my normal spot by the Pegasus and waited for Clary to notice me. I leaned against the wall—my wall—out of the way, but not entirely invisible. I got a couple glances, a few whispers. I winked at a group of freshman girls, which made them jump and squeal—much to my amusement. Nobody approached me but I’m pretty sure everyone knew I was there.

Except for maybe Clary. She was oblivious.

She shot out of the shade like a dart and plunged into the sunlight, frantically searching but not finding. Her backpack was slung sloppily over her shoulder and her hair was in a fraying knot on the top of her head that looked seconds from toppling over. Paint marked her from the elbow down like a trail leading to her hands, one guarding her backpack’s strap and the other clutching her art portfolio for dear life. She was a freaked out mess, but she was the only one that mattered to me. She always has been. People just never noticed.

With her back to me, she took a minute to compose herself. She adjusted her bag, redid her hair into the same messy knot, took one look at her arms and said “fuck it’”, and then finally she scanned the courtyard and saw me.

Here we go.

“Alright,” She sighed once she was next to me. “Let’s go.” No smile, no nothing. She cut right to the chase.

“Well hello to you too, little red.”

“Little red?!” She squealed as we began walking away from campus. Already with the nicknames and ginger jokes, Jace?”

“What? Would you prefer ‘orphan Annie’? Or maybe ‘Coppertone’? You can decide.”

“Haha. Very funny, Wayland.” She grumbled flatly.

“So is it true that you have no soul?”

“So is it true that you’re an ass?” She retorted.

“I have an ass.” I responded with a wink. Her cheeks got a little pinker. “A pretty nice one too. You can look, but don’t touch—the other girls will get jealous.”

“Oh, dear Jesus why am I doing this?”

“Because you think I’m completely irresistible.” I whispered seductively into her ear. “And you’re getting free coffee.”

She glared at me through her lashes. “For the coffee and nothing else.”

“We’ll see about that!” I smirked.

So much for nice!

Oh, fuck it. I’m doing this my way. I’ll get her heart one way or another…I only have until Christmas break….

“Oh! Is Isabelle coming?” Clary blurted.

“Oh. Um, no she’s hanging out with Sim—er—some friends before rehearsal.”

“Oh, bummer! I hope she has fun. Tell her I said good luck!”

Whew. Dodged the bullet there! I completely forgot that Simon and Clary weren’t on speaking terms anymore. That would be extremely acca-awkward if I brought that up right after they split, especially now that Simon’s getting all cute with Izzy.

Hold up. Hold up, hold up, hold up!

They just split. He’s going after Izzy. He wouldn’t…would he?

Not with Isabelle…hell no!

I’ll be chatting with him later. For now I’ll let it go.

“Wait. Do you and Isabelle know each other?” I wondered aloud.

“Yeah! We have a few classes together and we’ve been friends since freshman year. I guess you can say we know each other!” She playfully punched my side. “Why? Does that bother you? Don’t tell me you’re the overprotective type!”

“No! No, of course not!” I insisted. It’s just that she’s practically my sister. I’m surprised I never noticed.”

“You say ‘practically’ like she isn’t.”

“Because she’s not.” I explained. “We don’t even have the same last name.”

“But you live together, right? And you call each other ‘brother’ and ‘sister’ so…?”

“So it means we’re not related!” I spat, causing Clary to jump. Calm it down, Wayland! You’ll scare her off like that!  I took a deep breath and tried again. “We’re close like a brother and sister, and it’s a hell of a lot easier than explaining the whole thing.”

“What is the whole thing?”

I met her eyes. They were surprisingly green in the sunlight today. “That’s another story, Clary.”

Silence.

The school was far behind us now. The frantic roar that was the student population at 4:05 had finally dimmed down because of the distance. Now the only thing that made a sound were the rustle and snaps of leaves and branches as we kept walking toward our destination. We crossed the freeway into uptown and were instantly surrounded by fancy apartment complexes and work buildings. There were a few groups of students trailing along behind us that kept going to the restaurants that filled the area after we peeled off. 2^nd date. Pei Wei. I decided. That is, if I can make it through this one.

This coffee shop I wanted to go to was in an awkward place. It was too close to drive to, yet not considered a short walk either. It was in an old house in a neighborhood maybe four blocks away from Ben B. It blended in so well; I would’ve missed it the first time if I wasn’t paying attention. But once I walked in and saw they had free Wi-Fi and cheap prices, I was sold. Nobody knows about it either—
I’ve never seen anyone from school there and Clary’s the first person that I’ve ever taken.

“Jace, where are we?” Clary worried. “I don’t think there’s a Starbucks in this neighborhood.”

“There’s not. Starbucks is in the opposite direction, we’re going someplace different.”  

“Oh. Never mind then.”

“I thought visuals were supposed to be all observant and whatnot.” I huffed under my breath.

“I am! Art kids are really observant!” She roared. Temper, temper! I always knew the redheads were feisty! “I’m just observant of different things.” She reasoned. “I don’t always see the obvious when I’m discovering the hidden.”

I took a moment and let that sink in. “Wow…that was deep.”

“I’m a deep person.”

“Really, Clary?”

“Really! Don’t test me like that, Jace.”

“Well, I can’t take you seriously when you have paint on your nose like that!

Instantly her face turned crimson red as her hands shot up to hide her face, which only drew attention to her paint stained arms. I grinned, but of course she would never see.

“Hey, hey, hey!” I grabbed her hand and pulled it off her cheek. “Paint on your face really doesn’t mean anything!”

“But you just said—!”

“Forget what I said! I think it’s cute!”

She flushed again, even deeper this time. “Fine! Fine. Whatever, Jace!”

“Oh, now you’re mad at me?”

“Yes! No. I don’t know! I just didn’t want to act stupid around you.”

“Well you’re doing a fine job.” I assured as we approached the old house. I stepped up the creaky wooden stairs before her, holding the door open while getting a strong whiff of fresh coffee beans. “I’ve never thought such a thing about you, Clary.”

She smiled slightly and glided into the shop. “Thanks, Jace.”

I let the door swing shut behind me and rushed to meet her at the counter. Not that it mattered since Clary was taking her time observing the place. The walls were painted a pale spring green, illuminated by the light streaming in through the widows that covered every wall. There were couches, love seats, tables, chairs, separate rooms with more couches and chairs and candles, the whole shebang—this shop just screamed posh. Everyone here had their posh laptops out and their posh iPads and were sipping on their posh lattes staring through their posh reading glasses and scrolling through their posh literature. I couldn’t help but think that they’re judging me every time I walk in. All I’ve ever done in this place was order coffee and leave. Finally I’ll be able to sit down and do something profound. Like read poetry.

Thank you, Clary.

“I’ll take a caramel macchiato and for her…” I looked over at Clary. “You seem like a cider kind of girl.”

“Only in the winter. I’ll take a green tea latte.”

Damn. That’s even more posh than cider. Clary fits in better than I do!

I paid for the both of us—just like I promised—and once we had our drinks we made our way to an empty couch. Or…love seat rather. This could get really awkward really fast.

Clary didn’t seem to mind. She sat down before I did and instantly started rummaging through her backpack for her poem.

“What happened to ‘free coffee and nothing else’ Coppertone?”

“I changed my mind, sue me!” I saw her sigh over her things as she whipped out a disheveled blue spiral. “Keep in mind this is my first poem. And it sucks, so I’m sorry in advance.” She flipped to the page and handed it to me. “I’m not going to read it out loud either, but you wanted to see it so there you go.”

I chuckled lightly and took a sip from my coffee. “So I guess if you won’t read it out loud I will.”

And so I began:

A Patch of Neon

 

Slightly twisted, slightly out of control

Seemingly crazy, seemingly true

A patch of neon in a world of navy blue,

That quickly changes to prints to take over you

 

So we might be crazy, but we’re a hell of a time

We do not conform to society’s line

We venture where most teens wouldn’t dare

We obsess, we creep, we laugh, we cry

All in front of anyone wanting to watch our show

 

It doesn’t matter our place in the web

We be what we are

We are what we be

An animal, a star, a rocker, a whore

What does it matter, the approval of society?

 

Approval is our own

 

We are the freak, the outcast, the slut, the genius

The obsessive, the self-harm, the gay, the punk, the rocker

The true

 

We are who we are

We are NOT you.

 

Slowly, gradually, people started clapping. I swear the look on Clary’s face was priceless. “It looks like you’re a hit.” I laughed and looked around with her. Every single posh person in the shop was clapping, even the cashier. We were all smiling, but just Clary looked straight stunned. I nudged her in the shoulder while she stared at her poem in disbelief. “You okay, Fray?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” She breathed. “Everyone else liked it. Did you?”

“Of course I did. I loved it when it was unfinished, I love it now, and I’ll love the next one you share—you’re talented Clary Fray. Like a girl version of Ed Sheeran!”

“What?! No way! How do you know Ed?”

“I live with Isabelle, don’t I?”

“Well that explains it!” She laughed. We both did for a while. We laughed and whined and talked about nothing and everything. People began to leave while we ordered more food and coffee. We were having a good time up until it was time to head back.

By time we reached the Pegasus again the sun was beginning to set over Dallas. The temperature had dropped significantly since the early afternoon and the lights of the city were just starting to pop on. I tried my hardest to keep the conversation going, but for some reason Clary got really quiet really fast. She was lively and chatty at the shop but as we neared the school she only grew more morose. I’ve done everything I could, at least I knew she was happy at some point, but unfortunately this is where this date had to end.

“Look, I had a really great time Clary…” I started, and she had the saddest look in her eyes.

“But you’re just not into me like that? I get it Jace. You don’t have to say it.” She concluded. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

            Wait, what? That has never happened to me in my life.

“Clary!” I called after her. She was walking away fast, but I caught her by the wrist and pulled her closer towards me. Almost too close. Our bodies were pressed together, our faces were only inches apart, and I had to fight back the massive urge to kiss her right now. Just like I’ve had to for three years. But she didn’t try to pull away. She stayed and looked up at me with those wide green eyes, too stunned to speak.

“Maybe I am.” I breathed. “Maybe I’m into you like that.” Surely she could feel my raging pulse right now, this is just embarrassing. “I’m really glad we got to hang out today, and we should do it again….Like on Friday.”

“Friday? This Friday?”

“Yeah, come to my show. If not for me then for Isabelle.”

She sighed and then nodded, eyes still locked on mine. “Yes, I’ll be there.”

“Okay.” I smiled.

“Okay.” She grinned.

We stayed like that for a long minute. Close and silent and still and oh so slowly I leaned in….

To kiss her on the cheek. Nothing too risqué on the first date. Not with this one.

“Goodnight, Clary.” I said simply.

“Goodnight, Jace.”

We separated and instantly I longed for her warmth. It almost hurt to see her walk away.

“Oh, Jace.” She added and looked over her shoulder.

“Maybe I’m into you like that too.”

XXX

 

I didn’t get home until 10 that night, but the first thing on my mind, surprisingly, was not sleep.

I booted up my laptop and opened up a word document. Now I finally have something to write about for this stupid paper Izzy wants.

Damn bet.

On any other night this would’ve pissed me off a lot more, but how could I be upset when my date was a total success? And I’ve got another date on Friday?

I’m better at this than I thought!

Just then Izzy rattled on my door. “I hope you’re writing your paper, Jace since your date went so well!”

“I am! Calm down!” I called back. “Wait, what are you doing down here? Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I’m catching up on American Horror Story!”

“It’s 10 o’clock at night!”

“Like I give a fuck! You sure you don’t want to watch?”

“Nope! I’ll be there in a second!”

Quickly, I started to type.

Izzy, I hate your for making me write this. But if this is what I have to do to prove it, I’ll do it. So here it goes.

 

You asked me why I like her—and this after a three year crush and one date—but you still want to know. So I’ll tell you this.

I have no fucking idea. Clary Fray confuses the shit out of me.

But there’s something about her, she’s different. Call me crazy, but I like—no—love that about her.

And nothing is ever going to change my mind.

Chapter Text

ISABELLE

There was still a hum in the classroom even after the bell tolled. Signaling what should've been the start of class, but was actually just some loud annoyance that was dismissed after a glimpse at the time. Mr. Ash was still in the hallway, having a conversation with the other chemistry teachers as the leader of their cult, only just pausing to glance at his class that was quickly turning to riot. He sighed with that standard "Ash" look on his face, the look that's so wise, like he knows how everything and everyone works in this world but would never in his life share all his secrets. He dismissed the cult and stepped into the classroom, awarding those who weren't trying to start a fire in the back of the room with a nod of approval.

"So you guys are ready for the quiz we're having this morning right?" He announced to catch everyone else's attention. "You should be, since I gave you five minutes to study." He pointed abruptly at the board, which read clearly: "You have 5 minutes to review for your quiz over moles."

I surveyed the room, laughing silently along with Mr. Ash as we watched the kids' faces pallor over the news. I wasn't concerned in the slightest—this time around I knew what I was doing.

"Ready to fail?" Simon joked as he slid into his empty seat.

"Ready to ace!" I countered. "I think you forgot that I have a 100 in this class."

"Of course I didn't!" He bellowed. "Why else would I mooch off your answers?"

Mr. Ash shot him a cold but kidding glance. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." He muttered to us.

"You, Simon Lewis, will be 100% screwed on the exam this semester. I guarantee!" I teased, already solving the first problem of the quiz before Simon even wrote his name down.

"Not if we sit in alphabetical order I won't! I promise you, I will ace!" He paused briefly to stare menacingly at his blank test. He rhythmically tapped his pencil for a long while and resisted the urge to look at my answers.

"You know what? I'll ace after I fail this one, I'm screwed."

XXX 

"So let me get this straight," Alex speculated. "Simon did so bad on his chemistry quiz last class that now you have to do a full-fledged project over it?"

"Hey! The whole class did badly." Simon defended, gaining some color to his cheeks.

"Except for me," I bragged. "Guess who got a 100?"

"Yeah, and guess who didn't cheat." He muttered, munching on a carrot stick.

"And guess who did?" Connor butted in before returning to his sketch. Simon just stared at him like "What the hell?!"

"I appreciate the effort, Simon," I chimed in. "But the time you could've taken to cheat off me, or maybe even—gasp—study!" I playfully nudged his arm. "Would've been miniscule compared to how long it's going to take to finish this presentation."

"See, now you're just blowing things way out of proportion. You're good at this moles stuff and I'm a freakin' genius at posters and powerpoints. You think up some hard-ass questions for the class, I throw something together and boom! We're done!"

"Well, I hope it's that simple. It's not like we have that much time."

"It's due next Friday." Simon informed

"That's one week from today!" I whined. "And I'm a busy person! I have stuff to do!"

"Don't get so worked up, Isabelle!" He pleaded, clutching my arm to calm me down. The touch sent pleasant shivers throughout my body. "I'll be over this weekend." He assured. His brown eyes were staring into mine as he smiled warmly. This sent my heart into a faint flurry.

"Okay?" He murmured.

"Okay." I replied.

No one else at the table noticed us. No one noticed our little moment. But I did. I noticed how my pulse sped up a little every time I smiled at me. I noticed that I've been thinking about him more, and hanging out with him more, and talking to him more….

But most of all I noticed that warmth in my heart. Like a fait ray of sunlight awakening something dormant.

And then the drop. The fear that rooted in my stomach that crept and stung like knives in the darkness. I know now that it can leave me senseless, emotionless, this fear can freeze me to nothing. But I have to let it melt. My heart has frozen over and slowly, slowly, I could feel it coming back to life—and that scares the shit out of me.

I'm going into this blindly, but what's the point in saying no? Better to have tried than to convince myself otherwise. And so what if Jace was the push? I'm the one that's letting it happen!

I can so win this bet….

"How is it still this hot in October?" Conner whined as he collapsed onto Jonsey and pretended to faint.

"Well, October only started one week ago. Technically it's still summer for Dallas." She reasoned.

"And if you want to cool off, just eat inside." Alex suggested, slowly fanning herself while the rest of us shed a few layers. The sun was beaming down hard in the Green Room and a hot breeze blew through, rustling the leaves on the tiny trees that dotted the place and making everyone just a little too warm.

Right now the heat was a bitch, but the Green Room was one of the best things about this school. Students could eat lunch in the outdoor courtyard that doubled as a theater where music ensembles and bands can perform on stage. There were days like today where the weather was decent and everyone wanted to eat outside. And then there were the rare days when it was cold and rainy and everyone had to cram into the too-small cafeteria.

Luckily today was not one of those days, obviously.

The Green Room was entirely concrete, and no, it's not green. It sloped upwards just like any other amphitheater and along with trees and stage lights, there were various painted trash cans and picnic tables that were decorated by the visuals. However, 75% of the students chose to eat on the ground. Partially because there were only 5 tables, but we're arts kids! We don't really need tables….

Only at Ben B!

"Shit maaan! I'm fucked!" I recognized Parker's animated voice as he plopped into a seat next to Simon with his head in his hands.

"What's up dude?" Simon asked and clapped his shoulder. A look of concern slightly coated his face.

"I've got a gig in two weeks and Chris just bailed! What the hell am I supposed to do?!"

"Hey man I've got your back! Count me in. I play bass!"

Parker lifted his head and his long, dark hair draped like a curtain over his face. "No shit man, really?" He mumbled from behind it.

"Yes shit, hit me up before the next practice. I'll be there."

"Alright!" Parker flipped his hair out of his face and gave Simon one of his bro hugs. "Thanks dude, you just saved my ass!" He hopped off the bench and glided away, jamming his fist in the air screaming, "I'm not fucked! I repeat, I am NOT FUCKED!" And the entire Green Room laughed along with him. Ben B. loved Parker.

"You know he looks exactly like Jacob Black? Not Taylor Lautner, but actually Jacob Black. Long hair, muscles, and everything." Alex muttered.

"Yeah, but don't tell him that, he'll flip shit." Simon warned. "So are you coming to my concert now?" He asked eagerly, obviously addressing the whole table, but only speaking to me.

"Yeah, I think I will! I want to see this whole bass guitar thing you've got going on!" I turned to Jonsey, Alex, and Conner. "Do you guys want to come too?"

"I'll tag along!" Jonsey exclaimed.

"You're talking to the rocker here. Of course I'll be there!" said Alex.

"I'll have to ask! I'll try, I really will, Simon!" Connor promised.

"It's cool buddy, thanks guys."

Everyone babbled their assurance as the regular flow of conversation started to filter back in.

"So, if you guys are going to Simon's show, that means you're coming to my closing show tonight, right?" I asked. Alex and Jonsey weakly agreed and Connor gave a slow nod, all dodging giving a real answer. "So supportive you guys. Thanks a ton!" I muttered sarcastically.

"Hey, Izzy! You'll know I'll be there!" Simon pointed out.

"Simon you're in the show."

"But I'll be watching you the whole time! Isn't that enough?"

"How about you focus on the music and then we'll talk? If you guys mess up we're all screwed…."

"Well then you just make it through the dance! It's not like it's easy!"

"Don't worry about me! I've made it through fine before, I can do it again!"

"You guys bicker like a couple." Jonsey interrupted.

"It's actually quite cute." Alex added.

Simon and I only had time to shoot them red faced death stares before the bell sent us to our next class. Simon stuttered a goodbye and peeled off quickly. I did the same, failing to hide my obvious embarrassment.

Still at the table but not quite out of ear shot, I could hear them. A quick whisper, a mutter, and a giggle that sounded a lot like Jonsey saying:

"I'm totally shipping Sizzy."

XXX 

JACE

"So I know we're not going to sit around and eat mu-shu pork in silence until the show stars, so go ahead and ask whatever's on your mind." Clary sighed and rested her chin on her clenched hands. Irritation was evident in her careless expression; she was obviously unimpressed.

Date number two was off to a rough start.

Cocking her head to the side, she studied the eyes that were studying her. "Why the face, Wayland?"

I smirked and stared back at her, laughing to myself when I saw the corner of her mouth twitch up then snap back down. "I'm just trying to figure you out."

"I could say the same." She replied while slightly leaning over the table. Her eyes were blazing in the dim light of the restaurant. But something seemed to click in her head, as if she remembered an unpleasant memory, and quickly she fell back into her seat. Her eager expression soon dropped. "But it's not like I'm some big mystery or anything." She huffed and said nothing more as her eyes danced around the room, paying no attention to my existence.

She was fidgety today. Her whole body was tense and uncomfortable. Her fingers drummed impatiently on the hard table and I could only watch as I saw the beginnings of a scowl start to show. Clary's clouded eyes connected with mine. What once were clear emeralds were now seeping with rage. I held her gaze, silently searching for any inkling of happiness, any hint of interest that may be buried too deep for me to see.

I came up empty handed.

"What? Have something to say to me?" Clary grunted coldly.

Her sudden harshness caught me off guard but I refused to let her eyes go. "Clary, you're different from every other girl at school, the opposite of average. I'm stuck trying to figure out why."

Almost instantly her attitude crashed.

Her eyes darkened to the deepest shade of green and later stood out as her cheeks flushed red with anger. In just seconds her features morphed into a tight lipped grimace as she crossed her arms over her nonexistent chest, and this time when sheheld my gaze it was purely out of temper and fear. To have so much ferocity welled up in such a tiny girl was in no way okay. She looked ready to explode, and sure enough she would explode on me.

"So you think this is a game, right?" She gave a sardonic laugh. It made my blood run cold. "I'm the trophy you get to play around with and brag about to all of your dick friends! Just because I showed no interest before now you just have to have me! Classic!"

"That's not true, Clary! I would never do something like that—not this time. I can change—I—"

"Jace, just stop faking it. I'm not an idiot like the other girls you mess around with. I know whatever this is," Her hand gestured between the two of us. "I know it's not real."

"Clary. I promise you, you're not a game! Please just calm—"

"And don't tell me to calm down." She growled. "I can handle myself just fine without you."

Her retorts were like a stinging slap to the face. A jab to the heart. Even I was surprised when I replied. "Why the sudden change in attitude? You were into me on Monday! We had a great time and that was just 4 days ago!"

"Oh, yeah! Monday!" She laughed sarcastically. "Don't get so cocky, Jace. That was before your pack of skanks attacked me and told me everything, Mr. 'Bachelor or Ben B.!'"

My heart stopped at the sound of my unfortunate nickname—a term only used by those who REALLY hated me. I hoped it would stay secret from her, but that was impossible. Girls liked to talk, especially the bitter, jealous ones that were pissed to see "their guy" with another girl. I should've seen this coming. It's not like it hasn't happened before.

"I should've never said yes in the first place." She grimly shook her head. "What the hell was I thinking?

Fuck. This was beyond disastrous.

At first she only knew the obvious about me. But now? Oh, I'm in deep shit. Now she knows every dirty detail. Every dick move I've ever made. I can't charm my way out of this one, she's too smart for that.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

"So you know everything now, don't you?" I asked. I already knew her answer.

"I'm not stupid, Jace. Of course I do." Clary scoffed. "And all the things you did to those girls! I'm an actual idiot for trusting someone like you!"

A jolt rippled through my body. It froze me to the core.

It was another time. Another person. But those dreaded words hurt all the same.

I'm a complete idiot for trusting you, Jace, so leave me the hell alone! Go on fucking other girls for all I care. You obviously don't give a shit about me anyways.

The familiar phrase replayed in my head, bringing back the suffocating wave of guilt that I've been repressing for the past 3 years. I clenched my fists at my side. I haven't forgotten—unfortunately, it's one part of my past that won't leave me. It's the one thing I regret the most. Just hearing Clary throw those words at me…it's just a repeat reaction of everything that I caused. Everything that I swore wouldn't happen again.

I stayed silent and let her rant, trying my absolute hardest to block out every truth she told, eyes down as I willed my stalled heart to beat again.

Silence.

"You're not going to try to deny it, are you?" Her voice was thick.

"No, because then I'd be a dirty bastard and a liar." I took a lungful of air but my heart still refused to beat. "I don't want to be either around the girl I like."

Her eyes narrowed to slits as she shot me an icy stare. "Since when did you become so interested in me?" She sneered.

"Longer than you can imagine, Clarissa Fray."

Again, a silence passed before she spoke.

"No. Not again."

Out of nowhere I heard her voice waver. Was she not livid just 2 minutes ago? Now I looked up to see her eyes brimmed with tears, both angry and sad.

"I'm not falling for this one. Not again."

"What?" I stared at her in disbelief. "Clary! Just wait! Clary—!"

"I can't do this…." Her voice was merely a whisper. She shook her head fervently and rose from her seat.

And without a second glance she left me at that table, utterly alone.

XXX 

A golden light was cast over Dallas. Stunning, yet unfitting. My Friday night disaster wasn't over yet.

Luckily, Clary wasn't a fast runner.

"Clary!" I yelled out to her just as the crosswalk sign flashed 'WALK'. She bolted across. "Clary! Let me explain!" I cried. "Please!"

I caught up to her at the shady underpass near the school. The rubble crunched louder under our feet as we both sped up. "Clary…." I clasped her wrist and swung her around, drawing her closer to me.

Her right hand cracked hard across my face.

Green eyes that were filled with malice met mine with a menacing glare. Her chest rose and fell unevenly as her breath came out in short, sharp gasps, and a frustrated moan escaped her tightly drawn lips. "Give me one good reason why I should stay here and go to this goddamn show with you!" She snarled. Absolutely terrifying.

I raised a hand to my aching cheek that was slowly starting to swell. I winced away from the touch. The girl had a dangerous swing.

Regardless of my face I tried to answer her question.

"Because I…." There was a whoosh of breath but no answer. "I just—I—"

Now this is just embarrassing.

"I guess I really don't have a good answer..." I muttered, pushing my fingers through my hair then shaking it out. "All I know is that I like you. And this is all new for me, really..." I nervously shoved my fists in my pockets, and lucky for me the blood that rushed to my cheeks was hidden by the redness of my one cheek. "I know that I feel something different this time, and I wanted you to feel the same way...about me..."

She ripped her wrist away from my grip. Her face flared up like mine, but her stony expression was still unforgiving. Her words were clipped, cold. "Well, you don't always get what you want. Especially when you don't deserve it."

"What makes you think I don't deserve it? Why does it have to be like that?" I whined and forced myself closer to her. "Tell me, Clary. Honestly."

"Because you're you!" She fumed, jabbing a finger into my chest. Our faces inches apart. "You're Jace Wayland, the inconsiderate ass!"

"You know what? I am so tired of this fucking title everyone has for me!" Now it was my chance to get irritated. "Wayland this, Wayland that every single day! Do you guys ever stop to think that maybe there's a chance I'm not what you think I am? Just once?!"

I saw Clary shrink back, and somewhere deep down I knew I was probably scaring her. Or at the least massively confusing her. If I don't stop now I'll start spitting fire for sure...

"Are you crazy, Jace? What the hell am I supposed to think?! I've only even seen you be a massive dick—!"

"Well I haven't always been this way! I wasn't always the jackass! Not since the crash!" I yelled. Now our rage was equal. "By the angel! Sometimes shit changes people! I thought you would understand—unlike every other girl I've dated! They were too dim to get it!"

By now her face was stone cold, emotionless. "What crash?" She muttered.

My pulse froze once again. My mom did say once that my big mouth was going to be the death of me...

"Just forget it. It doesn't matter." I sighed quickly. This time I stormed off when the sign flashed.

She chased after me, her little footsteps clacking hard against the pavement. "What crash Jace?"

When I didn't answer her voice rose.

"Damn it, Jace! Just tell me!"

I kept my lips sealed.

This time she sprinted and ran in front of me, completely blocking path of my rage-walking. I halted abruptly on my toes, fighting to keep my balance but toppling slightly into her outstretched arms that held me still.

She yanked me down to her level. "Tell me or I'm not going with you."

I let out the breath I was holding, and for a second I thought of calling the whole thing off. What was the point of all of this if she wasn't going to give me the time of day? Why fight it? Why even try...?

I stopped mid thought. I could almost hear Izzy's smug laugh in my ear. It made me shudder. How satisfied would she be if I lost this bet? I would never hear the end of it...And I don't even know what she would want if I lost—Izzy's fucking insane with stuff like that...!

Clary's death grip tightened around my shoulders, yanking me out of my temporary nightmare and bringing me back to my current nightmare. My irritation was still present. "What. Crash. Jace?" She asked again. Quit dodging the question and just fucking answer—!"

"The plane crash that killed my parents, Clary! Is that enough for you?!"

She froze.

There was absolute silence.

Cars whizzed by for who knows how long, but her body stayed locked.

"…"

"You okay, Fray?" I asked after a long moment.

"Are you okay?" She replied.

"Yes and no." I answered truthfully. "But don't worry about the inconsiderate ass. Ya know, it's what I deserve and all that." I said, putting my hands on her shoulders and pulling away from her. I avoided her eyes. "I enjoyed spending the day with you Clary, regardless. Have a nice weekend."

I started away from her, wallowing in a reluctant defeat, when I felt a tiny hand latch onto my arm.

I kept walking but guided her with me. "Whatcha doing, Coppertone?"

"I'm coming with you. I'm staying." She replied quietly. "Not just now. I'm staying until I find the old Jace."

After those reassuring words, I couldn't help but smile. And after she slid her fingers into mine, my pulse couldn't help but spike.

I have to keep going. If she's going to try, I have to try too.

We turned into the school's back parking lot then, taking our time down the steep steps by the side of the ever dangerous sculpture yard. We saw straight through the glass doors, past the faulty metal detectors that have long since been turned off, and into the hectic scene. Dancers half-dressed scrambling back and forth between the studios on the zero floor and the theater down the hall, musicians wielding their instruments and trying to stay out of the dancers' path, one or two parents looking lost. It was standard show night. Clary and I both laughed at the sight as I swung the door open and stepped inside.

"So this is where we part." I said simply. "Will I see you after?"

"You will..." She gracefully released my hand and rocked back on her heels like she had something more to say. "I, um," She started. The blush came creeping back. "I'msorryandgoodluck!" She blurted. She said the last part so quickly that I almost missed it.

Not that it mattered, since I forgot all about the luck she wished me when she raised up to kiss my pinkish bruise that was surprisingly close to my lips.

However, I distinctly remember the pain being on the opposite cheek...

XXX 

ISABELLE

The studio was loud. As it always was during intermission, but hey, if the cast wanted to get pumped about the second half of the show by throwing an all-out dance party, I wasn't going to stop them. I was going to dance along with them.

Well, it's not like I had anything else to do! And it was the last show, so what the hell?!

Four songs later, the party ended with a two minute warning from the stage manager. Moans and whines filled the space and slowly, unwillingly, people started falling back into their performance routine. Hair, makeup, costume, warm-up, eat a little, rehearse, wait.

Being in the last dance was killing me. I can't wait and rehearse for much longer….

I glared at the clock for about 5 minutes. Where the hell could Jace be? Shouldn't he be down here by now? I thought for the millionth time.

Almost immediately I heard his voice echo in the near empty studio. Speak of the devil.

I glanced at the door, a grin forming when I saw my snazzy brother saunter in. A grin that soon fell at the sight of Jace's right hand man. This boy looked way too happy to be walking into a room with an abundance of fit girls in skimpy costumes.

Will my distaste for Josh ever let up?

"What's up, Izzy?!" Josh hollered and made a beeline for me, attacking me in a not-so-soft hug as his dress shirt scratched against my bare skin.

Nope. I'll continue to hate him. Sorry I'm not sorry, Josh.

"Hands off!" Jace intervened. "She's only got a bra and shorts for a dance costume, don't think I don't know what's going on in your head right now." He shot Josh a look of disapproval.

"Hehehe…" He snickered before slowly drawing away. "Text me later, okay? I'll so be in the mood." He raised his eyebrows and his eyes grew sly.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is how Josh gets girls.

"Oookay, I seriously don't need this right before a show!" I lightly shoved him away. "I'm going to find Simon! Jace, come with?"

"Yeah, I'm with you!" Jace coughed uncomfortably. "Have fun with the other girls, Josh!" He called over his shoulder as I dragged him out of the room. Josh was baffled at first, but the smug smile returned once some of the dancers started to make a move on him. Typical.

Taking a sharp right to the steps in the direction of the orchestra hall, I let out an exasperated sigh. "I can't stand him, Jace!" I threw my hands in the air. "He won't ever leave me the hell alone!"

"Well, that's what you get for hooking up with him!" He chuckled from behind.

"It was only twice!" I exclaimed. "But I guess that's not including makeouts either…"

"TMI! I don't need to know this!" Jace shouted and jogged ahead of me.

"Oh so now I'm the bad guy now?! Please! I bet your number is double!"

"Actually, Isabelle, I've never slept with Josh."

"Oh, hush you know what I mean! Quit teasing me like that!"

He laughed himself all the way to the second floor where he glided into the orchestra room to retrieve Simon. I parked it outside the door and waited silently for them to get situated. I peered into the large, crowded hall through one of the large glass windows. Chairs and stands were lined up perfectly and the pristine podium sat empty at the front. Various awards lined the walls while pianos, xylophones, and other percussion instruments crowded the corners. I glanced to the right and saw Simon packing up his cello while Jace grabbed his and Josh's violins.

I fell back and waltzed around the open space around the music rooms, but not daring to enter either of them. There's this unsaid rule at Ben B. about how you can't really go into another cluster's space without a good reason. If you do, you end up getting about a billion terrible looks from everyone in the room, so it's best to just know your place. It seems silly, but at the same time it's totally valid. Our rooms are sacred to us and we're protective about our shit.

After a quick moment, Jace came out with a case in each hand and delight on his face.

There was something else on his face too. This morning it was 100% perfection, but now it was marred by a slight pink welt on his left side—and it took me all but three seconds to put two and two together.

So this date was a feisty one, huh?

"Damn." I whispered and traced a finger along his cheek. "I told you she was tough, didn't I?"

"Yeah, I'll have to start taking your warnings more seriously." He said shyly. "Is it noticeable?"

"Is what noticeable?" Simon asked, finally ready to go. When he came out the door he took one look at me and then glued his eyes to the floor. Probably due to my lack of clothing….

I'll have to tease him about this later.

"This thing on his face!" I replied bluntly, bringing the attention back to Jace. I grabbed his chin and turned it towards Simon. "See? Do you think it looks bad?"

Jace shook his was out of my light grip and glowered down at me. His eyes were filled with alarm and irritation, like I just let out some huge secret or something….

"Ouch, Jace." Simon winced. "Who'd you get that from?"

Oh. Yeah, I probably shouldn't have brought this up just now.

Clary and Simon were still on the rocks, and he would probably get upset if he found out his ex-best friend/girlfriend was with the biggest heartbreaker in school. Just like Clary would be pissed if she knew what direction Simon and I were going in….

Note to self, don't bring our relationships up in conversation.

We had just reached the first floor when Jace coolly replied. "Oh, Ashley caught me after school today." He lied swiftly.

Nice save. If I didn't know any better I wouldn't have questioned it either. Jace is really good at this whole heartbreaker/charisma/persuasive thing. He could have everyone wrapped around his finger if he wanted to, and he knows it.

"It looks like it hurt—I'm glad I can say that's never happened to me!" Simon added.

"Yeah, she's got a good swing, but I'm used to this thing by now."

"Of course you are." Simon and I mumbled and rolled our eyes in unison. Jace just smirked in response.

By time we reached the bottom floor the stage manager was calling for my piece. "Wise's 'Fire' is on in two! Everyone backstage!"

There was a shuffle as all the dancers exited the studio—some much more confident than others. Both nervousness and excitement swirled in the pit of my stomach. I was ready—I could do this dance in my sleep—but anything could happen now. I could fall, or forget, or pass out on stage….

Why am I psyching myself out like this?!

I shook it out and ran off to join my cast backstage. No negativity! Only positive thoughts! I chanted, and gradually the nerves started to evade.

The cold floor was uncomfortably familiar and the warmth of the stage lights was all too inviting. I smiled and joked lightly along with the rest of the dancers and crew to keep the mood light, but we all knew everyone was feeling the pressure. Nobody starts of nerve free. Not even the most confident of the pack.

When the dance onstage was nearing a close, I took my position in my designated wing, using every last second I had to get myself in the zone.

Just before the lights dimmed, I caught sight of Simon and Jace standing in the wing across from me. With smiles on their faces, they both shot me a thumbs up for good luck.

I'll take what I can get. It was finally here.

Closing show.

XXX 

Pointe. Leap. Land. Inhale. Plié. Jump. Turn. Exhale. Pivot. Slide. Fall. Gasp. Roll. Step. Lift. Hold.

Dancing is the most intense form of multitasking. And sometimes, even the basic things are forgotten.

XXX 

The roar of the audience was drowned out by a loud ringing that only I could hear, and despite the cold of the theater, my body felt extremely hot.

I felt like I was falling with my feet on solid ground.

The audience disappeared behind a wall of velvet and soon we were all plunged into darkness. We immediately relaxed and fell out of our structured ending pose, almost falling to the floor in exhaustion.

Curtain closed, lights off, we're finally done.

I'm so glad it's over.

Both the musicians and the dancers began to hoot and holler with excitement. High fives and hugs were circling around and everyone was all smiles and congratulations.

Except for me. I felt like shit and nobody seemed to notice.

I took wobbly steps off the stage—my balance wasn't spot on—and breath was weak even though I was gasping for air. My pulse beat hard against my body, my heart was drilling into me like a jackhammer, and my dinner was threatening to make a reappearance.

No. No. Not this tonight.

I tried my hardest to make it to a chair. If I could just sit I should be fine. This will pass like every other time, right?

I sped up my shaky steps. My eyes were dead set on that empty black chair.

This made my head hurt even more.

Somewhere in the distances was a loud CLONG that caught everyone's attention, and for some reason everyone stopped to look in my direction. Alarm and surprise covered their faces.

I raised an eyebrow. "Hi?" I waved faintly.

Then suddenly, everyone around me started rushing and fretting. They kept shrieking something about "so much blood!" and more about "a huge cut!"

I could only catch bits and pieces talking between the ringing. But by the looks of horror they sported while looking at my feet, I kind of got the gist of things.

Sure enough, when I looked down there was my cut up toe. I must've stubbed it pretty hard on that light tree….

"My God, Izzy, are you not in pain?!" Someone else shouted.

"You know, it's funny." I started feebly. The ringing increased and my vision grew a few shades darker. "I actually didn't feel a thing…."

My voice faded out along with sound and sight and feeling.

The last thing I was aware of was a slight suspension before I crashed to the ground and blacked out completely.

Chapter Text

ISABELLE

There was still a hum in the classroom even after the bell tolled. Signaling what should've been the start of class, but was actually just some loud annoyance that was dismissed after a glimpse at the time. Mr. Ash was still in the hallway, having a conversation with the other chemistry teachers as the leader of their cult, only just pausing to glance at his class that was quickly turning to riot. He sighed with that standard "Ash" look on his face, the look that's so wise, like he knows how everything and everyone works in this world but would never in his life share all his secrets. He dismissed the cult and stepped into the classroom, awarding those who weren't trying to start a fire in the back of the room with a nod of approval.

"So you guys are ready for the quiz we're having this morning right?" He announced to catch everyone else's attention. "You should be, since I gave you five minutes to study." He pointed abruptly at the board, which read clearly: "You have 5 minutes to review for your quiz over moles."

I surveyed the room, laughing silently along with Mr. Ash as we watched the kids' faces pallor over the news. I wasn't concerned in the slightest—this time around I knew what I was doing.

"Ready to fail?" Simon joked as he slid into his empty seat.

"Ready to ace!" I countered. "I think you forgot that I have a 100 in this class."

"Of course I didn't!" He bellowed. "Why else would I mooch off your answers?"

Mr. Ash shot him a cold but kidding glance. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." He muttered to us.

"You, Simon Lewis, will be 100% screwed on the exam this semester. I guarantee!" I teased, already solving the first problem of the quiz before Simon even wrote his name down.

"Not if we sit in alphabetical order I won't! I promise you, I will ace!" He paused briefly to stare menacingly at his blank test. He rhythmically tapped his pencil for a long while and resisted the urge to look at my answers.

"You know what? I'll ace after I fail this one, I'm screwed."

XXX

"So let me get this straight," Alex speculated. "Simon did so bad on his chemistry quiz last class that now you have to do a full-fledged project over it?"

"Hey! The whole class did badly." Simon defended, gaining some color to his cheeks.

"Except for me," I bragged. "Guess who got a 100?"

"Yeah, and guess who didn't cheat." He muttered, munching on a carrot stick.

"And guess who did?" Connor butted in before returning to his sketch. Simon just stared at him like "What the hell?!"

"I appreciate the effort, Simon," I chimed in. "But the time you could've taken to cheat off me, or maybe even—gasp—study!" I playfully nudged his arm. "Would've been miniscule compared to how long it's going to take to finish this presentation."

"See, now you're just blowing things way out of proportion. You're good at this moles stuff and I'm a freakin' genius at posters and powerpoints. You think up some hard-ass questions for the class, I throw something together and boom! We're done!"

"Well, I hope it's that simple. It's not like we have that much time."

"It's due next Friday." Simon informed

"That's one week from today!" I whined. "And I'm a busy person! I have stuff to do!"

"Don't get so worked up, Isabelle!" He pleaded, clutching my arm to calm me down. The touch sent pleasant shivers throughout my body. "I'll be over this weekend." He assured. His brown eyes were staring into mine as he smiled warmly. This sent my heart into a faint flurry.

"Okay?" He murmured.

"Okay." I replied.

No one else at the table noticed us. No one noticed our little moment. But I did. I noticed how my pulse sped up a little every time I smiled at me. I noticed that I've been thinking about him more, and hanging out with him more, and talking to him more….

But most of all I noticed that warmth in my heart. Like a fait ray of sunlight awakening something dormant.

And then the drop. The fear that rooted in my stomach that crept and stung like knives in the darkness. I know now that it can leave me senseless, emotionless, this fear can freeze me to nothing. But I have to let it melt. My heart has frozen over and slowly, slowly, I could feel it coming back to life—and that scares the shit out of me.

I'm going into this blindly, but what's the point in saying no? Better to have tried than to convince myself otherwise. And so what if Jace was the push? I'm the one that's letting it happen!

I can so win this bet….

"How is it still this hot in October?" Conner whined as he collapsed onto Jonsey and pretended to faint.

"Well, October only started one week ago. Technically it's still summer for Dallas." She reasoned.

"And if you want to cool off, just eat inside." Alex suggested, slowly fanning herself while the rest of us shed a few layers. The sun was beaming down hard in the Green Room and a hot breeze blew through, rustling the leaves on the tiny trees that dotted the place and making everyone just a little too warm.

Right now the heat was a bitch, but the Green Room was one of the best things about this school. Students could eat lunch in the outdoor courtyard that doubled as a theater where music ensembles and bands can perform on stage. There were days like today where the weather was decent and everyone wanted to eat outside. And then there were the rare days when it was cold and rainy and everyone had to cram into the too-small cafeteria.

Luckily today was not one of those days, obviously.

The Green Room was entirely concrete, and no, it's not green. It sloped upwards just like any other amphitheater and along with trees and stage lights, there were various painted trash cans and picnic tables that were decorated by the visuals. However, 75% of the students chose to eat on the ground. Partially because there were only 5 tables, but we're arts kids! We don't really need tables….

Only at Ben B!

"Shit maaan! I'm fucked!" I recognized Parker's animated voice as he plopped into a seat next to Simon with his head in his hands.

"What's up dude?" Simon asked and clapped his shoulder. A look of concern slightly coated his face.

"I've got a gig in two weeks and Chris just bailed! What the hell am I supposed to do?!"

"Hey man I've got your back! Count me in. I play bass!"

Parker lifted his head and his long, dark hair draped like a curtain over his face. "No shit man, really?" He mumbled from behind it.

"Yes shit, hit me up before the next practice. I'll be there."

"Alright!" Parker flipped his hair out of his face and gave Simon one of his bro hugs. "Thanks dude, you just saved my ass!" He hopped off the bench and glided away, jamming his fist in the air screaming, "I'm not fucked! I repeat, I am NOT FUCKED!" And the entire Green Room laughed along with him. Ben B. loved Parker.

"You know he looks exactly like Jacob Black? Not Taylor Lautner, but actually Jacob Black. Long hair, muscles, and everything." Alex muttered.

"Yeah, but don't tell him that, he'll flip shit." Simon warned. "So are you coming to my concert now?" He asked eagerly, obviously addressing the whole table, but only speaking to me.

"Yeah, I think I will! I want to see this whole bass guitar thing you've got going on!" I turned to Jonsey, Alex, and Conner. "Do you guys want to come too?"

"I'll tag along!" Jonsey exclaimed.

"You're talking to the rocker here. Of course I'll be there!" said Alex.

"I'll have to ask! I'll try, I really will, Simon!" Connor promised.

"It's cool buddy, thanks guys."

Everyone babbled their assurance as the regular flow of conversation started to filter back in.

"So, if you guys are going to Simon's show, that means you're coming to my closing show tonight, right?" I asked. Alex and Jonsey weakly agreed and Connor gave a slow nod, all dodging giving a real answer. "So supportive you guys. Thanks a ton!" I muttered sarcastically.

"Hey, Izzy! You'll know I'll be there!" Simon pointed out.

"Simon you're in the show."

"But I'll be watching you the whole time! Isn't that enough?"

"How about you focus on the music and then we'll talk? If you guys mess up we're all screwed…."

"Well then you just make it through the dance! It's not like it's easy!"

"Don't worry about me! I've made it through fine before, I can do it again!"

"You guys bicker like a couple." Jonsey interrupted.

"It's actually quite cute." Alex added.

Simon and I only had time to shoot them red faced death stares before the bell sent us to our next class. Simon stuttered a goodbye and peeled off quickly. I did the same, failing to hide my obvious embarrassment.

Still at the table but not quite out of ear shot, I could hear them. A quick whisper, a mutter, and a giggle that sounded a lot like Jonsey saying:

"I'm totally shipping Sizzy."

XXX

JACE

"So I know we're not going to sit around and eat mu-shu pork in silence until the show stars, so go ahead and ask whatever's on your mind." Clary sighed and rested her chin on her clenched hands. Irritation was evident in her careless expression; she was obviously unimpressed.

Date number two was off to a rough start.

Cocking her head to the side, she studied the eyes that were studying her. "Why the face, Wayland?"

I smirked and stared back at her, laughing to myself when I saw the corner of her mouth twitch up then snap back down. "I'm just trying to figure you out."

"I could say the same." She replied while slightly leaning over the table. Her eyes were blazing in the dim light of the restaurant. But something seemed to click in her head, as if she remembered an unpleasant memory, and quickly she fell back into her seat. Her eager expression soon dropped. "But it's not like I'm some big mystery or anything." She huffed and said nothing more as her eyes danced around the room, paying no attention to my existence.

She was fidgety today. Her whole body was tense and uncomfortable. Her fingers drummed impatiently on the hard table and I could only watch as I saw the beginnings of a scowl start to show. Clary's clouded eyes connected with mine. What once were clear emeralds were now seeping with rage. I held her gaze, silently searching for any inkling of happiness, any hint of interest that may be buried too deep for me to see.

I came up empty handed.

"What? Have something to say to me?" Clary grunted coldly.

Her sudden harshness caught me off guard but I refused to let her eyes go. "Clary, you're different from every other girl at school, the opposite of average. I'm stuck trying to figure out why."

Almost instantly her attitude crashed.

Her eyes darkened to the deepest shade of green and later stood out as her cheeks flushed red with anger. In just seconds her features morphed into a tight lipped grimace as she crossed her arms over her nonexistent chest, and this time when sheheld my gaze it was purely out of temper and fear. To have so much ferocity welled up in such a tiny girl was in no way okay. She looked ready to explode, and sure enough she would explode on me.

"So you think this is a game, right?" She gave a sardonic laugh. It made my blood run cold. "I'm the trophy you get to play around with and brag about to all of your dick friends! Just because I showed no interest before now you just have to have me! Classic!"

"That's not true, Clary! I would never do something like that—not this time. I can change—I—"

"Jace, just stop faking it. I'm not an idiot like the other girls you mess around with. I know whatever this is," Her hand gestured between the two of us. "I know it's not real."

"Clary. I promise you, you're not a game! Please just calm—"

"And don't tell me to calm down." She growled. "I can handle myself just fine without you."

Her retorts were like a stinging slap to the face. A jab to the heart. Even I was surprised when I replied. "Why the sudden change in attitude? You were into me on Monday! We had a great time and that was just 4 days ago!"

"Oh, yeah! Monday!" She laughed sarcastically. "Don't get so cocky, Jace. That was before your pack of skanks attacked me and told me everything, Mr. 'Bachelor or Ben B.!'"

My heart stopped at the sound of my unfortunate nickname—a term only used by those who REALLY hated me. I hoped it would stay secret from her, but that was impossible. Girls liked to talk, especially the bitter, jealous ones that were pissed to see "their guy" with another girl. I should've seen this coming. It's not like it hasn't happened before.

"I should've never said yes in the first place." She grimly shook her head. "What the hell was I thinking?

Fuck. This was beyond disastrous.

At first she only knew the obvious about me. But now? Oh, I'm in deep shit. Now she knows every dirty detail. Every dick move I've ever made. I can't charm my way out of this one, she's too smart for that.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

"So you know everything now, don't you?" I asked. I already knew her answer.

"I'm not stupid, Jace. Of course I do." Clary scoffed. "And all the things you did to those girls! I'm an actual idiot for trusting someone like you!"

A jolt rippled through my body. It froze me to the core.

It was another time. Another person. But those dreaded words hurt all the same.

I'm a complete idiot for trusting you, Jace, so leave me the hell alone! Go on fucking other girls for all I care. You obviously don't give a shit about me anyways.

The familiar phrase replayed in my head, bringing back the suffocating wave of guilt that I've been repressing for the past 3 years. I clenched my fists at my side. I haven't forgotten—unfortunately, it's one part of my past that won't leave me. It's the one thing I regret the most. Just hearing Clary throw those words at me…it's just a repeat reaction of everything that I caused. Everything that I swore wouldn't happen again.

I stayed silent and let her rant, trying my absolute hardest to block out every truth she told, eyes down as I willed my stalled heart to beat again.

Silence.

"You're not going to try to deny it, are you?" Her voice was thick.

"No, because then I'd be a dirty bastard and a liar." I took a lungful of air but my heart still refused to beat. "I don't want to be either around the girl I like."

Her eyes narrowed to slits as she shot me an icy stare. "Since when did you become so interested in me?" She sneered.

"Longer than you can imagine, Clarissa Fray."

Again, a silence passed before she spoke.

"No. Not again."

Out of nowhere I heard her voice waver. Was she not livid just 2 minutes ago? Now I looked up to see her eyes brimmed with tears, both angry and sad.

"I'm not falling for this one. Not again."

"What?" I stared at her in disbelief. "Clary! Just wait! Clary—!"

"I can't do this…." Her voice was merely a whisper. She shook her head fervently and rose from her seat.

And without a second glance she left me at that table, utterly alone.

XXX

A golden light was cast over Dallas. Stunning, yet unfitting. My Friday night disaster wasn't over yet.

Luckily, Clary wasn't a fast runner.

"Clary!" I yelled out to her just as the crosswalk sign flashed 'WALK'. She bolted across. "Clary! Let me explain!" I cried. "Please!"

I caught up to her at the shady underpass near the school. The rubble crunched louder under our feet as we both sped up. "Clary…." I clasped her wrist and swung her around, drawing her closer to me.

Her right hand cracked hard across my face.

Green eyes that were filled with malice met mine with a menacing glare. Her chest rose and fell unevenly as her breath came out in short, sharp gasps, and a frustrated moan escaped her tightly drawn lips. "Give me one good reason why I should stay here and go to this goddamn show with you!" She snarled. Absolutely terrifying.

I raised a hand to my aching cheek that was slowly starting to swell. I winced away from the touch. The girl had a dangerous swing.

Regardless of my face I tried to answer her question.

"Because I…." There was a whoosh of breath but no answer. "I just—I—"

Now this is just embarrassing.

"I guess I really don't have a good answer..." I muttered, pushing my fingers through my hair then shaking it out. "All I know is that I like you. And this is all new for me, really..." I nervously shoved my fists in my pockets, and lucky for me the blood that rushed to my cheeks was hidden by the redness of my one cheek. "I know that I feel something different this time, and I wanted you to feel the same way...about me..."

She ripped her wrist away from my grip. Her face flared up like mine, but her stony expression was still unforgiving. Her words were clipped, cold. "Well, you don't always get what you want. Especially when you don't deserve it."

"What makes you think I don't deserve it? Why does it have to be like that?" I whined and forced myself closer to her. "Tell me, Clary. Honestly."

"Because you're you!" She fumed, jabbing a finger into my chest. Our faces inches apart. "You're Jace Wayland, the inconsiderate ass!"

"You know what? I am so tired of this fucking title everyone has for me!" Now it was my chance to get irritated. "Wayland this, Wayland that every single day! Do you guys ever stop to think that maybe there's a chance I'm not what you think I am? Just once?!"

I saw Clary shrink back, and somewhere deep down I knew I was probably scaring her. Or at the least massively confusing her. If I don't stop now I'll start spitting fire for sure...

"Are you crazy, Jace? What the hell am I supposed to think?! I've only even seen you be a massive dick—!"

"Well I haven't always been this way! I wasn't always the jackass! Not since the crash!" I yelled. Now our rage was equal. "By the angel! Sometimes shit changes people! I thought you would understand—unlike every other girl I've dated! They were too dim to get it!"

By now her face was stone cold, emotionless. "What crash?" She muttered.

My pulse froze once again. My mom did say once that my big mouth was going to be the death of me...

"Just forget it. It doesn't matter." I sighed quickly. This time I stormed off when the sign flashed.

She chased after me, her little footsteps clacking hard against the pavement. "What crash Jace?"

When I didn't answer her voice rose.

"Damn it, Jace! Just tell me!"

I kept my lips sealed.

This time she sprinted and ran in front of me, completely blocking path of my rage-walking. I halted abruptly on my toes, fighting to keep my balance but toppling slightly into her outstretched arms that held me still.

She yanked me down to her level. "Tell me or I'm not going with you."

I let out the breath I was holding, and for a second I thought of calling the whole thing off. What was the point of all of this if she wasn't going to give me the time of day? Why fight it? Why even try...?

I stopped mid thought. I could almost hear Izzy's smug laugh in my ear. It made me shudder. How satisfied would she be if I lost this bet? I would never hear the end of it...And I don't even know what she would want if I lost—Izzy's fucking insane with stuff like that...!

Clary's death grip tightened around my shoulders, yanking me out of my temporary nightmare and bringing me back to my current nightmare. My irritation was still present. "What. Crash. Jace?" She asked again. Quit dodging the question and just fucking answer—!"

"The plane crash that killed my parents, Clary! Is that enough for you?!"

She froze.

There was absolute silence.

Cars whizzed by for who knows how long, but her body stayed locked.

"…"

"You okay, Fray?" I asked after a long moment.

"Are you okay?" She replied.

"Yes and no." I answered truthfully. "But don't worry about the inconsiderate ass. Ya know, it's what I deserve and all that." I said, putting my hands on her shoulders and pulling away from her. I avoided her eyes. "I enjoyed spending the day with you Clary, regardless. Have a nice weekend."

I started away from her, wallowing in a reluctant defeat, when I felt a tiny hand latch onto my arm.

I kept walking but guided her with me. "Whatcha doing, Coppertone?"

"I'm coming with you. I'm staying." She replied quietly. "Not just now. I'm staying until I find the old Jace."

After those reassuring words, I couldn't help but smile. And after she slid her fingers into mine, my pulse couldn't help but spike.

I have to keep going. If she's going to try, I have to try too.

We turned into the school's back parking lot then, taking our time down the steep steps by the side of the ever dangerous sculpture yard. We saw straight through the glass doors, past the faulty metal detectors that have long since been turned off, and into the hectic scene. Dancers half-dressed scrambling back and forth between the studios on the zero floor and the theater down the hall, musicians wielding their instruments and trying to stay out of the dancers' path, one or two parents looking lost. It was standard show night. Clary and I both laughed at the sight as I swung the door open and stepped inside.

"So this is where we part." I said simply. "Will I see you after?"

"You will..." She gracefully released my hand and rocked back on her heels like she had something more to say. "I, um," She started. The blush came creeping back. "I'msorryandgoodluck!" She blurted. She said the last part so quickly that I almost missed it.

Not that it mattered, since I forgot all about the luck she wished me when she raised up to kiss my pinkish bruise that was surprisingly close to my lips.

However, I distinctly remember the pain being on the opposite cheek...

XXX

ISABELLE

The studio was loud. As it always was during intermission, but hey, if the cast wanted to get pumped about the second half of the show by throwing an all-out dance party, I wasn't going to stop them. I was going to dance along with them.

Well, it's not like I had anything else to do! And it was the last show, so what the hell?!

Four songs later, the party ended with a two minute warning from the stage manager. Moans and whines filled the space and slowly, unwillingly, people started falling back into their performance routine. Hair, makeup, costume, warm-up, eat a little, rehearse, wait.

Being in the last dance was killing me. I can't wait and rehearse for much longer….

I glared at the clock for about 5 minutes. Where the hell could Jace be? Shouldn't he be down here by now? I thought for the millionth time.

Almost immediately I heard his voice echo in the near empty studio. Speak of the devil.

I glanced at the door, a grin forming when I saw my snazzy brother saunter in. A grin that soon fell at the sight of Jace's right hand man. This boy looked way too happy to be walking into a room with an abundance of fit girls in skimpy costumes.

Will my distaste for Josh ever let up?

"What's up, Izzy?!" Josh hollered and made a beeline for me, attacking me in a not-so-soft hug as his dress shirt scratched against my bare skin.

Nope. I'll continue to hate him. Sorry I'm not sorry, Josh.

"Hands off!" Jace intervened. "She's only got a bra and shorts for a dance costume, don't think I don't know what's going on in your head right now." He shot Josh a look of disapproval.

"Hehehe…" He snickered before slowly drawing away. "Text me later, okay? I'll so be in the mood." He raised his eyebrows and his eyes grew sly.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is how Josh gets girls.

"Oookay, I seriously don't need this right before a show!" I lightly shoved him away. "I'm going to find Simon! Jace, come with?"

"Yeah, I'm with you!" Jace coughed uncomfortably. "Have fun with the other girls, Josh!" He called over his shoulder as I dragged him out of the room. Josh was baffled at first, but the smug smile returned once some of the dancers started to make a move on him. Typical.

Taking a sharp right to the steps in the direction of the orchestra hall, I let out an exasperated sigh. "I can't stand him, Jace!" I threw my hands in the air. "He won't ever leave me the hell alone!"

"Well, that's what you get for hooking up with him!" He chuckled from behind.

"It was only twice!" I exclaimed. "But I guess that's not including makeouts either…"

"TMI! I don't need to know this!" Jace shouted and jogged ahead of me.

"Oh so now I'm the bad guy now?! Please! I bet your number is double!"

"Actually, Isabelle, I've never slept with Josh."

"Oh, hush you know what I mean! Quit teasing me like that!"

He laughed himself all the way to the second floor where he glided into the orchestra room to retrieve Simon. I parked it outside the door and waited silently for them to get situated. I peered into the large, crowded hall through one of the large glass windows. Chairs and stands were lined up perfectly and the pristine podium sat empty at the front. Various awards lined the walls while pianos, xylophones, and other percussion instruments crowded the corners. I glanced to the right and saw Simon packing up his cello while Jace grabbed his and Josh's violins.

I fell back and waltzed around the open space around the music rooms, but not daring to enter either of them. There's this unsaid rule at Ben B. about how you can't really go into another cluster's space without a good reason. If you do, you end up getting about a billion terrible looks from everyone in the room, so it's best to just know your place. It seems silly, but at the same time it's totally valid. Our rooms are sacred to us and we're protective about our shit.

After a quick moment, Jace came out with a case in each hand and delight on his face.

There was something else on his face too. This morning it was 100% perfection, but now it was marred by a slight pink welt on his left side—and it took me all but three seconds to put two and two together.

So this date was a feisty one, huh?

"Damn." I whispered and traced a finger along his cheek. "I told you she was tough, didn't I?"

"Yeah, I'll have to start taking your warnings more seriously." He said shyly. "Is it noticeable?"

"Is what noticeable?" Simon asked, finally ready to go. When he came out the door he took one look at me and then glued his eyes to the floor. Probably due to my lack of clothing….

I'll have to tease him about this later.

"This thing on his face!" I replied bluntly, bringing the attention back to Jace. I grabbed his chin and turned it towards Simon. "See? Do you think it looks bad?"

Jace shook his was out of my light grip and glowered down at me. His eyes were filled with alarm and irritation, like I just let out some huge secret or something….

"Ouch, Jace." Simon winced. "Who'd you get that from?"

Oh. Yeah, I probably shouldn't have brought this up just now.

Clary and Simon were still on the rocks, and he would probably get upset if he found out his ex-best friend/girlfriend was with the biggest heartbreaker in school. Just like Clary would be pissed if she knew what direction Simon and I were going in….

Note to self, don't bring our relationships up in conversation.

We had just reached the first floor when Jace coolly replied. "Oh, Ashley caught me after school today." He lied swiftly.

Nice save. If I didn't know any better I wouldn't have questioned it either. Jace is really good at this whole heartbreaker/charisma/persuasive thing. He could have everyone wrapped around his finger if he wanted to, and he knows it.

"It looks like it hurt—I'm glad I can say that's never happened to me!" Simon added.

"Yeah, she's got a good swing, but I'm used to this thing by now."

"Of course you are." Simon and I mumbled and rolled our eyes in unison. Jace just smirked in response.

By time we reached the bottom floor the stage manager was calling for my piece. "Wise's 'Fire' is on in two! Everyone backstage!"

There was a shuffle as all the dancers exited the studio—some much more confident than others. Both nervousness and excitement swirled in the pit of my stomach. I was ready—I could do this dance in my sleep—but anything could happen now. I could fall, or forget, or pass out on stage….

Why am I psyching myself out like this?!

I shook it out and ran off to join my cast backstage. No negativity! Only positive thoughts! I chanted, and gradually the nerves started to evade.

The cold floor was uncomfortably familiar and the warmth of the stage lights was all too inviting. I smiled and joked lightly along with the rest of the dancers and crew to keep the mood light, but we all knew everyone was feeling the pressure. Nobody starts of nerve free. Not even the most confident of the pack.

When the dance onstage was nearing a close, I took my position in my designated wing, using every last second I had to get myself in the zone.

Just before the lights dimmed, I caught sight of Simon and Jace standing in the wing across from me. With smiles on their faces, they both shot me a thumbs up for good luck.

I'll take what I can get. It was finally here.

Closing show.

XXX

Pointe. Leap. Land. Inhale. Plié. Jump. Turn. Exhale. Pivot. Slide. Fall. Gasp. Roll. Step. Lift. Hold.

Dancing is the most intense form of multitasking. And sometimes, even the basic things are forgotten.

XXX

The roar of the audience was drowned out by a loud ringing that only I could hear, and despite the cold of the theater, my body felt extremely hot.

I felt like I was falling with my feet on solid ground.

The audience disappeared behind a wall of velvet and soon we were all plunged into darkness. We immediately relaxed and fell out of our structured ending pose, almost falling to the floor in exhaustion.

Curtain closed, lights off, we're finally done.

I'm so glad it's over.

Both the musicians and the dancers began to hoot and holler with excitement. High fives and hugs were circling around and everyone was all smiles and congratulations.

Except for me. I felt like shit and nobody seemed to notice.

I took wobbly steps off the stage—my balance wasn't spot on—and breath was weak even though I was gasping for air. My pulse beat hard against my body, my heart was drilling into me like a jackhammer, and my dinner was threatening to make a reappearance.

No. No. Not this tonight.

I tried my hardest to make it to a chair. If I could just sit I should be fine. This will pass like every other time, right?

I sped up my shaky steps. My eyes were dead set on that empty black chair.

This made my head hurt even more.

Somewhere in the distances was a loud CLONG that caught everyone's attention, and for some reason everyone stopped to look in my direction. Alarm and surprise covered their faces.

I raised an eyebrow. "Hi?" I waved faintly.

Then suddenly, everyone around me started rushing and fretting. They kept shrieking something about "so much blood!" and more about "a huge cut!"

I could only catch bits and pieces talking between the ringing. But by the looks of horror they sported while looking at my feet, I kind of got the gist of things.

Sure enough, when I looked down there was my cut up toe. I must've stubbed it pretty hard on that light tree….

"My God, Izzy, are you not in pain?!" Someone else shouted.

"You know, it's funny." I started feebly. The ringing increased and my vision grew a few shades darker. "I actually didn't feel a thing…."

My voice faded out along with sound and sight and feeling.

The last thing I was aware of was a slight suspension before I crashed to the ground and blacked out completely.

Chapter Text

Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays

(Part 1 - Monday)

JACE

Math was an easy subject. Always has been, always will be.

I was uncomfortable and half asleep, almost drooling in the rickety desk of my Algebra I class. Isabelle, who was actually paying attention for once, had to keep poking me or coughing loudly so that I would stay awake. It was our job as best friends to keep each other's heads from slamming onto our desks. A pact we'd made two years ago after Trevor Anderson's unfortunate accident during an insanely boring 6 th  grade lecture. The kid's nose never looked the same—and you can't save everybody—but Isabelle and I were determined to make it through the worst of 8 th  grade. And we'd been doing pretty well. Our last year of middle school was almost halfway over.

Today was a Wednesday. Such an odd day, Wednesday. Almost to Friday but still too far away to start slacking—it was a slap in the face to both students and teachers. But this Wednesday was special, it had meaning, and not just because it was 3 days to winter break.

Last Wednesday was my parent's 15 th  wedding anniversary, and this year they decided to fly off to Cancun to "renew their vows". Just thinking about it made my stomach churn in an extremely-gross-but-also-really-adorable kind of way. Gross for obvious reasons, but still cute because my parents really loved each other. I could see it in my mother's eyes whenever she looked at my dad or caught sight on the shiny new ring on her finger. And I could see it on my dad's face whenever he thinks I don't notice how they watch dumb movies together. All cuddled up, insisting that they stay as close as possible even though there's plenty of space left on the couch.

I understand love about as much as the next 14 year old boy, but this Wednesday was special because today were coming home.

The Lightwoods heard me raving about it all morning….Not that I didn't appreciate staying with them while my parents were away. They were my family, and I'd had plenty of fun helping Max with his first grade vocabulary, or spying on Isabelle while she gossiped over the phone. Though, the best part was having "guy talk" with Alec every night. After dinner he'd work on art assignments in his room while I drilled him with questions the special high school he'd gotten accepted to—the same one Izzy and I would be auditioning for in a few weeks. I was nice. It always was.

But I was ready to head home to my family. My real family.

So, honestly, I could care less about multiplying binomials with FOIL, and just like every other middle schooler—slackers and geniuses alike—my attention was already at the door before the knob completed its turn.

No. I don't like this.

The school principal dragged himself in. The class fell into an immediate hush.

We all watched with eager expression as he walked up to our dinosaur of a teacher and whispered a few short words in her ear. Mrs. Tillman gasped slightly at whatever news the principal had—gladly—interrupted class for, and all the students were on the edges of their seats, awaiting the most exciting part of the show. The Moment of Truth. That agonizingly long minute when the two adults singled out the troublemaker with a simple, sentencing glance. Maybe today would be the day Jared Hall got caught for flinging bacon bits into the cheerleaders' hair. Or maybe they'd figured out who'd deflated all the basketballs last month. But Jared was safe, and nobody was in trouble, because their somber eyes landed on me.

I only caused trouble at home. To my teachers I was just loud, straight-A Jace Wayland.

They made eye contact with me, but didn't say a word as they left the room. They didn't need to look over their shoulder to know that I was following them, and didn't bother to quiet the class when they all let out a round of accusing "oohs". Mitchell Redfern wouldn't stop laughing like the idiot that he was, and I could feel Izzy's eyes burning into the back of my head. Probably smirking as I trailed behind the teachers like a rat to the Piper.

They both sighed as the door slammed shut.

Mrs. Tillman looked unbelievably uncomfortable in her floral dress, shifting awkwardly in her worn out loafers and breathing quite loudly. Not to mention that this was the first time I'd seen Mr. Williams outside of his ice cold office since this year's class orientation. That was 3 months ago, and it was evident that this was a dangerously rare combination.

What the hell did I do?

They exhaled again, though this time it was closer to a shudder. And even my teacher, despite her usual lack of emotion, put a wrinkly hand on my shoulder. I was too scared to shake it off.

The principal's voice was low and raspy. "We got a call today…." He started, "from the local police."

Mrs. Tillman's focus was on the floor. They wouldn't meet my face no matter how hard she tried.

"The Lightwoods are on their way here. If you want to go home with them, that is."

No. Stop this shit. Now.

The cold rush of fear emanated from my stomach, but the looks on my teacher's faces did nothing to make the ice ebb like they were supposed to. Teachers were supposed to care. They're supposed to make everything right—but this was wrong. Everything about this encounter was wrong. We all knew it.

"Why would I want to go home with the Lightwoods today?" I asked skeptically, giving the adults a sideways look. "My mom and dad are on their way home right now. They land at 1:45."

There was no response.

Ice ran in my veins now, instead of blood. "They told me that they would be on time to pick me up from school." My view shifted. "Unless they're delayed."

Mrs. Tillman put a hand over her mouth at that. She spun away from me, her shoulders hunching in a sob.

Make it stop.

Mr. Williams continued to stare. My algebra teacher was halfway down the hall.

"There was a delay, right?" The walls began to quake. Everything was crumbling right before my eyes. "Please tell me there was only a fucking delay. Please!" I begged.

He shook his head, denying me.

Oh God, no.

My stomach rolled.

"Jace." He said slowly. "There was a problem today—a malfunction with flight NK948. It was a small aircraft on a small airline…" He blinked a few times. His eyes looked wet. "The flight was from Cancun to Dallas/Ft. Worth…"

No. Stop it, Jace. Stop this.

"Jace? Do you hear me?"

I nodded once, a lie since the ringing was drowning out his voice.

"There was a crash." He said, and added solemnly, quietly—

I didn't hear his voice. I just read his lips.

"No survivors."

My entire body was numb.

I didn't hear the clang—didn't even feel my skin tear—but my principal looked startled as he glanced at the red smear on the locker and then the wound on my left hand. My math teacher was nowhere to be found, and the kids were still in riot. I was a part of a different chaos. I was fighting to hold myself together, but I could feel my muscles fatiguing and my knees beginning to buckle right as the realization set in.

They're gone.

They're gone and they're not coming back.

So what does that make me?

The tears stung, and the adults just watched as I ran to the bathroom and threw up what felt like 3 days' worth of lunch.

Jace!

Isabelle's voice was loud and clear when she came and got me 10 minutes later, cussing out every other guy in the bathroom as she barged through the door. We both went home early that day. Our winter break started early.

Things were never the same after that.

Today was a Wednesday. December 10 th . Three days before winter break, and special for all the wrong reasons.

December 10 th  was the day that ruined my life.

God damn it, Jace!

WAKE THE FUCK UP.

XXX

I jolted. My foot connected with something warm, and about a million things to fell to the floor.

One of them was Izzy.

"Jeez." She stood up, brushing off her slinky silk pajamas as if they were instantly dirtied by one trip to the floor. Her irritation quickly evaporated into sympathy.

I hated it. I hate the sympathy. I hate the eyes. I hate the hugs. I hate today.

But the whole house knew the date, so the eyes and hugs wouldn't stop until clear into the 11th.

"You gonna be okay?" She asked, gingerly climbing next to me on my bed.

I twisted towards my single window, away from her. She pretended not to notice. "Yeah," I croaked. "I'll be fine. I'll find a way to be fine." But my assurance didn't make her leave. I wanted her to leave.

"You want to talk about it real quick? Before we get ready for school?"

I stayed silent. When she put a warm hand on me, I flinched.

"That was a pretty nasty dream you were having." A small smile. "I came down the hall expecting your music and heard you yelling instead, all sweaty, and thrashing, and…."

She caught sight of my face and rethought her words.

"Well, it was nasty. But it's just another Monday, right?"

She smiled. It was as fake as Celeste Delgrado's new chest.

I glared at her. "It's December 10th."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I know it's December 10th that's why I'm here!"

"Well, that's nice and all but I can handle myself." I made sure not to meet her stare as I stumbled out of bed. I heard her shift behind me. "Don't worry, I won't take a blade to my wrist like other people would." I injected as much venom into my words as humanly possible. "There's no way I'm that weak."

It was harsh, and I knew it. Maybe now she'll leave me the hell alone.

Silence. And she kept her stance.

No such luck. She's staying.

Her white skin was splotched with angry patches of red while she spoke through clenched teeth. "This is no way to handle your problems, Jace Wayland."

I laughed; something dark and mocking that rattled my chest as my fingers clutched the cool porcelain of the counter. My eyes were dark and crazed. "Yeah, like you can talk about handling problems!" I don't know when I made the decision that I needed to hurt her, but I wasn't holding back. "Maybe you should keep your mouth shut on this one." Maybe I should've but I didn't. I should've held back and kept my mouth shut but I didn't. Some sick part of me wanted her to feel terrible, wanted her to get out, and I regretted every word I said right as I said it. But I still dropped my voice low and glared. "Last time I checked you're 5 pounds shy of dead and slicing your wrists like bread, Isabelle. I mean, look at you! It's awful!" I scowled at her in disgust. "You're losing muscle, it looks like a bear caught your arm, and you can probably count your ribs for fun. What?" I gave her that head-to-toe look that she hates. She shivered. "Do you really think guys find that attractive? Because they don't, so you can kiss that sex appeal goodbye. And do you honestly think Mrs. Wise and Ms. May don't notice? No offence, but you probably won't get cast in any dances anytime soon. Not until you gain a few—eat a sandwich or something, gosh!" I rolled my eyes and wanted to die. I've never said anything this horrid and offensive to anyone, but the words kept coming like vomit. Like a faucet I couldn't shut off, even if I wanted to. And I wanted to.

But some part of me didn't, and it won. "By the angel, Izzy. You're skinny, and broken, and scary, and sick, and frankly it's not that cute, so I have no idea what's going on in that twisted little head of yours. I'm not the crazy one. You've got the major issues. You get the Torment Title, not me."

I didn't just cross the line. I'd crossed about 5, set them on fire, and spat in their direction. She should be clawing out my eyeballs.

Instead she screamed, her voice cracking with frustration, and I winced. "I'm crazy? Me?!" Izzy shot out at me like lightning, surging off the bed and catching hold of the collar of my ratty t-shirt. I screwed up my and waited for the assault that never came. "Really?! At least my parents aren't dead!"

Low blow.

We were screaming now, and the idea of stopping, or being polite was long gone. "Well at least I can eat like every other person! Like every other normal and sane teenager, unlike you!"

Her fist tightened. A seam popped and the fabric tore. She might be down 15 pounds but she's still strong as hell. "I cannot believe you would bring that up right now!" She hissed. "Will you ever fucking let that go?!"

"To hell I won't!"

"Why the hell not, Jace?! Because for the last few weeks you've been a major asshole to me for no reason."

"God, Izzy, there is a reason!"

"Oh really?" She roared. "Because I'm your 'baby sister'? Because I need to be protected, and watched over, and babysat 24/7 while you're trying to force me into something that I can't fucking do? Just listen to yourself! You're a mess Jace! A goddamn mess if you think for one second that putting me through hell will help you through yours. Well you've got another thing coming "Mr. Perfect"! Life doesn't work like that—you can't stomp all over people and think it'll actually make your problems go away!"

The rage inside me was starting to swell. My left wrist twitched. This was very bad. If she said one more thing—

"So quit being such a crybaby and tell me one good reason why—!"

She gasped as my palm rang against the counter, and I kept it there so it would never reach her face.

That was the last thing I wanted to do. I'd jump off a building before I'd lay a single harsh hand on her.

But I don't think she realized that. Her face contorted, but she kept shouting. "What the hell is wrong with you?! Are you—?"

"JUST SHUT THE HELL UP, ISABELLE! Shut your mouth for one freakin' second! Can you even do that?!"

I yanked at her shoulders but she didn't flinch. "How the hell could you know what I've been through?" The heat rushed to my face as my voice cracked. "How could you possibly know what's going on in my head every day, Isabelle? You can't. And as far as I know, you're a hot mess also." I pushed her aside, a little carelessly, but she didn't stumble like I wanted her to. I paced the room and she stood still. "So yeah, I am a mess! I'm not Mr. Perfect! I am putting you through hell and I won't let it go because you're my sister and I fucking care about you!"

"Well did you ever think that maybe I care about you, too Jace?!"

I stopped mid stride, caught in a bout of speechlessness. Now my face was red, and at this point I'm surprised that Mayrse hasn't broken down the door yet, or that Max hasn't popped in quietly to say something that'll make us all feel better, or even that Robert hasn't grumbled something about "coexisting peacefully" before leaving for work.

No, we were on our own. No parents, no siblings. And Izzy, just like the firecracker she was, was still exploding.

"God you are so infuriating!" She was pacing and screaming now, too, making a point to chuck pillows and sheets across the room whenever they crossed her path. Also making sure that everything solid was aimed at my face."How could you forget that I actually give a shit about what you feel? I'm the one that came and saved you 4 years ago. I'm the one you cried on all night long. I'm the one who let you sleep in my bed until the nightmares stopped and had to fend off all the dickheads that tried to get under your skin until the start of freshman year. That was me, Jace! And don't try to deny it because I know just saw it! Still dreaming about it every year like the coward you are!"

My heart skipped a beat at the sound of that—her words hurt as bad as mine did. But I didn't mean what I said, not really.

But I can't help but think she meant every hurtful word she said.

And she was absolutely right.

There was a moment of stillness, quietness. Someone who didn't know might actually call it peace—

But it was only the eye of the storm.

"Get out." I growled. "Leave. Now."

"Gladly." She sneered, and flew out the door, glaring at me all the while.

Izzy whirled on me at the last minute, her figure only grazing the threshold out of my room. "You've changed," she said cryptically. "Since the crash you've been different, and maybe you haven't noticed it yet." She leaned her slender body on the doorframe, eyeing me with a cold scrutiny. "Or maybe you have."

I have.

I've been running wild, but nobody's bothered to reign me in.

"But I'm trying to help you," she went on. "That's the whole point of the bet. I was hoping you'd see that by now. But you're just too stupid to get it." She brushed her hair over her shoulder, and I found a seat on my bed with my head in my hands. "Clary was supposed to pull you in. Change you back."

"Back to what?" I mumbled to my feet. "Aren't I too far gone? Isn't that why you set me up?"

"I set you up because I think you can change, Jace. That December 9th boy is in there somewhere, I know it. And I bet Clary knows it too." She picked herself up, and just when I thought she would come and sit next to me, or comfort me, or apologize, she did the exact opposite. She backed away slowly, her glare still on my disheveled figure. "The only difference between me and Clary is that you love her. You love her differently than me and every other girl you've tossed. So if you think I can't help, then that's perfectly fine because you have her." She said the word with an icy rage. "You always have."

We took a collective breath.

Everything always comes back to this. Our stupid decision we made when we made when we were 16—something that, obviously, still tears us apart.

"I'm taking Alec's old car, so don't wait up." There was no emotion in her voice. "If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm sure she'll listen." She turned now, her words coming out in a low, sardonic mumble.

"Have a nice Monday."

XXX

Her eyes slid to mine. "You look distraught."

I am distraught. "I'm not distraught." That was a lie.

She glared at me with green slits. "Yes you are." She insisted.

Silence.

There was an unexpected lift to her voice, light and bubbly, and she grinned when she spoke. "Well, are you gonna start talking or what?"

"I'd rather not."

"Oh, I think you would." She flicked a paint covered brush at me, almost purposely splattering me with a loud and vibrant purple. "Now, don't be shy. What's on your mind, Wayland?"

I exhaled. If only she knew.

We were alone in the warm and messy painting studio. The industrial room was lit with a comforting ambiance. Large windows made up the back wall that looked directly into the growing sculpture yard, and tables and stools filled the space to the point where it could be considered junky and suffocating. But Clary loved it here, and I couldn't stand to be around my so-called "friends" today. I didn't need to think twice before slipping into the room to join her instead of making a scene in the lunchroom across the hall.

She was already working when I walked in. Paint was smeared over her pallet, as well as her hands, and her attention rarely left her canvas. Mine rarely left her, but she never knew it, which was alright with me.

20 minutes in and Clary's lunch was still left untouched, as was mine, but she was only preoccupied. I on the other hand was a breath away from another mental breakdown. "What day's today?" I asked to make a point. She wasn't going to give up until I told her. I'd accepted that when I sat down—and I was doing exactly what Isabelle had told me to do, even though it probably pissed her off beyond belief.

"Today? Monday." She said blandly, still distracted by whatever was on her canvas. Her brush swirled silently, and I wondered how long I would have before I lost her to her work completely. Clary glanced in my direction. "What, you hate Mondays?"

I slid off the paint stained stool, managing to scatter three others in the process. My pacing was getting a little out of hand today. I noticed the ache in my fingers as I twisted them for the thousandth time, and my voice strained out of my lips. "I hatethis Monday."

Her paintbrush paused. "Why?" She focused on me for a moment. "Isn't today just another Monday?"

I grimaced. Of course it was.

"Jace, stop pacing, it's making me really anxious."

"Sorry, sorry. I'll let you focus." I clattered into a seat. It was small and plastic but actually had a back to it unlike the stools. Blue and white streaks haphazardly coated the plastic, but I barely noticed. My mind was thinking of everything, except logic.

"What is it you're working on again? It's for your winter break project right?" I needed some kind of distraction. Any kind, even if it was annoying everyone around me by asking meaningless questions. So be it.

"Answer my question first."

Of course, Clary had a one track mind.

"You are really stubborn, Fray."

"And you're still trying to be elusive by dodging the question. Answer me!" A slight giggle escaped her lips. "Not a normal Monday, elaborate."

My hands dragged down my face, stopping mid track and wiping frantically, suddenly afraid I'd created a rainbow from my chin to my cheekbones. "Maybe it's normal for you." My head was in my hands. I didn't care about the paint anymore. "Or Josh, or anybody else who doesn't know what happened on—" My words stuck in my throat like I was choking on my own tongue.

When exactly was the last time I'd told anybody why I hate December 10th?

I'd told Clary about the crash after she damn near forced it out of me, but not the date, not the reason, nor the day, or the occasion. Nobody knew the details except the Lightwoods, and save for an aunt or two, they were the only ones that came with me to the funeral. But other than that….I haven't told a soul. Everyone that knows was there when it happened.

I was out of the chair again, and this time my hands were shaking.

"Jace, stop that." She was across the room in an instant. Warm fingers caught mine, coaxing them down into a quiet tremble. "Nothing is normal if it makes you this antsy. Please just tell me what's the problem—Jesus." A hand floated to her hip sassily. "I think you're the stubborn one. You need to let me in, because if I'm trying to help you find the old Jace from before the crash—" She gulped, and it only took a second before she remembered, her eyes passing over me with none other than…sympathy.

I let it slide this time. For some reason it wasn't as sickening with her.

"Oh." She breathed.

I nodded slowly and forced a smile, letting her hand go while I maneuvered around the minefield of stools until I made it back to my blue and white school spirit chair. My fingers found my hair, and then fell to my lap with a dull smack. "Oh is right." My smirk was chock full of sarcasm.

She sat, and then stood. Started towards me, and then kept her place. Clary was uneasy, indecisive, and it was showing as she gnawed on her nonexistent nail beds. "Today is not a normal Monday." She mumbled around her fingers.

"Not for me." I replied, starting to rise out of my chair and then falling back into it at the last minute. An unpleasant scraping noise broke through the now awkward silence. Her baffled stare was still glued to the floor. "It's a normal Monday to everyone except the orphan, isn't it?"

She glowered at me, eyes off the floor and snapping to mine like a rubber band, green and blazing. "Jace Wayland you are not an orphan."

"Aren't I?" I twisted my head away from her. "I mean, sure, I may have a few 'siblings' and good 'parents' but they're not mine. Not really. They're no papers that say I'm theirs, so that makes me…nothing. An orphan—the Wayward Wayland." I smiled darkly at my own joke, but she wasn't buying it. If sarcasm is my mask, and it was, she saw right through it every time.

Her fists clenched at her sides, and her eyes slowly squeezed shut as she spoke. "You are not nothing, you are not wayward, and you are not alone. Alright?" Now she moved, closing the crowded distance between us and jabbing an orange finger into my chest. "Everyone on this earth has their own inner demons that come out at night. I have mine, you have yours. But we deal with them, we conquer them, we don't have time to let them get the best of us." Clary paced away from me. She was acting an awful lot like me. "I get it. I'm sorry. And it's okay to be upset. But this pessimistic sad shit is crazy. It's no good for you, and it's definitely no good for people who care about you—like me. It only pisses them off, so cut it out."

Well, isn't that something I should tell Isabelle?

It would be so much better than my previous attempts…

I shook my head, dismissing the thought. There's no way she would actually listen to me after this morning. I did care about her, and it scares me to hell that we're fighting like this—especially today—but despite the severity of our feud, among other things, I found myself grinning and managed to bring the sarcasm back in.

"You care about me, Fray?" I raised an eyebrow with a slight smirk, taunting her. It was meant to be a joke, but it didn't sound that way when I said it. My voice cracked at the very end, giving me away. I didn't care and she didn't notice, but I made sure my voice was steady when I spoke again. "One month ago you were calling me, quote 'an inconsiderate ass' if I'm not mistaken. And I'm not."

I met her eyes directly. They were still raging when she folded her slender arms over her chest. "You are an ass and you're not mistaken." She said quickly with her back to me. She spat the words over her shoulder. "But for your information, I also was cursing you out for making me wait in the cold when you never came after the show."

I scratched the same, now sore, spot on my head that I'd been scratching all day. "Sorry about that."

She waved her hand and rolled her eyes. "It's in the past."

"But you care about me?"

"You are such an attention whore."

"Yeah, I get that a lot. But most girls leave the 'attention' part out. It was more accurate that way."

She chuckled. "I bet."

I nodded.

Clary uncrossed her arms and leaned against a table. "That sucks ass, Jace." She said, suddenly somber. "I'm really sorry."

I know.

"It's okay, Clary."

It wasn't.

I closed my eyes and tried to pull myself together. Again.

There was a hand on my shoulder, and a light squeeze as she found her way into my lap, and her warmth—her presence—was surprisingly settling. Clary rested her temple on my chest. Her hands were gentle, almost featherlike around my neck, and her uneven pulse drummed along with mine. I buried my nose in her curls while my arms wrapped around her. She smelled like apples and paint.

"Alright, so maybe it's not okay right now." She breathed into my shirt.

Clary didn't move, and she didn't need to. She was maybe the only girl that fit perfectly in my arms, and I liked it this way.

Her eyes found mine. "It's not okay. You're not okay, are you?"

I shook my head, in answer and in awe. "You really can see right through me."

"I told you I was observant, and you didn't believe me."

I started to sway with her. "I believe you now."

I felt her tiny chest rise and fall against my own. "Hey, I'm sorry about what I said. That was a little harsh. You didn't deserve the inner demon spiel."

I groaned slightly. "You were right though."

"I know I'm right." She muttered with pride. "Those are just the things I'd learned over the years. I thought I'd spread the knowledge."

I unlocked her arms from around my neck and turned her torso to match mine. Now she was straddling me. We thought nothing of it. But if either of our faces moved as much as a centimeter, we'd be lip locked for who knows how long. We thought everything of that.

It hurt to stay still. We stayed.

My breath stirred the stray curls that escaped her braid. "Thanks for sharing what you know."

She was dazed and it was adorable. "Thanks for listening."

"Thanks for helping."

"It's no problem."

"None at all?"

"None." Her breathing sped up. "Not with you." My arms tightened around her waist and she pressed against me in response. "Will you be alright?"

I was just as dazed as she was. "I'll be fine."

"Alright." She was breathless.

"Alright." So was I.

And then, all at once and without warning, we moved.

XXX

So, Isabelle, I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to explain our first kiss.

No few sentences will ever do it justice-it's still difficult for me to comprehend how the happiest moments derive from those low points of indescribable pain. Before today I didn't even think it was possible to be so happy and feel so loved while also feeling like you're shattering into a million pieces all at once.

But then again, before today I'd never kissed Clary Fray.

So even if the next few paragraphs come out a mess—it'll help me remember, and it might help you understand. But if the paragraphs sound perfect and are dripping with an unbelievable eloquence—then it'll make you want to kiss Clary Fray. I promise.

And let me just say, Clary is a fabulous kisser. You won't be disappointed.

But try to imagine this:

You've got that tight feeling in your chest—the one that's both bliss, and sorrow, and an entire plethora of emotions and feelings swirling and slamming inside of you. It's just like that—and it's as if the only way to let it out is to show that person you love exactly how much you love them right at that moment. No hesitation. No worries. Just kissing them like the world is about to end and holding them as if you'll never see her another day in your life.

It was like that, except more beautiful because we both felt it.

Her inner demons had surfaced, whatever they were, and I was her outlet. She was mine. And when our lips met for that first lung-shattering, heart-stopping, lusty, and perfect kiss—an embrace that was all lips, and hands, and chests, and bodies, and hair falling out of braids, and paint smearing all over your favorite shirt, and not caring about it one bit—it was like I was exploding. It was like I was flying. I was so happy it hurt, and she could've stayed on my lap for the rest of eternity and I wouldn't have minded at all.

And by the way she was kissing me back, Clary wouldn't have either.

I don't think she ever got a chance to finish the painting she was working on, but she managed to create another beautiful work of art on something besides canvas—90% polyester and 10% cotton-blend. And I don't think that minor setback bothered her at all. And it makes me ecstatic, because I'll know where to find her at lunch tomorrow—and it may have only been a semester—but I know I will never love her any less than I do right in this moment.

For 4 years December 10 th  has been sour—it's never been good. Not once. But now, with Clary, it's an acceptable bittersweet. This Monday was special, this date has meaning. It's something different now—a symbol of birth and not death—and you can't tell me that it's not worth remembering and not worth sharing with you. Even if it pisses you off. I don't care—you're making me do this anyways—but I don't care.

I was vulnerable today. I let someone fix me.

And for once, I'm okay with that.

I exhaled and shifted awkwardly under the covers.

This bet may have been the dumbest bet of all time, and this pointless paper requirement was insane, but right now as I'm closing up my laptop and crawling into bed, I can't help but think that maybe it was one of the best things that's ever happened to me. Izzy couldn't have been more right—Clary's been fixing me and I didn't even know it.

I snapped off my light and slammed my head on the pillow. It was 12:01 a.m.

Tuesday. I'd managed. I'd made it.

Another December 10th in the past.

Chapter Text

Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays

(Part 2 - Wednesday)

ISABELLE

"Oh. My. Gosh. You should've seen them at writing club last week! Walking in together, and sitting next to each other, and writing in each other's journals—just watch, Alex it'll be the same today, I promise! They are just so adorable! Am I right?"

By time I'd found my group eating lunch by the 2nd story windows, after scouring the entire school for what felt like hours, Alex and Jonesey were squealing, as usual. Connor was sketching a face absentmindedly and hanging onto Jonsey's every word. She didn't notice his expression, and was feeding off of Alex's excitement with a mouthful of smart popped popcorn instead. Simon was M.I.A.—I'd give him 2 minutes before he found us—and I for one was glad my posse had snagged a spot indoors. My sweatshirt wasn't doing enough anymore. I could almost feelthe freezing rain through the large windows that overlooked the empty and miserable Green Room, which was a sorry shade of gray that matched the gloomy color of the December sky.

If we were in any other state, it would've been snowing.

I slid onto the ice cold concrete floor, raising an eyebrow at the two junior dancers. "So who was so cute at writing club last week? All adorable with the walking and the sitting and the writing and whatnot?"

20 bucks says I already know.

Jonsey and Alex sicced their steely eyes on me, both sporting equally sly smiles.

"Your brother and his soon to be girlfriend!" Alex confessed enthusiastically.

"I swear Clace is just too adorable." Jonsey gushed, hands flailing to her face in an extremely overdramatic way. "I could die. It makes my heart want to burst! They're perfect for each other, and whoever doesn't think so is a liar."

The girls nodded at each other with pained expressions before falling out on the ground. Connor's face was a pathetic mix of depression and confusion, and he shook his head before returning to his drawing.

All I could do was smirk. So Clary and Jace were causing the breakdowns of two teenage girls? Looks like they've just won "couple of the year" without actually being a couple. I guess Jace will make good time on my bet after all.

Lucky bastard. That's all I hear about nowadays. The whispers in the halls, the gossip among the clusters, the school's very own Gossip Girl, or rather Gossip Bitch, couldn't stop tweeting about a certain golden boy missing atop the pyramid of popularity—everyone's thinking it. It's always Clary and Jace this, Clary and Jace that. If I didn't live with him he'd be on my last nerve.

But he's on my last nerve anyways.

"Wait a minute. What did you just call Jace and Clary?" I spun on the girls, who had somehow managed to return to their original positions and continued eating as if nothing had happened. "Some sort of name for the both of them? What is that?"

"Oh, Clace?" Jonsey waved her hand in a dismissive fashion. "That's just their name, obviously."

"Obviously?" Jonsey's nonchalant expression was starting to spook me. "Do they know you two refer to them as 'Clace'?"

"Of course not!" Jonsey looked appalled. "It's just what the shippers call them. For now, at least. I'm sure they'll figure it out eventually."

"Shippers?"

Jonsey's eyes were wide when her mouth fell open. "Oh my gosh, Izzy, you're clueless! How could you not know what—?"

"Shippers are people that believe in a certain pairing or relationship." Alex had to finish the definition while holding a hand over Jonsey's mouth. Connor gnawed on his pencil as he glared. "It's basically a group of fans. Jonsey's just passionate because Clace is her OTP."

Jonsey swatted her friend's hand away as Alex fell into giggles. "They're not my one true pairing." She confirmed. "Stop telling lies."

I raised another eyebrow. I had to admit, it was a tad insane, even for them. I was just as confused as Connor. "Do you give pet names to every couple in school?"

The girls, beaming, answered in unison. "Only if they're meant to be."

"Okay, now that's just creepy." Connor butted in. His sketchpad fluttered out of his hands and towards me in his mild aggravation. The half-drawn face was oddly familiar. "You two are crazy, I don't know what Isabelle hasn't said it yet."

"You're both crazy." I twisted to Connor, yanking my eyes off of what might be called his "viz kid diary". I felt wrong looking at it in the first place. "Happy?"

He sighed. "Very."

"Oh, bite me, Connor!" Jonsey sneered.

"I'd love to, Jonsey! Just give me the word!"

"Wait, wait, wait. Who is your OTP?" Another familiar voice asked.

All the commotion started to die down once Simon approached the group, his tattered backpack slung sloppily over his shoulder. He flashed the group a smile with wide eyes, and Jonsey gaped at him for a moment before she'd realized that Simon had spoken in the first place.

He'd appeared out of nowhere and jumped into the discussion like it was nothing—it was enough to catch anyone off guard, even Jonsey, who was so invested in the conversation in the first place. I couldn't blame her when she recovered in the clumsiest way possible.

"My OTP? I—um. They—they're not together yet." She stammered. Her cheeks were beginning to flush a pinkish color and she shifted awkwardly where she sat.

"Yet? What makes you think they're gonna be together in the first place?" Simon plopped down next to me and nudged me with his shoulder, scanning my half eaten bag of sunflower seeds that lay mere inches from us.

It was the only thing I brought for lunch.

He frowned. I noticed.

"Big breakfast?" He whispered.

I didn't respond.

One foot away, Jonsey and Alex were repressing silly smiles, which yanked Simon back into the gossip. "Isn't that a little ambitious? You know, for the shippers and everything?"

"No, it'll happen." Jonsey grinned, almost creepily. "I'm sure of it."

"Mmhm. Right." Simon's head was down, digging deep into his backpack for the remnants of his lunch. He wasn't paying the slightest attention, so I was the only one who caught Jonsey's eye and saw her mouth the name of her OTP.

"Sizzy."

And the girls started to giggle, and this time at my expense.

But I barely noticed. Simon's head was still down and he was frowning again.

XXX

"Hey, do you want this?" Simon asked warmly and jabbed my arm with something thick.

It was an unopened, and unappealing, protein bar. And no, I didn't want it.

I watched his expression falter as my empty stomach rolled, and he pretended not to notice the grimace on my face. But he kept talking even as I started to look away.

"I know you have a dance class next period, and I figured you might need a little more than that." He caught my shoulder, forcing my attention, and glanced down at my one empty container that sat sticky on the table. He uttered a nervous laugh. "Anything's better than a few strawberries, right?"

There was an edge to his voice that only I could hear—it wasn't right—it was genuine, but almost too sweet. Too cautious…

My eyes met his with skepticism and question, and while his were determined yet sweet, they held no answer.

But it was these kinds of encounters I was trying to avoid. This far surpassed the standard "I'm your friend and you look hungry" clause, because any normal friend would offer me half a sandwich. A normal friend would share their pumpkin seeds with me. An untouched—expensive looking protein bar required planning, I knew, and only a worried friend would do that.

He'd noticed something—maybe he'd figured it out, like Jace.

And it was the last thing I wanted.

My heart raced, and I felt my stomach drop with that nauseating pang of fear. It coursed through my veins like ice and I couldn't stop it from freezing me cold. I felt my eyes widen at the realization as my palms began to sweat. Gingerly wiping them on the denim of my jeans, mouth went dry. All the while my mind was swirling.

I started to prepare my spiel, but in those 10 seconds my face never changed.

It's not like I've never done it before.

I'd say I'm an expert at this lying game—or acting, as I like to think of it. But people aren't stupid—they tend to notice when you only eat fruit for lunch, or when you're making trips to the bathroom right after. It's just a matter of convincing them that everything is A-Okay. Make them believe you're not hungry, lie and said you ate already, tell them it's just "one of those days", right?

They smile, they get uncomfortable, and they leave you alone.

Nobody wants to deal with it anyways, not even me.

You could say I'm hyperaware; although, it's closer to paranoia. I can't lie about that.

I forced my most believable smile, like I've done a million times before. "No, I'm fine, Simon. Thanks." I put a hand up, gently and subtly pushing the bar in his direction. "Believe me. I'm still full from breakfast." I patted on my flat stomach, hoping to pull off my "fullness" while my lips squeezed into a tight grin.

I knew Slim-Fast wasn't considered breakfast for normal people, but it was huge for me, so it wasn't completely untrue. I wasn't hungry—I wasn't exactly full either—but it's nothing I can't handle.

I just prayed he couldn't hear my stomach growl.

His eyebrows knitted together, but he caught himself, and the niceness of his façade was back on. "Well, you can have it if you want."

I don't.

"Apparently a bunch of the dancers like them because it gives them energy or whatever, I guess." His words began to fade out as he tossed the bar in my direction, and then he dropped his voice low. "I thought it might help. After the faint and everything—and you haven't really been eating much, and Jace looked hella worried, so…."

There it was. There was the reason I didn't want to hear.

He gave me an impish grin and adjusted his glasses. "I get that maybe it's a dancer thing, but if you're going to eat small, at least eat that. For me."

I glared at the brown wrapping as if it were a monster. "Why for you?" At 300 calories it might as well be. "Why should I eat this if I don't want it?"

"Eat it because it's better than that." He was staring daggers at the red stained container before tossing it into my open bag. "And Izzy, you look like you're starving. I mean, you might not actually be starving, but believe me, I care about you."

"Really?" I did my best to fake flattery.

"Honestly." He replied with equal gush. "I don't want what happened last month to happen again." His voice had dipped to a whisper while the rest of our group chatted in the background. "I don't know why it happened, but I'm thinking it's because you believe fruit can keep you going for a whole day. It can't." He joked, nudging my arm. "Trust me—I had to do it on a dare once." He smirked and I grinned slightly as my gaze shifted from his eyes to the monster.

I groaned. I could barely do the strawberries….

"Oh please!" He teased, yanking the bar out of my lap. "It can't be that bad, can it? It's got to be better than the crap they serve here or the food at 7-Eleven, or…I don't know…salad!"

"Oh yeah, because God forbid that Simon Lewis consumes one leaf of lettuce in his near future!"

"It'd be a cosmic disaster." He tore the wrapping haphazardly down the center and ripped off a chocolately chunk for himself. "Bet this doesn't even taste like cardboard. Just watch, it'll be—"

I spent the next 5 minutes wiping tears from my eyes at the sight of watching Simon attempt to swallow his first bite of protein bar. He took a grizzly swig of soda afterwards in an attempt to wash the taste out. His eyes were crazed. "You're going to finish that thing." He huffed, still gagging. "It was awful. How do you guys—just eat it! Try it and tell me it's not absolutely terrible!"

I took a whopping bite for myself while Simon's jaw popped open in disbelief. I looked him dead in the eye and laughed. "It's not absolutely terrible."

"You're insane." He muttered. "I'd rather take the chocolate bar."

"I think anyone would." I downed another desne bite. "But I used to eat these all the time, so the taste doesn't faze me anymore."

"Not at all?"

"Nope, some of them taste good actually. The vanilla kind and a few others, the Clif protein bar is pretty good also." I paused as I tried not to choke. Simon was clueless. "Those bars were the best because I'd be able grab one for breakfast and feel full until dinner. And I know it sounds bad, but not wanting to eat 24/7 was great." I peeked once at the wrapping, catching my breath and taking a quick gulp of water. "You did a good job picking this one out."

"Thanks." He started picking at his shoe as he hugged a knee to his chest, avoiding my eyes. "And that does sound pretty bad by the way." Simon shot me a sideways glance. I studied the uneven concrete of the Green Room as he peeled his banana. "It sounds like you know your stuff, though. I'm clueless about this whole thing."

"I'm very well versed in protein bars." I smirked, chewed twice, and swallowed. "It's a dancer thing."

"I believe that." He broke off another piece of banana and popped it into his mouth. "Why did you eat them so often though? Who actually chooses to eat them besides the bodybuilders on the label?"

"Hmm," I tapped my chin. "People who are broke when they go to the 7-Eleven across the street before practice." 1 bite left. "And the people that don't have time for real food and want to watch their calorie count."

"Which one are you?" He asked slowly.

"All of the above."

His once bright eyes now clouded with concern, and it showed in his voice. "How long have you worried about calorie counting?"

He was caring again—crap.

"You don't seem like the type."

"It's just a form of weight management in my eyes." I lied. "Eat 2,100 calories a day to keep the weight the same, 1,200 a day to lose two pounds in one week. Stuff like that." I tossed the wrapper. Thank God that was over, but Simon looked more uneasy now than when he gave the thing to me in the first place. "It's really simple once you get the hang of it. I've memorized the amount of calories and serving sizes to almost everything I eat by now." Now my voice was wavering, why did he look so torn up? "It's not really a big deal….It just comes in handy when you want to lose a few."

Simon only looked scared—which was my goal—but maybe I've gone a little overboard….

I was feeling a lot like Jace right now.

Simon tried to keep his cool and mask his apprehension. He was having trouble with both. "That sounds like…work. Hard and awful and unnecessary work."

"It is. But there are ways to cheat the system—almost like calorie shortcuts." I need to stop talking. "That's why dancers down the protein bars. One and done, right?" I can't stop talking. "Sometimes it's worth the 300 calories. I mean, you're gonna burn it off anyways so it doesn't really matter. But how is it not the perfect solution? You can make it through practice without passing out and then look great in the morning, no problem."

I sounded insane. I knew it. But those words came out like a flood….

"Yeah." A slow nod. His voice was heavy with sarcasm. "Right, Izzy. That sounds right." Simon gave a weak grin as he moved on of a bag of crunched up goldfish, brown eyes down. "When did you have time to figure all of that craziness out? I think you look fine on any day."

I avoided the compliment. It wasn't true anyways. "It was on my mind a lot last year."

He shook his head. I was quiet for a moment, and Simon was confused. But he went along with it, even if I knew that he was scared and worried—about me. It read all over his face, but he wasn't fighting to understand.

Perfect. Crisis adverted.

But unfortunately for me, my stomach had a lot to say about this ordeal. Already it was starting to churn uncomfortably. This wasn't going to be pretty later….

Simon looked a million miles away, and I hugged my knees to my chest, tuning into the chatter again and forcing myself to laugh whenever Alex made a lame joke. Our little moment was officially over.

But it'll resurface soon enough. My rambling made sure of it.

XXX

I'd told him almost everything last week—the entire story of my junior year when I stopped eating all together. That protein bar was like a sorry reminder of everything I'd managed to screw up…it was a glorious disaster—and I was still living in it.

Last year I ate everything before I calorie counted. I calorie counted before I splurged on salads. I ate the salads before I discovered protein bars. And I ate the protein bars before I ate nothing at all.

No surprise there, right? It would explain a lot.

Jace wasn't wrong when he said I had a history. My fictitious and metaphorical health record was far from clean. I was falling off the deep end, again. Jace sure knew it. I knew it. Hell, even Simon knows it now.

I needed to get out of this. And I knew before I even opened my mouth—before I even opened that bar—that my incoherent chatter was some sick way of me asking him—telling him the simple thing that my lips refused to say.

"Simon, I need you to help me."

XXX

The bell rang, and I wasn't sure when I decided to slip into my own thoughts, but I don't recall learning anything in class today.

I sat and waited like I always did; gathering my belongings that were sprawled out on the desk of my 8th period psychology class. My crazed teacher, Ms. Ritz, who hasn't liked me ever since she caught me nodding off during her AP class my sophomore year, making smart remarks about my "snail-like pace and lack of agility despite my dancing ability". She shooed me out the door as quickly as possible, actually shoving me out with her frail but firm hand.

I exhaled and started for my locker, finishing off the leftover sunflower seeds from lunch.

The halls were nearly cleared, but I took my time on the long trek to the opposite side of the school. I stopped to look through the art gallery that the visual arts kids had put together—it was a photography exhibit this month. On the main floor about 4 freshmen in theater were on their way to rehearsal. Somewhere on the second floor somebody was practicing their scales, and just under the first story floor-to-ceiling windows, all of the folding doors that separated the dance studios were open. Tripling the usual dance space to about twice the size of the MAT stage, one of the ensembles worked on a long and intricate ethnic dance for their upcoming performance. Normally I would have some sort of rehearsal of my own, just like every normal Wednesday, but Mrs. Wise decided to give us the week off to "start our winter break early".

Good. I needed some time to relax, time with myself.

And I've had plenty of time to myself as of late. Jace and I haven't spoken for two days. I'd made a point to leave home early and take Alec's old car every day. After our meltdown on Monday, there wasn't much left to say—I'm sure he shouted every awful thought that ever crossed his mind.

"Last time I checked you're 5 pounds shy of dead."

"You can probably count your ribs for fun."

"I have no idea what's going on in that twisted little head of yours."

And honestly, I don't either.

But I don't care if it's true. I don't care if he's right. I don't care because I am trying, that asshole!

I was vulnerable. I opened up to him and he judged me and I hate him for it.

But at least now I didn't have to wait for him. Jace would be just fine with Mr. David and the other writers while I drove on home without him. Finally, I could be in my house, alone, and in my bed before 10 PM. It was a foreign feeling to any company dancer.

But when a familiar hand clapped onto my shoulder, I knew that I wouldn't be alone for a long while. And I knew I wouldn't be going home anytime soon.

Simon spun me around with a serious look on his face.

"We need to talk."

XXX

JACE

I walked into the colorful room hand in hand with Clary.

The events from Monday were still fresh on our minds—we couldn't forget about it—even if it was only Wednesday. But we never spoke about the kiss out loud, not then, and especially not now in front of all these people.

Of course I'd met her again at the art studio both yesterday and today, and probably tomorrow and the next day. She was still painting and I was still pacing, but it was like things were almost back to normal. Almost.

We would bicker, and joke, and be sarcastic, like we would whenever we were together. Except now our smart sentences were punctuated with dumb smiles, and our silences were filled with quiet giggles and snickers whenever we caught sight of that paint-stained "chair with a back".

It's fucking adorable, so I wasn't surprised when she didn't object my simple gesture—since when did hand-holding become such a big deal?

Apparently it was a big deal to writing club. The whole room chuckled when we walked in.

We took a seat at our usual spot, back middle, to the right of the werewolf hand and a stone's throw from the Italian horse mask. A familiar area to me now, since this was my 6th time in writing club, and my 6th time with Clary.

I was by no means a veteran—but now I know the regulars. I can keep up with the chapter stories that kids read aloud, and I've shown up enough times to take home The Book—the sacred journal every member gets their 3rd meeting. It's old and leather with years of experience and tons of ink, and I had to hide it from Izzy and write in it late at night. Just a few sentences inspired by her, and Clary, and music, and…life. It wasn't too long after I'd returned it that I got a Book of my own, an empty one that I snagged from Isabelle's room, now already filled with new poems and notes and stories and entries….

I tapped nervously on my spiral with a chewed up pen. The thought of Isabelle was making me anxious.

Clary's eyes flicked to the journal and then back to Mr. David, who was speaking at the time. She clasped my hand with hers to stop my incessant tapping, although she looked amused.

"That's a nasty habit you've got there." She whispered.

I eyed her, slightly confused. "The chewing or the tapping?"

"Both." She said quickly, poking my arm.

I shrugged. "They started up after the 8th grade, can't help it."

"After the thing?" She asked.

I nodded. "After the thing."

She grew quiet and sighed.

Between Monday and today, Clary had managed to get every detail about December 10th out of my supposedly sealed lips—so she didn't have to say anything. I knew how she felt.

"Sorry." It's what they all feel, isn't it? It was just different with her, because I think she may understand. One way or another she may know how I feel and might actually be sorry.

It's the only sympathy I accept. Only hers.

She shook her head, rattling the thought out of her brain, and smiled slightly. Her eyes were still on the teacher as she slowly leaned into my bicep, beginning to chew on her lip a little. "I think it's cute."

I glanced down at her and grinned. "I think you're cute."

She blushed and changed the subject. Classic. "That journal looks a little worn. Are you going to actually read something today?"

"I'm—uh…Not sure…" I stammered.

"Jace!"

Crap.

"You've been here, what, 5 times already?" Mr. David continued to call from his desk, hands flailing and eyebrows rising to convey his exasperation. Nobody seemed to notice that he'd managed to single me out in the middle of his sentence.

"Um," I spoke up, "It's been six times, sir."

"Six times!" The old man let out an excited cackle as his eyes lit up, springing from his chair and pacing the room with a newfound vigor. "Jace Wayland, envied by many yet truly known by few—are you still too shy to share with us? C'mon Jace, look at us!" He gestured widely to the mess of desks. "We're your friends! Aren't we?"

The half-filled room began to giggle and nod, all joining Mr. David in a loud and lively chorus as they insisted that we were all amigos and whatnot. Even Clary caught the vibe, jabbing my arm and shooting me looks as she flipped through my spiral.

She landed on a short poem I wrote a few weeks ago. "Why don't you read this one, Jace?" She cooed and wiggled her eyebrows mischievously. Cute and devilish as always.

"Yeah, Jace! Read that one!" The teacher boomed, and the group followed in suit.

I've been cornered. Once the whole room started yelling you had to share—it was an unsaid club rule.

I'd managed to go 5 meetings without saying a word; it really was my time to read.

So with a sigh, I took the spiral that Clary handed to me and rose. The class quickly burst into applause.

"Alright, alright!" I said through a smile as I approached the front of the room. "I wrote this poem maybe…3 weeks ago?" I sighed, defeated. "And I guess I'll read it since Clary chose it."

The crowd cracked up again and erupted in a swell of coos and cat calls. I caught someone wailing in the back corner, "They're in looove!" while another girl with short, dark hair wrote "CLACE" in big swirly letters on the overcrowded chalkboard. She surrounded it with a curling heart, and cross the room Clary flushed a deeper shade of tomato. Mr. David just smiled—this group had a mind of its own.

But it's not like it wasn't obvious.

So yeah, maybe writing club's got the idea. Clary and I aren't as separate as we seem, and according to Izzy's bet I've got until Friday to ask her out. Official by Christmas break—those were the terms—but by the flattered look on Clary's face, I knew it wouldn't be an issue. Neither of us can deny it. Something is definitely there.

And Monday helped—but we don't talk about that.

"ANYWAYS," I roared. The entire club was grinning. "I wrote the poem a while back. It's not too long—but I didn't write it about me."

"Oh, really?" Mr. David leaned on the edge of his rolly chair in interest. "Who'd you write it about? Why'd you write it? What's the purpose?"

I shook my head a chuckled, responding before he—or anyone else—could ask any more questions. "I can't really say who I wrote it about, but…it's hard to explain." I took a moment to gather my words. "After being in this club and noticing how perceptive you all are, I stared to…observe. People mostly, and with this poem I got creative." My fingers started to drum on the side of my leg, and out of the corner of my eye I noticed Clary's look of concern. "I wanted to see if I could write as if I was in her place. As if I saw what she saw and felt what she felt, and I figured that this is what she would say." I surveyed the surrounding faces. "If that makes any sense at all…"

They all nodded. Each member was as eager and interested as the old man swiveling next to me.

I peeked at my spiral, and then once at Clary before I took a breath and began to read:

"Shriveled up swirls of anxiety shake around me as I

Smell the scent of incense burning freely in

A fire that I do not remember lighting.

But then again maybe I did.

Coiled up images of plaid and people penetrate

My vision perpetually causing perplexion that shouldn't make sense.

Yet somehow it all feels right.

Chills hug my body, helping a huge hazard of hot

To find home where it shouldn't be welcome.

But my gate was left unlocked."

…

The room was silent as they let it all sink in, and it was a long and agonizing minute before someone began to clap.

Not snap like they usually did, but clap, and hoot, and holler, as if the club was genuinely proud and maybe even moved by the success of the poem that I wrote.

So we may not be speaking to each other right now, but if you had any idea what was going on, you'd see that my subject was clear as day.

I'd written it a week after I'd found out about her. It was the poem I wrote for Izzy.

XXX

"Alright, it's almost 5:30 and American Horror Story comes on tonight. Time for y'all to go home!"

Moans filled the room as writing club came to a close. The sound of backpack zippers and ruffling paper grew into familiar cacophony.

My eyes flicked to the teacher and he nodded. "Ah, but not before we have an announcement," He winked in my direction. "Everyone listen up!" He bellowed. "Listen to Jace talk again!"

And with that, all eyes were on me.

I scratched that spot on my head. "Well, first off, today's meeting was awesome." I began, and the club snapped in agreement. "So awesome, in fact, that I managed to convince the manager at Bent Tree, a.k.a. 'Posh Coffee Shop', to let us have a poetry reading this Friday."

Excited murmurs and gasps were accompanied with smiles as I went on. "The shop isn't too far from here; it's in uptown—so look it up. The reading starts at 5, so tell everyone to stop by and listen if they want."

The room was silent, as if asking for more.

"Oh, and the cashier, Maia, told me that from 5-7 that night all drinks are half price."

And then the kids started to yell.

Nothing gets teenagers more excited than two dollar coffee, I swear.

I twisted away from the rowdy group, searching for her in the mess of chaos that unfolded around me and messed with my vision.

Did she hear it? Was she listening? I wanted her to know about this. I wanted her to come. Surely she hadn't left yet, right?

She hadn't. I'd found her at the last minute.

Clary leaned on the frame of the door, her satchel hanging lazily off her shoulder as her eyes connected with mine.

I didn't even have to ask, but she nodded. I should've known.

How could either of us say no to the shop? It was our place.

I crossed the room drew her into a hug, saying thank you and goodbye in all the ways my lips couldn't, and slipped out the door. The club was still waving me off well after the door swung shut.

I started down the empty halls in the early evening sun. Grinning to myself at the thought of this upcoming Friday—the simple perfection of the shop, the night.

Even laughing a little at the idea of Clace.

XXX

ISABELLE

"Why do you decide to hide these things from me, Isabelle?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but no sound came out, so instead I took my eyes off of his and focused them on the floor. The hurt and anger in them was too much for me to bear anyways.

I did not want to have this conversation.

"I mean," he paced the small space in the dim, concrete stairwell he'd dragged me to after school. His expression hasn't changed since he found me at my locker, and he emitted a frustrated sigh. "God, this hurts me too, Izzy! I'm just so—"

"Disappointed?" I mumbled, interrupting his all too familiar rant. "Confused? Upset?" I glared at him. "Well I've heard it all already, Simon, Jace beat you to the punch with that speech about a month ago."

He stopped dead in his tracks, and I watched his face twist as his brown eyes grew about 5 shades lighter. "No, Isabelle." He whispered. "No, no, no. Don't you ever believe that for a second. I am not mad, or disappointed," the boy shuddered. "I'm just sorry."

Sorry?

Oh.

This conversation just got very unfamiliar.

He rubbed the back of his neck before cupping both of his hands in front of his nose, breathing deeply, and then letting them fall to his sides as he seemed to get himself together.

He looked a mess….

I didn't notice until then, but patches of red were starting to bloom over his cheeks, his neck, and his collar bone, which disappeared into his action-packed Iron Man tee that was only half visible under his off-kilter and ill-fitting hoodie. The shirt was too uplifting—almost uncomfortable—but I'd rather look there than at his eyes. They were lightening to a miserable green, a striking, beautiful change from his usual brown, but brought on by something far less alluring that I'd rather not think about.

I'd tried to keep him out of it. I tried to fake it and pretend that everything was okay. I'd smiled and lied—to no avail. Somehow I'd managed to tear him down—cause him to break too—and I wish I hadn't, because his entire presence was just too much right now.

I couldn't handle this.

My fingers were still twisting when I looked up at him, and he stopped pacing. His hands were clasped, his knuckles pulling tight and white behind his back with maybe rage. Maybe it was an intense form of sorrow. But the geeky, fun-loving and easygoing boy I'd come to know—and was beginning to trust—wasn't here. He was in there somewhere, but not now when I wanted it. When I thought I needed it. But he still cares. So for right now, I'll just deal.

"Simon, why would you feel sorry for me? Why should you?" A suppressed emotion was pushing through my voice, and twisting fingers found home at my waist, hugging myself together. "It's my fault, isn't it? I made myself into this thing—I did that, didn't I?"

"No, you didn't."

"I did, Simon! Can't you see that?!" I roared, near hysteria. The grip tightened. My voice was cracking all over the place, and I bet my face was just as torn up and splotchy and…not cute as his. I had to fight to keep the tears from spilling. "I know exactly why everything started—and not one day has gone by where I don't think about it, and I can't go one day without beating myself up for it! I'm a mess!" He was blurring right in front of me, but I couldn't blink. I didn't feel like crying right now, but it was inevitable, and I was bruising my sides. "They may have caused it, but it's my fault I took everything too damn seriously. And now I'm trapped and I—I can't freakin' st—stop it anym—more…."

I had to jam my wrists into my eyes, the oversized sleeves that fell over them catching the tears before they fell and speckling the grey with a spreading, watery black. I could feel his stares. And I had to suck it up as my words jumped around with my body. "It's b—because I'm weak." I uttered hoarsely. The sobs were kicking in. "I couldn't t—take it then, and I can't—I can't do it now—I'm not that str—strong and it's my fault…."

"It's not your fault, do you understand?" He said it so warmly, so quietly. I had to strain to hear. Then he rushed over to me, kneeling where I sat. "That's the thing, stuff like this is never your fault. You have to know that."

"I don't have to know anything!" I snapped, and the hand that was reaching flinched away from me. "Nobody should have to help me out of anything, or have my baggage on their shoulders—who in their right mind would want to handle that when I can't? I'll take the fall, alright!?" I glowered at him, he didn't budge this time, and somehow the sudden rise in volume had shaken the sobs away. "Nobody should have to take the blame for my own torture, that's not fair to them." I was gnawing on my bottom lip. "I'd rather stay quiet, even if I'm dying in the process."

I didn't look at his face.

"No. That's the wrong answer and you know it."

A dark, masochistic laugh rumbled from my mouth, and it didn't sound like me at all. I didn't care one bit. "You sound like him! Oh it's classic! I can't believe it! He said the same thing once too…."

The laughs that followed sounded like wails.

"Isn't this the part where you say 'get over yourself, you sound insane'," I went on, "or is this when you storm out of the room and leave me in ruin?" There was a sinister sarcasm coloring my voice, and that was foreign to me too. "Or better yet," I yelled. My voice caught. "You realize I'm so fucked up that you can't deal with me anymore and never speak to me again, right? That's what guys do. They just fucking leave you when you're too damn troubled, right? So come on." I goaded. This entire encounter sounded awfully familiar. Again.

The air was still. My voice echoed.

"Pick your poison. How is this gonna end?"

His lips pressed, and he winced while his eyebrows jammed into a hard line. But his voice was steady as he answered. "Neither, Izzy, because I'm not a goddamn asshat like whoever did that to you."

"Oh, it was multiple people."

"Well then they're all asshats."

I crossed my arms. "Or maybe they're just sane."

"You think you're insane?"

"You think torture isn't?"

"Jesus, it's not torture!" He boomed as his fists scrunched at his sides. "For some reason it's really hard for you guys to understand that and I don't knowwhy!"

You guys?

He said it in passing, and it didn't sound condescending, but it was. It had to be.

The boy, however, was completely unaware. And by time he started talking again, I'd forgotten about the offense anyways. I let it go.

"I don't understand—it's too confusing. You think that you're such a terrible and horrid person because you do…whatever—but you're not!" Simon went on. "Nobody that goes through this is, and the people around them try so damn hard to tell them that they're not awful and they never get it. I know it's difficult for them to grasp that idea, but that doesn't mean that the people that love them should stop trying to convince them otherwise. They have to keep trying—both of them. That's what I've decided." His eyes were falling to brown again. And that's a good thing, that is, if you like frustrated Simon over sad Simon, and I did. "It's not torture, Iz, they're just…outlets." His voice was losing its fire. "Just like music, or dance, or breaking shit, this," he poked a rib, "and this," he took my left wrist, shoved the sleeve up, and flipped it over.

I shoved the sleeve back down.

"They're outlets, Isabelle, bad ones, but I get it."

"How could you get it?!" I ripped my hand from his. He looked as if I'd slapped him. "How can you know exactly what I've been through, Simon? You can't—"

Simon was still stunned, but I was gagging on my own words.

Jace had said the same thing to me on Monday.

…

Was this really how he felt…?

My fingers were starting to shake, my stomach lurched, and I was inching away from Simon's touch without realizing.

And it surprised me, because I wanted to gush and scream and cry so badly it hurt. I've felt so stuck trying to figure out how to deal with everything that's been thrown at me—because it's squishing me. I am breaking. I'm cracking slowly, but I refuse to wear my heart on my sleeve.

I'd rather wear the mascara on my sleeve. I'd cry myself to sleep, or hurt myself, or put myself through total shit rather than open up to him, and it scares me. He scares me.

Because I'm so afraid of myself. Because I hate myself.

I'm worthless. I'm a freak.

He doesn't want me.

He thinks I'm crazy.

I don't deserve him. I don't—

"Isabelle, stop that." Simon's voice broke through my thoughts. "You're not worthless—you deserve everything good that comes to you. I don't care what you, or anybody else, might have to say about that."

I stared at him, startled.

"Sometimes when people get anxiety attacks, they talk out loud." He smiled a little.

"How would you know that?"

"You think I've never had one?"

"No."

"Well then I guess you're wrong."

There was a silence. I was still distancing myself from him. I forced myself to stop shaking.

His lips were pursed again. "Don't shy away from me, Izzy. There's no reason to be afraid of me." He caught up to where I'd moved, gingerly catching my hand. "Just let me help you this time."

There was a pause.

"This time?" I was baffled. He'd let something slip. "Simon, what are you saying?"

He froze, his small smile wobbled, and I felt my heart shattering as I watched his face change.

It's like those shots in the movies. Like when Channing Tatum found out Rachel McAdams didn't remember him in the beginning of The Vow, or when Judd Nelson got told off in the closet during The Breakfast Club.It's those 10 seconds when you watch their face drop and they don't try to stop it—they can't help it. Because something you said just hit a raw nerve, and no matter how tough, or manly, or stable you think they are, that one thing you said caused that one guy to forget. They forgot about what was holding him together—you see it dissolve right before your eyes—and you notice the emotion that's riddled all over their face….

Maybe I shouldn't have said anything, because that 10 second drop was happening to Simon.

He took a short breath and sat next to me, still holding my left hand. And I didn't expect him to tell me anything, but he did. "You probably don't remember freshman year," He started. I could already hear the change in his voice. "But that year my older sister went through the same thing…and…it was really bad…for her." He paused slightly to regain himself. The drop was getting worse.

"Simon, please, you don't have to tell me this."

"No, no, it's fine Izzy." He was smiling, but his eyes were green again. "You wanted to know how I know how you feel, and I'm telling you now."

"Yeah, but—"

"I want to, alright? Let me take the fall." He breathed and we were silent. "Okay?"

I nodded and gripped his hand tighter.

I really just wanted to plug my ears.

But I didn't, and he went on.

"It was rough for my family, it was rough for me—my sister and I had always been so close—but it was absolute hell for her. She was in and out of school, a lot of her friends stopped talking to her, her scars kept getting higher and her waist got smaller and," another deep breath, "we almost lost her. A few times we did, but it was because we didn't notice. I didn't help, I couldn't. But now I can, so please just let me in." He stopped again, this time to wipe something wet from my face. "These walls are what are hurting you. You shut us out and hold things in and it shows and it hurts, I know. But that's the first thing you need, no one forcing you to stop, no one forcing you to eat, you need someone to trust." He inched himself closer to me and I didn't move. "Let me be that person, Isabelle. I know someone hurt you, badly. But I won't. That's the last thing I want to do to." He took both of my hands, now freezing from the dank and drafty staircase, and sandwiched them between his, just like he did in the theater months ago.

I knew he noticed me crying. "So just tell me now, let it out, from the beginning."

I didn't want to hear him say it.

But I knew he would. And I knew I would answer.

"Isabelle, please," He murmured.

"Just tell me what happened."

XXX

"Sometimes I think people don't realize how terrible it is to fall. It's like a hole. It's dark, and it's deep down there, and it cuts off all of your senses….When you fall down you fall hard, and you have to claw yourself back to the top before you dig yourself deeper. But digging is easier than climbing, and the darkness is more comforting than the light, even if it hurts more."

Simon was a good listener, but I wouldn't stop him from butting in. "Why would you stay in the dark? Why not fight for the light, even if it's hard?"

I sniffed, dabbing my eyes and looking at him again. "It's because I know I crave the pain." I shuddered. "Do you understand that?"

The boy next to me nodded, and stayed quiet.

"It's so easy to lose control of your mind like that…one minute you feel like you're on top of the world…and the next—"

"You're back in the hole?"

"Before you even realize you're slipping, you're gone and you're digging and you can't stop." My head was in my hands. "And the whole time you're digging you're realizing just how much you hate your decisions. How much you hate the past—yourself—and you want to talk to someone so badly, but you're afraid of what they'll say….Instead you just find ways to keep yourself numb, and you're just waiting for it to end." I tore on my hair. "For weeks I could feel myself falling again—you think I didn't notice? I did, I just can't stop it from happening anymore. It's happened so many times already…once I hit the bottom, I won't want to get back up. I'd rather give in." My next breath racked my body. "Everything hurts, so I'd rather give up…."

"No."

"Yeah."

"No, you can't just quit like that, no!" His voice was rising.

"I don't think I can control it anymore, Simon. You should know that."

"I do know that." His words were harsh and choppy. "I know it sucks. I know it's hard. And I know you want to give up, but if you do that you lose, Izzy. You're not winning." Simon was glaring at the floor. He pushed his fingers through his hair for the millionth time. "I've already had somebody go through this, so I know that there are ways to stop it! I know things aren't as bad as they seem! You may not like it—!"

"May not like it?!" I snapped, towering over him. "Yeah, because who likes having an eating disorder, huh? Who likes cutting like it's a ritual, or having massive trust issues? I don't! I hate it! I hate her for making me feel ugly and talentless. I hate them for making me feel like an object. I hate him for making me feel worthless." My heart was pounding in my throat and Simon looked startled.

I plopped back down next to him, leaning my head against the cool wall and forcing myself to calm down. My eyes closed. "But I hate myself the most." I continued. "I was the one that let it get to me, so it's my fault, I've accepted that. That's why I deal."

Simon's eyebrow rose as he spoke quietly. "What do you mean by 'deal'?"

I glared at him. "What do you think?"

The air was still for a moment.

"Okay, so I get that." He started again. He really didn't know how to keep quiet. "But what did you mean by 'her' and 'them' and 'him'? What did they actually do that was so…terrible?"

I sighed and pushed the hair out of my eyes. "Maybe I should explain."

"That would help."

"No interrupting until the end."

"My lips are sealed."

I shot him a look.

"I swear! I won't talk until the end. Now stop looking at me like that!"

I smiled once, a small one, and then turned away from him, feeling it waver. First was the corner, and then the slight break as it passed through a sort of pout and then into a solid frown. Each phase was accompanied with a painful and equally devastating sinking feeling. It was as bad as the drop itself, and I tried my hardest to stay silent as I felt the flush on my cheeks and the tears fill to the brim.

It must've been my eyes, or my body language. He must've seen my smile falter because I felt his hand on my back, warm as always as I was frantically wiping the tears from my face. I didn't have to look at him to know what his face looked like. I already knew.

I could feel him smiling at me, and urging me to talk, and trying to show me with his body that I could trust him. And I did. And it still scared me, and it probably always will, but I could still feel his hand making comforting circles on my back as I launched into my story.

If you can imagine my hell from one year ago:

XXX

You're standing in a room full of mirrors, staring at yourself a thousand times over, surrounded by people who could care less about you, but are judging your every move and mistake. One person, the leader, walks around manipulating everyone to the point of pain with a light touch or a simple command. We all follow in suit, and you try not to notice everyone around you.

It's easier said than done—you've tried it a million times just today.

Nobody is looking at you. You try to block it out again. Nobody is judging you, nobody is giving you a grade for this—you love it.

But there's that tiny, dark and persistent voice in the back of your head, like a pessimistic mentor that won't ever get off your ass.

To the optimists it can be fuel. But to the normal people, to me, it's the worst form of poison. It's that one thing you can't block out no matter how hard you try.

Look at yourself. Talentless. It says. Do you really think you'll succeed?

Everyone is looking at you.

Everyone is judging you.

You are getting a grade for this.

And you love it don't you?

Don't I?

I love it.

Do I?

…

Your inner turmoil causes you to blank on the ballet combination you swore you could do in your sleep, so you glance over to the girl next to you who really does have it down pat.

You're in luck. Turns out the senior standing next to you is known for her flawless record in the dance cluster. It's her.

She's the one who's been getting near perfect scores on all of her dance exams since she was a freshman—it was unheard of until she rolled along. She's the one with a full ride to NYU because of her perfect audition and GPA. She's the one with perfect hair, and perfect feet, and is perfect at ballet and modern. She's the one with the perfect boyfriend, with perfect friends, with the perfect body.

She's the prodigy.

And you look at yourself and grimace your normal hair, normal feet, and normal talent. You've got no real friends, no scholarship, no boyfriend—and now you're starting to notice the way your sides begin to muffin top over the elastic of your tights while her perfect six pack stands visible through her leotard. And the way her legs are slender with unbelievable definition while you…have just normal dancer legs. Or the way your stomach rounds out unless you suck it all the way in; and how your thighs still jiggle when you flex them.

There's no way I can look like this….

That's all I could think for weeks. I wasn't focused on dance at all.

In between phrases and movements across the floor I started to notice everyone's slender physique.

Skinny. Skinny. Skinny. Skinny….

Fat. Now in a room full of muscle and perfection all I could see was my fat.

And as silly as it sounds, Megan Barkly was the reason I stopped eating last year. I hear she's doing great now, and I'm still here, and I'm still normal.

I was digging that hole for months. I'd started on it before that class—I'd started it before that year—it was a matter of time before I fell in.

I never saw it coming, even if I did.

From multiple calorie counting apps, to diligently waking up at 4 AM to do you daily P90X workout—even if you're still sore from the 3 hour rehearsals after school—the weight started to drop. 2 months in and the mini muffin top is gone and your abs and obliques have returned. You celebrate when you make it through Thanksgiving dinner on only 400 calories, which are erased by time you complete cardio for the third time that day. By New Year's you're really close to a thigh gap, and by Valentine's Day, your brother, who you thought didn't care about you at all, starts singing "Sophie" by Eleanor McEvoy under his breath to catch your attention.

And then one month later, when everyone believes you're at dance on Thursdays, your brother is actually taking you to therapy while your mother cries over her fuck-up daughter. She never cries—ever—and she thinks you don't know.

That was me. That is me. That's why I deal.

And that's only part one.

Even on top of the secret disorder, even with the unknown therapy and my jacked up mind, the boys were still all over me. And I was so messed up going into my junior year, that despite everything I put myself through I still let them have me. They didn't know anything about me, and they still wanted me. In their eyes, like mine, I was skinny and beautiful. Not borderline anorexic like I actually was.

They were either delusional, or they really didn't care to notice. But I didn't care to notice either, and I know for a fact that I'm delusional.

I couldn't blame them at all. I didn't give two shits about myself when I was a junior. Last year I was a party animal that showed guys a good time. I had a boy on each arm and one ready for the weekend. I could care less. It was exciting. Nobody was telling me to stop, my popularity skyrocketed, I got this title, and I felt wanted….

Eventually word spread, and all the guys knew I had fun slutting around before Christmas. I gave a lot of gifts that year. Every boy around me just wanted—no, you don't need to know that.

But I did it. I was becoming the biggest slut and it made me feel like I was worth something. Ha.

It's twisted. Now it makes me sick.

It makes me sick knowing that guys still treat me like I'm nothing, even though I'm putting the past behind me. I feel awful, absolutely awful, when they look at me like they own me. I was devastated when I lost all my old friends one by one, each of them shouting unbelievably obscene things at me once they realized I'd changed. And it breaks my heart knowing that the Isabelle everyone knows isn't me. Realizing that it was because that other reason that I felt like I needed this raunchy façade to protect myself—it was like a punch in the gut, like a slice to the wrist. None of my friends could understand, because nobody knows that I became a slut because he made me feel useless, like nothing. And nobody really knows that I still cut because I feel the same way.

Well, I guess now you're the only one. But I guess that's how it happens, isn't it?

This whole thing is a whirlwind of blame. It was the boys. It was them. It was him. It was me.

That was part two.

But part three was the incident that started it all. All of my bad choices spawn from one sorry decision and my infamous other reason. It's so insanely regrettable on so many counts—

It was my sophomore year.

I was 16, he was 16, and the party was raging.

You could smell the alcohol from the minute you stepped in, and I was glad I arrived late on purpose, like always. I didn't feel like waiting for a party to start—and trust me—the party had begun, and it wasn't ending anytime soon.

The music pouring from the door hurt my ears in a good way, my body was buzzing with excitement, anticipation. It wasn't my first party, but I was smiling like it was, and I didn't know which to tackle first: the dance floor or the bar….

My best friend hooted from behind me, clapping a hand on my shoulder with the hugest grin on his face. He must've felt the buzz too, because barely looked at me as he rushed off to find the other boys—and girls—in his posse that I wasn't part of. The host slammed the door shut behind me and followed him with an eye roll. I was left to creep down the empty corridor alone.

I sighed and followed the trail of red cups to the liquor. 30 seconds in and my best friend was already AWOL? It completely pissed me off. I wouldn't have agreed to this complicated relationship with him if I knew he was going to ditch me at a party the first chance he got. This was supposed to be for us—our night—but he obviously had another agenda.

I'd gotten everything I'd wanted out of the "Friend with Benefits" relationship he'd suggested—except tonight.

Of course.

Purple light and white fog spilled onto the first floor from high above, and I could've sworn I just stumbled into a club, not another 16 year-old's expensive and parent-free mansion. I could only gaze in awe at how…put together this party was. It wasn't some ragtag party someone had decided to throw last minute over Facebook—nobody had tried that since Kristi's 5 person mixer freshman year. No, this was a full-scale house party. Complete with plastic cups, locked doors, a severe lack of clothing, and a shady dealer in a hoody. The freshman were mingling with the seniors, the seniors were making out with the college kids….

What kind of sophomore throws a party like this?

I didn't realize it, but I was grinning as my fingers trailed along the polished marble countertop. I wove in and out of scattered clumps of tipsy teenagers, making a point to nod, smile, and squeal when appropriate. Making damn sure to brace for Zach's one of a kind attack hug that was as flamboyant as he was. Once he let me down, once I could breathe, I greeted him European style. A simple kiss on both cheeks—something we always did—but I should've known Zach was going to pull something, well, like Zach.

He pulled my face to his roughly, uncaringly, as he made a scene of our passionate kiss—which was funny and slightly disturbing, because his boyfriend was starting to give me the evil eye. Jessie had to yank Zach off of me and distract him with a kiss of his own. I saw his darkish eyes glare at me as I slinked away. Not a single person noticed. Or maybe they did, and I was just surrounded theater students who were experts at pretending.

Say what you want, but Zach was a great kisser. All of his boyfriends should be proud.

And I knew exactly what I wanted from the bar straight ahead.

10 minutes later I was chatting with Alexa over a sprite-gin mixer, and when that was gone I watched the 17 year old bartender pour wine, Pepsi, and apple Smirnoff into my cup. And when that was gone he poured another, and when Alexa's was gone she was off to an empty room with some guy I didn't recognize.

I took my drink and downed half of it on my way to the dance floor. Not really looking for anyone, or I guess, not really finding the person I was looking for. But I decided to let it go, for now. He'd turn up eventually, and right now the music was bumping and pounding to the beat of my throbbing head.

I recognized the DJ from my English class—he was a genius who never spoke up in class. Well known among the regular partygoers, but even I knew that he was the smart kid that acted dumb. I also knew he was the kid with a fake ID, that he'd DJ'd at parties across Dallas since the start of freshman year, and that he still manages to sell a little on the side—if you know what I mean.

He still has an A average. Of course.

I watched his lips move, rejecting a lame song that one of the drunk freshman had requested. She returned to the dance floor—or carpet rather—and got lost in the crowd as he grinned. They were dancing to his music after all. In his mind he was a God. But in everybody's clouded minds, he was a God too. Everyone was grinding to his music—girls on guys, girls on girls, guys on guys—the usual. But they weren't trying to be modest at all. The usual. I didn't know where to look. They were basically having sex right on—

Oh, I don't know why I have to explain this. You've been to a party before, use your imagination….

It might've been the night that ruined everything, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't have fun back then. I was being scandalous, I was dabbling in being a slut and I liked it. I guess the seed was always in me.

I made too many trips from the dance floor to the bar, but even as things got fuzzy, I know I'll never forget how that night ended. That ending was crystal clear.

I remember stumbling through the expensive hallways, toppling into every room and searching for my best friend while my fourth wine/coke/Smirnoff was sloshing out with every wobbly step. I pushed hair out of my eyes every 3 seconds, my jacket was who knows where, and heels didn't sound like such a bad idea when I left the house. Although, now I was using more energy to keep myself from tripping than I used dancing 5 minutes ago.

But I still looked hot, and I took another sip.

He'll be so happy, I thought, that I'm finally ready for him. I giggled stupidly to myself, drowning out my uncontrollable laugh with the tangy fizzy taste of my drink.

I checked one more time for the foil packet in my back pocket.

That night was supposed to be the night we both lost it. We'd agreed on it weeks ago only a few days after Celeste told us about the party.

At first I was apprehensive about the whole thing…

But now I was drunk. I had no inhibitions, and I wasn't worrying at all. Dad was away on business. Mom and Alec were on a college tour for the weekend. Max was gone to some camp thing for school….

I was wasted. I was ecstatic.

And I was so out of it that barely heard the door open behind me.

A girl—a very pretty, very tipsy girl—meandered out of the door. Her blond hair was ratty, her blue irises were luminous with excitement, and her skin-tight tube top was on inside-out.

I scurried away, giving her the courtesy of an unnoticed getaway—

Until I heard a familiar laugh follow right behind her.

My best friend was shirtless when I whipped around, catching them completely oblivious and in mid lip-lock—tongue and all—right in front of me. They were too close for it to be anything casual and it was too passionate for it to be anything but a post-sex goodbye kiss.

He was with her. That slut was with my friend, my crush, my boyfriend—

Except he wasn't my boyfriend, and maybe he knew that our relationship wasn't exclusive, but I was clueless until now.

What a rude awakening.

My body was instantly hot, and I only heard the solo cup pop once in my clenched hand. I felt like screaming when I saw his hands on her like that—they were supposed to be on me,but they weren't. We were supposed to be for each other. That's what we'd promised. But he was just a dirty liar, and he obviously didn't give a single shit about me. Even though we've been friends for who knows how long—we were practically siblings—he'd somehow managed to forget that….

When you're so close to someone, it seems wrong to ruin it with sex. I know that now. But sometimes, when you're so close to someone it seems wrong not to. We should've left it alone, but we were young, and dumb, and curious, and I still can't change it….

I didn't even realize where my feet were taking me, and what I was doing until I heard myself speak.

"Your shirt's on inside out, bitch."

And she broke away from him just in time to get a face full of alcohol. She blinked twice with an open mouth, franticly wiping at her stinging face, and I couldn't even laugh when her makeup smeared.

My friend alternated between consoling the blonde girl—still attached to him—and shooting looks at me. Each time the emotion was different—first surprise, then rage, then something like sorrow, maybe guilt….He caught the cup I threw at him. He also caught the condom.

I'd already turned the corner when he started after me. I didn't look back.

Claire wasn't drunk when I found her, in fact she was 100% sober and making out with Christian when I made her take me home. She had my jacket and her keys before the first tear even hit the ground. I was crying and screaming too hard to answer any of her questions on the way home, and after about 20 minutes she just gave up.

I left the party early that night, and he didn't. I left that party drunk, and he didn't. I left that party a virgin, and he didn't.

I left that party without a best friend, and so did he.

But it was months before he ever started to care again. I had to stop eating to get him to do that.

And even if I'm eating now, even if someone's got my back, my past still haunts me and I'm not getting any better. And I'm always thinking about this, all of these memories are pounding in my head, and the regret—the guilt and the pain is rolling in my chest and it hurts every fucking day….

I finally met Simon's wide eyes and his lips were pressed. His hand had stopped moving long ago.

His words came out in a squeak. "Can I say something now?"

And this time I glued my lips together as he spoke, but I couldn't have interrupted even if I wanted to. I was crying too hard anyways.

XXX

"Thank you." He said. "I still cannot believe you told me all of that—Izzy, I feel like I know you, and you don't open up like that to anyone so, Jesus, thank you for that.

"And I don't even know how to start. You've just been through…a lot of shit in the last year. And I can't expect anyone, not even myself, to try and understand it. No, I don't have an eating disorder. I don't cut either, so I can't empathize and I'm sorry for that. But now you're the second person that I've almost lost—I'm not gonna let that happen. Alright? I don't know what I might have to do to help you, but we're going in the right direction. You're talking and that's what we want….

"I can only try, Izzy. You know? I learned a lot when I went to her therapy with her. I caught bits and pieces—and even though it's two different girls and two different situations I can only try. But I will try. I will. You're gonna get better, I promise.

"And I know you don't want to go back. But keep an open mind. Know your options. That's all I'm asking….I know it sucks because it's embarrassing and it can make you feel like crap,but it helps Izzy. If you really make an effort to get better you can't say it doesn't work, because I've seen it work miracles on people. So please, don't shut it down. For me.

"And you're not a slut Izzy. I'll say it ever day if I have to. You. Are. Not. A. Slut. Okay? So what if you had a little fun? So what if you had a few boys here and there? That doesn't make you any less of a person, and I know high school sucks ass, but you're strong. You can't let anyone own you, there's no reason to let that total bullshit to get in your head because it's not true. It's bullshit and they're all fucking lies.

"And you won't believe me, but I'll say this every day too. Isabelle Lightwood, you are strong and fierce and talented and beautiful. You're far better than any Megan Barkly, everyone envies you for your beauty, and, I swear, if I ever find out who that dickhead friend of yours was, I'll beat the shit out of him. And that's a promise."

I was still shaking when he stopped, and he still had that look in his eyes. He kept catching his bottom lip with his teeth, and then letting it go only to let an impatient exhale fly away from his mouth. He was still thinking. The gears were still turning in his brain, but he had nothing left to say….

I didn't have anything left to say either. I just let all the emotions well up. They came from today, from a month ago, from a year ago, and they were all burning inside me like lava. I was so strung up and tightly wound that I knew I would explode at any moment.

I was breathing too hard, too fast. I was starting to get lightheaded but I couldn't stop. My body was roasting inside of this sweatshirt, but I couldn't do anything except breathe into my sleeves and stare at Simon who wasn't looking at me.

But then his green eyes met mine.

And everything came crashing down.

I fell into him, tears coming full force as he embraced me, protecting me in his arms and not caring one bit at the wetness absorbing into his over washed t-shirt. "It's everything, Simon." I mumbled and sobbed into the fabric. "It's everything, and everyone, and I don't know what I'm doing to myself anymore. I need help." I hiccupped. "I've needed this for so long but I just…I could never do it. You have to understand!"

His grip tightened around me, and his voice cracked when he spoke. "I understand now, Izzy. I get it. I really do. Now I understand…."

We stayed wrapped up for a long time. No one had even bothered to come down these steps. Or maybe they just heard me crying and went away, but it didn't matter to me. I still couldn't believe half of those words even came out of my mouth…I can't believe I told him everything. It was supposed to be a disaster if I let it all slip—but it wasn't. I was wrong about him the whole time, and now after all of the yelling and crying and standing and pacing, I didn't know how to feel….

I didn't know how I felt about anything—especially not him.

What the hell would this mean for us?

I never got a chance to think about it. "Izzy, I've got to get going." He whispered, but with the echo it was clear as day.

My fingers dug into his shirt. I wasn't letting him go that easily.

Simon laughed lightly as he brushed through my hair again, just like he'd been doing for the last half hour. "It's past 5:30, traffic's gonna be awful. But I always have my phone on me. Call me, text me, I'll answer." He kissed the top of my head. "You have to let me go now….You'll see me tomorrow, I promise."

And after a few seconds, I did, reluctantly, let go. And he hugged me once gently around the waist before grabbing his bag and, reluctantly, pushing out the door into the frigid December air.

And once again, I was alone. It was just me and my thoughts and my emotions.

Or at least I thought it was.

XXX

He spoke before I could turn around.

"You have to date him now." His voice boomed in the empty well. "Until the end of the year, just like you made me. Date him and trust him even more, get better Izzy." The sound of his approaching steps bounced off the concrete walls. "If you can trust him enough to do that—love him enough to do that—then you deserve so much more than a year of Starbucks."

I glanced over my shoulder to see my favorite golden boy standing behind me. Hands in pockets, hope on his face, and no red, curly hair in sight.

I turned away from him, irritated, as he sat down next to me just like Simon had.

"That makes this bet seem sick and twisted." I said.

"I know." He replied.

"What makes you think this is a good idea?"

"Because it is."

"This is no way for me to get better."

"Not by my hands, but you and I both know that Simon will help."

"What if I say no?"

"Then it's your loss."

"…And?"

He smirked. "And I'll have no choice but to tell mom a little something that I found out a month ago."

A pause.

"I hate you."

"I know, I love you too."

"You're a dick."

"Heard that a million times."

"You know, I could say no and you won't get to see me struggle."

"You won't say no and it won't be that hard." His words were clipped and full of sass.

"Why not?" I snapped.

"Because you're already there!" He yelled. "You like him! We both know it! Why the hell are you so afraid?!"

"Can we please just stop fighting?! I'm so freakin' tired of being mad at you all the time!"

"Well then stop trying to pick fights with me!"

"I'm not picking fights! You're just being a total bitch!"

"And you're not?! That's got to be a joke!"

"I am not—! Ugh!" I gave up. It wasn't worth it.

I glared at him as my hands dragged down my face. "Why do I even talk to you?"

"You're my sister from another mister." He said simply. "We should still communicate even if you're being difficult."

I made a fist and hit him once in the arm, letting out a sound of frustration as he smirked, knowing that he'd won this battle.

He rubbed the sore spot and now I laughed, knowing that we'd managed to forgive each other again.

It was nowhere near as bad as the last time, thank God.

We sighed in unison and glanced at each other.

"How much did you hear?" I asked quietly.

He hesitated before he groaned and ran a hand through his curls. There was a slight flush on his cheeks, and he held eye contact with me as he answered steadily, quietly. "You said, 'It's everything, and everyone, and I don't know what I'm doing to myself anymore.'"

Neither of us made a sound.

"That's the first thing I heard."

"You swear?"

"I swear."

A long silence.

"I'm so sorry, Izzy."

I sighed and tried to smile. "It's not your fault, Jace."

He'd nodded as I'd said it, but we both knew it was a lie.

We'd agreed a last year to let it slide. We yelled and we made up, but we both did a terrible job at forgetting about it.

But how could we forget?

I was 16, he was 16 and the party was raging.

It was my sophomore year.

And my best friend was Jace.

Chapter Text

Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays

(Part 3 - Friday)

JACE

Mayrse was crying when I came downstairs.

Which was scary, because as long as I’ve known her I’ve never seen her cry, not once. She didn’t shed a tear when Alec left. There wasn’t a drop on Max’s first day of school. Not even a twinkle when her best friends died in a plane crash…But there she was, fighting to hold it together at 6 a.m., and not even trying to hide it as I came thrashing down the steps, like always.

It wasn’t like I was expecting anything out of the ordinary. My noisy arrival was usually met with the clattering of pans, or the steady dripping of coffee in a pot, or…something. But this morning the air felt still as I shuffled in. And there was Mayrse. Alone and crying like she was bearing bad news, which was enough to shoot ice into anyone’s veins.

I haven’t felt this afraid since the 8^th grade.

She was silent. Eerily silent, and again that stillness threatened to take my knees out from under me. It was enough to suffocate me all together. But this was Mayrse we were talking about, and I could think of a thousand reasons why she, of all people, needed to contain her emotions at all costs. She’s the strongest person I know—the strongest person anybody knows. Crying like this was never an option for her. All the people that trust her with their fears—every person that cries on her shoulder is demanding her strength.

The minute I heard her, or rather, the minute I didn’t hear her, was the moment I realized that it was less about her, and more about the people she loved. That is, since Max was sleeping soundly in the next room over. If I haven’t seen this side of her until today I’m guessing she’s trying to keep him out of it, too. He won’t be witnessing this any time soon—hopefully not at all.

Right now I’m wishing for that same ignorance.

She helplessly gnawed on her cheek as the tears came streaming down her red face. Whatever was left of the damp napkin in her hand was reduced to flakes, like snow. They fell into a dusty white pile on the counter with every nervous shift of her hand. She didn’t try to clean it. With her shoulders hunched and her lips pressed to white and restless fingers, she made no attempt to move. She was statue still, and she was staring at the overstuffed purple lunchbox that she hasn’t touched since Isabelle was twelve.

And she felt like she had to pack it today. And right now she’s crying about it.

I didn’t move for a moment. I was too stunned, too shocked to be of any help. My mind worked in half time, my body even slower. Instead I stood there, watching her from the base of the steps, but her eyes didn’t shift once. It took a while before she acknowledged me, which was only after I’d managed to set my stuff down and put a hand on her shoulder. She’d flinched.

But then she’d flipped around and hugged me, burying her face in my jacket, her arms locked onto me with an iron grip.

And for once I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? “I’m sorry?” “It’s not your fault?” “She’ll be alright?” I sighed internally. “She doesn’t need therapy again because her almost boyfriend is trying to help her?” I shook my head. Who am I kidding? Mayrse knows. She’d call bullshit on anything I’d say and take matters into her own hands like last time.

Of course, it wasn’t a terrible idea—it worked well enough before. But Isabelle would hate it, and it would kill her to see Mayrse like this.

It would hurt her more than it hurts me, and that’s saying something.

I let my arms relax around her, cursing, dreading this moment because the roles were so dramatically reversed. It was never supposed to be this way. Not for me, not for Isabelle, not for anybody…

I squeezed her tighter, blocking it all out. “You have to be strong, Mayrse.” I muttered. “For her, you have to.”

“I know,” She shuddered. “I know—I just—she’s—” She let me go, her hands fluttering to her face, her chest. It was snowing all around us and she’d barely noticed.

“Jace, she looks so….”

Her eyes watered.

I nodded.

She shivered, falling into her defeated position on the counter. Head in hands, napkin shredding. Her words were breathy and rippling. “Jace, what am I doing wrong?”

I opened my mouth to reply something comforting, anything comforting, but a series of sounds ensued that sent us scattering like mice. A loud blast of music before it was quickly cut off, the click of a light, the slam of a door. By the time her million bags jingled to a stop and her combat boots came clunking on the hardwood, I was opening the fridge and Mayrse was pouring a cup of coffee. Business as usual.

Emotions subdued without a second thought.

She tossed her bags and they landed with a thud—I swear the dancers carry rocks in there—and with a full, somehow well-rested smile she cooed, “Good morning, guys!” Sauntering into the kitchen with a bounce that she’d repressed last week—with a bounce she’d repressed yesterday—she took us both by surprise.

Her voice was so familiar and warm, like the oldIsabelle that we haven’t seen in what feels like a lifetime…My heart ached.

How many times had I wished for that Isabelle back?

Yet, even now as she reached to mess up my hair—just like she used to—or set out to give Mayrse a hug—just like she used to—how many times had I accepted that 14-year-old Isabelle didn’t exist anymore? She’s too far gone. She’s grown up too much. And I can’t say I wish it didn’t happen, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss the…serenity. She was never that sassy, never that bitter—she was the sweetest thing I knew...

But that was years ago. This week—this entire year was a completely different ride. A completely different Isabelle. Just yesterday she’d woken up early and surprisingly angry—something that we’d gotten used to as of late—but this time it was different. Worse.  And she hasn’t been that pissed off since…well…

A certain blond boy broke her heart sophomore year. That’s when she was forced to grow up.

Her music was loud and screaming—full of a carefully thought out hate that she believed only she could hear. There was a slam, a clunk, a thud, all louder than usual.
A second of muted bliss before the door crashed closed and the anticipated peal of the alarm kicked everyone into gear. By time I’d made it out of bed, still wiping the sleep out of my eyes, I saw her shoot off in Alec’s car.

I never got to see what she planned on eating. I’d hoped to beat Mayrse to the punch—I wanted to help her before someone else had to—but Isabelle was already on her radar. It was too late for her. I know that now.

But after what I saw between her and Simon on Wednesday, I wasn’t even sure if Mayrse could faze her. She’ll have that change of heart soon, right? Nobody else will have to help her. She’s got this. Doesn’t she?

Well, that’s what I’d hoped. In reality it seemed like a delusion.

Thursday evening she’d come home dead. Not literally, but nearly, I’m sure, seeing as that purple lunchbox was still in the pantry when I left for school. Not that she couldn’t have taken another one, or bought something once she got downtown, but I’m only kidding myself. She wasn’t going to eat much if she didn’t have rehearsal—it’s been that way for months.

I stayed awake waiting for her. As if I could do something, though I knew I couldn’t. Once her door was closed for good, and her music had dulled to a buzzing hum, and it seemed like she was okay and everything was okay, I’d finally closed my eyes. As I fell asleep, all I could think of was Simon’s last attempt.

It was all for nothing. That change of heart was a long way off.

So this morning I woke up angry, and sad, and I loathed today even if I was supposed to be excited about me and Clary and this dumb ass bet. How could I? My sister can’t keep down what little she eats anymore, my adoptive mother is crying on the counter, my real mother is nonexistent…that’s how I feel. Nobody ever seems to ask, but I don’t really care to tell.

But hell. I’ve never been so happy to be wrong in my life. Isabelle looked radiant, and she looked ravenous, and for once she looked like she was doing something about it.

She paused awkwardly in the center of the kitchen, looking lost like a child alone in a mall, pulling on her fingertips as her eyes darted around. Stalling, she checked her shoes, checked the time, checked Mayrse whose head was still down as she’d moved to sweep up the snow, finally.

From my spot at the fridge I watched Izzy glide off toward the pantry, stopping just outside, rocking on her heels. She looked absolutely petrified, utterly apprehensive—for good reason, of course. But brighter than that, something that Mayrse and I were praying to see, dying to see was that determination in her expression. It was there—even if her eyes, her lips, her entire body seemed to scream “I’m so scared.”

She’s not holding herself back anymore.

Our pantry was long and winding, and it got smaller and darker the further you went. Robert was still gone who knows where, and nobody else really knows how to fix the last strip of lights. Either nobody knows how, or nobody cares, which was fine if you didn’t mind hitting your head once the ceiling dropped about a foot. By that point you were forced to crouch unless you’re below four feet tall—and only Max qualified under those conditions.

And judging by the clunk, Isabelle had forgotten all about that.

“Shiiii—”

“Language, Izzy.”

“Shoot.”

Much better.

“Ow.” She mumbled, emerging from the pantry and rubbing an invisible mark on her forehead. “Ow. Ow. Didn’t see that coming, just—Mom?”

Mayrse looked up from the paper she wasn’t actually reading, eyes wide. “Yes, Isabelle?” She was already moving towards her daughter, her face overcome with relief and streaked with astonishment. Isabelle didn’t notice. “Do you need something?”

“Yeah, um,” She was nervous. Her hands were winding again and her gaze was focused on the floor. “Do we have anything? For breakfast, I mean?”

Mayrse was beaming, and Isabelle seemed to grimace as her mother showered her with that odd sort of affection. It was the love that generates that almost guilty feeling. The one you get when, out of the blue, your mother says “I love you,” and you feel like you’ve been put on the spot. Or when you get smothered by her kisses on the first day of school and you don’t know how to react.  You feel like maybe you don’t deserve it, or it’s just too awkward to return the favor, but for some reason parents realize that you’re not really expected to return it right then and there.

Mayrse was the best at that—her affection was everlasting—and she continued to beam for the next ten minutes, despite the fact that Isabelle was probably the pickiest eater I’ve ever known. She shot down everything Mayrse suggested, cereal was too sugary, breakfast sandwich had too many calories, omelets made her sick, you name it.

Yet, she insisted she had to eat this morning. Real food, no more protein bars, and that was enough for us to put up with it.

“I’m tired of being hungry.” She’d said.

And Mayrse just nodded, still tearing up, still smiling.

I on the other hand just threw the box of frozen waffles at her. So maybe it wasn’t Isabelle’s definition of a decent wake up call, but her reaction gave me a good laugh and she knew it. Her eyes were the size of saucers now, and her fingers clutched the box like a lifeline. A good chunk of her hair had, miraculously, ended up in her mouth and her cheeks were beginning to flush.

Caught off guard was an understatement. But it was a decent catch. I’ll give her that.

“They taste good.” I said simply, tearing one the waffles in half and trying not to make a face as the steam burned my fingers. “They taste fine and they keep you full, but read the label since I know you’re into that crap.”

My noise, once again, was met with silence, and now that silence was paired with stares. Mayrse’s sad eyes were offset by a weary smile. Isabelle’s glance was more like a glare. Max had woken up some time ago and walked in; he was staring at me while he stole one of the three waffles that sat steaming on my plate. I pretended like I didn’t notice and let him have it. He ran off giggling, victorious.

And not five minutes later Mayrse was chasing after him, demanding he sit down and eat his waffle on a plate. I’d finished the remainder of my breakfast—and for once it looked like Isabelle would, too. She guarded the toaster, watching with a sort of smirk as Max gave us all a hard time. He seemed to have fun spewing useless information that he’d picked up during class, or maybe he’d read in some thick book that 10 year olds really shouldn’t be interested in. But regardless of this morning’s…dramatic events, everyone took a moment to notice Isabelle as she left for the car. Mayrse stopped mid-grounding, Max stopped mid-fact, I stopped mid-laugh.

She’d called goodbye, left the door open for me.

And she’d taken the lunchbox graciously. Without a fuss.

XXX 

She ate slowly as I drove, but she was eating all the same.

And I had no idea what it meant. It didn’t matter how much I saw with my own eyes, this entire morning seemed like some surreal dream.

Was it finally over? Is this the end? Is this even real?

It was too early to tell. When you’ve watched somebody fall that deep in their own hole you got desperate. Any gain is a massive gain—even if it was all in your head….

Hopefully it wasn’t another false alarm—like last year, like this year. I’ve watched these months go by. I’ve seen her slip in and out of herself more that I would care to admit. But I wasn’t done watching her, not yet. I wasn’t done protecting her the way any brother should and would—

            God, I just wish it wasn’t from herself.

Plain waffles, two of them, and an old bottle of water. The latter sat twisted and deformed in the cup holder next to her while she picked and tore at the first. She regarded both with little interest, but still, she didn’t stop.

But I couldn’t quite tell if it was because she wanted to, or because she felt my stare at every red light.

My eyes flitted away from her as the light flashed green, and hers flicked to mine as we peeled off. I tried not to notice, or, you know, turn to stone.

Don’t look her in the eye.

“So, Izzy,” I said to the windshield. To be perfectly clear, I was staring at the road—or maybe it was just my reflection….

I focused on the road. “How was…um…”

Shit. I was never good at small talk. Most of the time my conversations were along the lines of, “Hi I’m Jace Wayland. Let’s have sex.” Somehow all the girls bought it. I never really spoke for the rest of the night or did much of anything—if you know what I mean….

Isabelle has, and always will be a different story entirely. “How was…crap.” Fuck. I actually had no clue how to make this un-awkward. Watch, I was going to say something really—

“Oh! Senior Showcase! Yeah, how was that for you?”

I was going to say something really stupid.

Brilliant job, Jace.

There was a pause before she answered, and I knew it was because she was glaring at me. It was a terrible, irrelevant, explosive question. We both knew it.

Talk about awkward—Senior Showcase is the on-earth equivalent to hell. Talking about it to anybody,especially a senior dancer should be a federal offence. It was a great way to get called out, cussed out, and beat down. The entire school knew that.

“Are you really asking me about Senior Showcase, Jace?” She grumbled, words clipped.

Don’t look her in the eye.

“Yes?” My shoulders shrugged. I tried to play it cool.

“What, was it really that bad?” Yes, dumbass! “Do dancers not talk about it or something?” Of course they don’t, idiot! AndI’m pretty sure my voice just cracked. “It really not that big a deal…” No big deal? Are you insane?! I think I was, and I was probably sweating bullets, too.

Isabelle didn’t seem to notice. But she was staring, or rather, scowling straight ahead. “Oh, it’s a huge deal.” She defended. “We talk, we write papers, we cry. Dance Showcase isn’t some joke you just show up to. We train for that.” I watched her eyebrow rise as she folded her arms across her chest, the waffles sliding across her lap as I made a wide turn. She didn’t care about it at all and looked out the window instead, away from me.

“It was fine.”

“Fine? That’s it?” I feigned disappointment, pulse spiking. “It went on for a week at school and all you can say is fine?”

“Well gee, Jace. Maybe if you had asked me in November when it actually happened then I’d remember all the juicy details!” She stuffed a piece of waffle in her mouth, huffing and grouching as her jaw clenched.

I’d officially entered the danger zone, and there wasn’t going to be an easy way out…

Forward, march.

“So how were the dance master classes with the colleges?”

“Fine.”

“And the big audition at the end?”

“Brutal.”

“And the solo you had to perform?”

She let out a sigh of frustration. “Were you even there for my performance that night? Or the night after when we performed the pieces in the fall show?”

“Of course I was.”

So salty.

“And don’t you, you know, live with me?”

“Obviously.”

So much sodium.

“Then how come you don’t already know the answers to these dumb ass questions?”

“Okay, ten minutes ago you were dishing out hugs and now the claws are out.” She ripped another chunk of breakfast into her mouth. “What’s up with you?”

She didn’t hesitate to answer. “Well, you’d think after you’ve finished all you applications, and scheduled all your auditions, and written all your papers, and pulled out enough hair that people would stop asking you about Senior Showcase.” She crossed her arms again, and if she were standing she would’ve sat in her hip. Sass levels were high. “I guess I was wrong.”

“Look, Isabelle,” She glowered down at her lap at the sound of my voice. “Are you going to check-in with me or not? So what if it was weeks ago, surely you have something left to say about something don’t you? Jesus, you never want to talk to me about any—!”

“Fine! Jace. Fine.” She shouted, hands shooting to her temples as if I was the cause of her sudden, imaginary headache. “The master classes were long, and hard. Longest two days of my life.”

Ah ha! An opening in the clouds, damn near. “Why is that?” I pressed, loosening my grip on the wheel. No wonder my fingers were aching.

Her attitude seemed to dissipate as she spoke. “Why were they long? Are you crazy? I was dancing from 9 to 4 without a break! Well, there was lunch but—anyways—” She puffed. “I had splits on nearly every toe and I was so sore I couldn’t figure out how to walk. My tights almost ripped. I ran out of Epsom salt…” She was putting her claws away, and she waved her hands around to animate the story. “Some of the classes were really fun and then others were just like—what the hell, you know? Like, going from Afro-Modern to Ballet? Worst decision of my life. I don’t know why I signed up for those classes back to back. But then again, I ended the day with improv, so that was nice, right?”

I nodded. I had no idea. I wasn’t even sure she was speaking English.

“I mean, NYU’s classes were fun. They were the best hands down. Their Cunningham class was to die for and—get this—the teacher that came to recruit for the school knew my name by the end of the week!” She was on the verge of squealing. “And then on Friday after the audition we had she told me that they want me to audition for their program! They say I’m a shoe-in, Jace. A shoe-in!”

“A shoe-in, huh?”

“Yes!”

“And again, what was the audition like?”

“Nerve-wracking. Terrifying!” She giggled.

She giggled? Isabelle was confusing the crap out of me today…

“We were in the theatre for half the day dancing onstage,” she went on. “All the recruiters were in the audience, and if the dance teachers weren’t teaching class then they were watching us, too.  It was like we were fish in the aquarium or something. Even the junior dancers were there, taking notes based off of us—God, it was awful.” She stopped to take a breath and snag a sip from the water bottle, though she made a face after realizing that the water may or may not be around three months old. Or may or may not be water…

On another note, he waffle was shrinking, and if I knew if I made her keep talking it would be gone in a heartbeat.

But I didn’t have to make her do anything—she continued her story on her own accord. “I was near the back for ballet barre until they switched the lines around. And it was nice having Ms. Kimball teach—all the seniors love her and knew her style so the class wasn’t too overwhelming. Ballet was good, I did alright in Jazz. I nearly passed out because—”

My face blanched.

“Because I thought I was going to forget the jazz combination. Can you believe that?”

My heart started beating again.

“I mean, I knew the damn combo by heart. I’d only worked on it twice a day for three weeks and had to listen to Cat yell at the seniors every jazz class. And I’m still recovering from marley-burn after sliding all over the floor in modern. My toe might be broken, and this bruise still hasn’t gone away…”

No big deal, right?

Apparently not, she was beaming just like Mayrse. “But it was all worth it because—!”

I filled in the blank. “NYU?”

“YES. Jace, I can’t explain. I’m so—excited!”

That time she actually squealed.

“You know, I never pegged you as the ‘excited for college’ type.”

She relaxed back into her seat. “Well, I was freshman and sophomore year. Then everything went to shit junior year…” She trailed off and took another bite. “But, I’m not sure what happened, really. One second Simon was talking about Columbia, and next thing I know I’m thinking about New York, too.”

There was a sudden lift in her voice at the mention of Simon’s name. So subtle, although she was completely oblivious. Completely dazed.

“Oh yeah. How’srat boy been lately?” I egged. “Ratish? Geeky? Significantly inferior to my drop dead gorgeous good looks and undeniable charm?”

“Fuck you, Jace.” She pegged me once in the arm. “He’s been fine, I guess. You see him about as much as I do, don’t you?”

“I mean, sort of.” I pondered. “He’s in my music classes. And we have Calculus BC together, and Government, and English…”

“He’s literally in all of your classes, isn’t he?”

“No. Not Chemistry, no, that’s all you!” I grinned. “Yeah, I bet you two have tons of fun hooking up before every project you have to do at home, huh?”

“Jace!”

“Kidding. Mostly.” I glanced at her again. “Aren’t you two, like, sleeping together yet?”

“Jace, we’re just friends!”

“Just friends?” I swerved into another lane. “You sure about that? Because he’s checking you out all the time. Like he’s really into—are you blushing?”

“No!”

She was totally blushing.

“Isabelle! You know better!” I scolded. “There are only two kinds of people that blush at the mention of a boy! Twelve-year-old girls,” I swerved again, watching her scramble to keep her center. “And chicks that don’t have enough sex.”

“JACE.”

“When’s the last time you—?”

“JACE WAYLAND WE ARE NOT HAVING THIS CONVERSATION.”

“Long time?”

“Ugh!” She shrieked. “Does it really matter?”

“Long time.”

“Three months is not a long time!”

“Yes it is.”

“Oh really?” The claws were back. “And you’ve slept with how many people since school started?”

“Psh.” I scoffed. “I’ve slept with like…”

“Hmm?” She nagged. “C’mon, Jace. This used to be your field! All you could talk about every single weekend!”

“Wait a minute.”

“Didn’t I…?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“How do you know what—who—I did and didn’t do?”

“I know because on the first day of school we made a bet that clearly said, ‘Clary Fray only. No sex.’” She popped the rest of the waffle into her mouth, feeling triumphant I’m sure. “Together by Christmas Break, remember?”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“Good.” She fell into her seat, hands placed comfortably behind her head.

I grinned. “But you have.”

“Wait. What?”

Now it was my turn to wear the crown. “Clary Fray only, yes. Couple by Christmas, yes. No sex, no. You said, and I quote, ‘try not to sleep with her,’ which is completely different than no sex at all, if I’m correct. And I usually am. So suck on that.”

Her eyes were menacing. If looks really could kill I’d be dead a thousand times over, or turned to stone, or both. But true to my hotshot idiocy, I kept talking anyways. “You said cheating equals automatic forfeit once we’re together, paper by the last day of school,” I smirked. “You have to remember I was the one that said no sex in your bet with Simon. You can’t sleep with him or you lose that iPod.”

She sighed and slid further into her seat, hands falling defeated to her sides, the empty napkin fluttering to the floor. “I guess I know what I want for Christmas.”

“Sex?”

“And this bet in writing.” She nodded. “With signatures. And an official witness.”

We looked at each other.

“Max.” We said in unison, and then fell out laughing just as the city came into view.

“You know,” I muttered again after a moment of silence. A wide curve took us over the entire city before dipping to ground level. “You can come to the reading tonight. If you want to, I mean.” She was shedding her jacket as I cranked the heat higher, but she still looked apprehensive. “Half price coffee?” I pressed. “That’s hard to pass up—and you have friends in Writing Club don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.” She said wearily, rolling up the sleeves of her sweatshirt. “But I think I’ll just head home after school today, I’m not really up for hanging around downtown tonight.”

“Okay, if you say so.” I sighed, looking down at her with a sad smile, and glanced once at her wrists, checking.

I almost crashed the car.

“You—You’re not wearing a bracelet today.” I blurted, completely astonished.

Completely stupid.

I couldn’t seem to keep my mouth shut at all. Here I go again.

If there were two things Izzy didn’t want to talk about today it was probably that 1) she was eating again, and 2) she wasn’t trying to cover her scars anymore. She’d probably kept quiet in an attempt to keep her life from being some melodramatic soap opera, no thanks to me. But my job isn’t over—we’ve been over this. She’s not out of the dark yet, and even if I’m not the one that can help her I wasn’t going to give up on her. Not again—not ever.

If her show this morning didn’t knock the wind out of me, what I’m looking at right now did. I guarantee it.

Is this it? Was it really over? Was this real?

It was still too early to tell, but her scars were disappearing just as fast as her breakfast. This couldn’t be some false alarm to mess with our heads. This was an effort on her part, it had to be.

“Oh, um.” Isabelle stared at her hands and let them flop into her lap. Fingers curled, a wrist turned upward slightly. I was expecting...

But that wasn’t what I saw. I’d been checking almost every day, sometimes discreetly, sometimes bluntly, and I still couldn’t pinpoint when she’d decided to stop, if she’d decided. It was a notion I couldn’t accept until I looked right at it.

I’m looking right at it. But it was too easy, and too hard to believe.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, brushing her hair off her shoulder and searching out her window again. “I guess I’m not. Wearing it. I guess...”

“Is there a reason?” I said quietly.

There was a small smile, but it didn’t touch her eyes as she started to knot her fingers together. “I figured if I stopped wearing them you’d stop looking for what’s underneath.” She shrugged and kept her sleeves rolled up. “It worked for the most part.”

My voice was quiet, dying. “I see. That’s good, I think…”

We both seemed to notice how our chatter was replaced by silence. The hilarity was ruined, and it wasn’t coming back.

She spoke first, but I had to strain to hear.

“…What happens then this is all over, Jace.” Isabelle whispered. Her eyes fixed straight ahead.

“Wh-what?” I stammered.

“What happens when I’m better, I mean.” Now she looked to me. “What happens when I start eating and stop…?”

She couldn’t say it any more than I could.

But she shook it off. “What happens when this bet is over? Do we go back to hating each other, teasing each other like grade-schoolers? We get distant and stop talking again, right?” Her breathing sped up as I merged off the highway, the lights in the underground tunnel flashing around us. Every time Izzy’s face lit up it was twisted into some deeper, more heartbreaking emotion. “I don’t want it to be like last year, Jace.” Her words were hushed and airy. “I’m terrified that one day I’m going to royally screw up and I’ll be right back where I started. I didn’t think it was possible until right before the Collab show. It was happening and I couldn’t stop it—and now everybody’s on my ass and I’m just trying to make it better on my own.” There was a nervous, sarcastic laugh, and my grip on the wheel tightened. “I don’t even know if this is real, Jace!” That made two of us. “I don’t know if this is me, or you, or Simon, or Mayrse I don’t know. But I’m getting better, aren’t I?” It sounded like a plea. “I’m eating again and I don’t feel sick! I’m not…I haven’t…” She jammed her sleeves down and winced into the sunlight as we emerged from the underground. Her thin fingers were spread pale white and wide as she blocked the sun from her face, muttering that “it’s got to be worth something. It has to.”

She looked to me now, waiting for answer, her black eyes now brown in the daylight. Yet, even after I’d brought up every unspeakable topic in this 50 minute car ride, in 50 seconds I couldn’t find the right words to save my life. Her brow furrowed, her face dropped. She checked, for the third time, the bag at her feet. Fingering through her folders and digging through her clothes, zipping it with a quick snap and slipping her jacket on. Her hand was on the handle, and the minute I put the car in park I knew she would bolt.

So I caught I sleeve before she could, and tightened my grip before she could shake me off.

“Izzy, wait.”

“I opened up to you and you didn’t say anything. You judged me, my own brother.”

“Isabelle, that’s not how it is.”

“Go ahead. Put it in the bet, I don’t care.” She tried to shake me off again. Her voice was thick. “Gain 10 pounds by Spring Break and stop cutting for good. Yeah I get it, Jace. I’m trying.”

“And you don’t think I see that?” I snapped. She was still struggling to escape, but I willed my voice to calm down. “Isabelle, I know you. You’ve fought this thing twice and that’s no easy fucking ride. I know that. But I’m trying to back you up as best as I can, I’m not screwing you over again. Please believe me on that.”

A pause.

“You’re the last person I should trust.”

“I know that, too.”

I said that slowly and let her go. She didn’t bolt, no, but her eyes were hurt and apprehensive. She had her body pressed to the door, far away from me, but she was listening to what I had to say.

I started to gather my things, reaching over my seat and dragging my bag over the median, sighing as I dropped my key into my pocket. “I don’t want to force you into anything anymore.” I fingered through my hair, grinning slightly. “The bet is still on, and I’m not gonna betting on this one, but I know you can do it.” I reached to unlock the car, refusing to break eye contact with her as she started to relax. “Just make sure that whatever you do, you do it because you want to.” I smiled. “That way it’s impossible to fail.”

I stepped out of the car and onto the gravelly parking lot, waiting for her to get her bearings, get her bags, and get out. But she seemed stunned, moving like molasses as she slung those giant ass bags over her shoulder and dragged herself out of the car. The wind fanned her hair across her face as the cold instantly reddened her cheeks. She huffed and clenched the straps at her shoulder, the other hand gripping the napkin between her fingers as she turned on her heel, starting off towards school without me.

I locked the car and followed behind her, putting a distance between us but not letting her out of my sight.

I didn’t dare to say one more word. For all I knew the look I’d receive would turn me to stone.

 XXX

ISABELLE

I tried to hold it in. I really did.

But at some point I realized that I couldn’t help myself.

I thought I could get through one round without twisting and squirming like an overexcited eight year old, but my body was determined to prove me wrong—much to my dismay. And I don’t need reminding, I know I’ve done this a million times before, but the longer this went on the more I realized how much I was lacking. My body needed this session terribly. It was almost sad how different it felt, embarrassing even. Every shift and stillness was wildly new, wildly familiar. But unfortunately for me, when new feelings arose new sounds ensued.

And all of them were against my will.

A moan broke free from my previously wound lips—a loud one that, somehow, seemed to alleviate this all-consuming sensation. This warm, vibrating pain that hurt so damn good that I wanted it to continue and end all at once….

My fingers curled harder into his back.

“Harder. Further—more.” I breathed, my words coming out quick and choppy, as if I could only speak in gasps. The sigh that followed was more like a shudder, and I watched, with pleasure, as he gave me more. His breath came out in a steady exhale, his face shifting with effort as he leaned into me and pressed his hands harder into my skin.

I crunched my toes. I squeezed my eyes shut. I bit my lip, pounded the floor—anything to keep myself from arching into him or worse: screaming.

Not at school. Absolutely not.

But I was inching closer to that point.

“By the angel!” I cried, and my insides continued to howl and writhe. “I’m so—ugh! Just—!”

His face was unreadable, but his drive and his passion were evident in his strength. Now his chest was flush with mine….

“Simon, keep going, you’re so good at this!”

“OOOOKAY, NOPE!” He croaked. “I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE.” And just like that he broke away, hauling ass across the tiny dance studio.

Fully clothed, might I add.

This was all PG-13 and far less kinky in context. I promise.

My aching hands clunked to the floor, but the rest of my body was glued in place.

“Simon!” I whined. No response—as expected. I didn’t have to look to know he was already sulking in a corner.

Sighing, hurting, I glanced up at my right leg, which was stuck—thanks to Simon’s help—by my right ear. My big toe touched the expanse of floor above my head. Both of my legs were rod-straight as if I were doing the splits on the ceiling. My sweatpants—that were completely on my body—slowly grazed the side of my cheek as I willed my long-ass leg to meet the other long-ass leg on the floor, and my entire body ached as I rested there. Nice, and warm, and loose on one side the way Simon left me.

As I let my muscles relax into the floor, one side responding more willingly than the other, I realized how desperately needed him to stretch the other leg—no matter how sexual it seemed to your average non-dancer. It’s necessity, I don’t know how else to explain it. Sure the positions are brutal, sure at first the pain is excruciating, and if I could go the rest of my life without stretching to be flexible I would. But the action is innate—branded in a dancer’s DNA—and our motive is plain as day: The more you do it the better it feels, and it looks pretty damnimpressive onstage. Not gonna lie.

But I’m starting to think the boy in the corner doesn’t understand the logic.

Either that, or my suggestion of partner stretching turned him on. But I’m hoping for my sake, and especially his, that it’s the former.

Though, if it were the latter it would be funny as hell.

“Simon.” I warned again, peeling my back off the polished floor and heading towards his hunched figure. I walked with a sort of limp on my right side. “You said you wanted to help me, didn’t you?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I said I wanted to eat lunch with you not—that!” He sneered at the wall.

“What?” I smirked, still approaching him. “I can’t help it if you’re good at stretching me before my dance classes!”

“Yes you can. Just be less flexible next time.” He scoffed with extra sass. “Maybe then the experience won’t be as exciting for either of us.”

Exciting?

So maybe it was the other reason….

I was dying laughing on the inside.

“Oh, please!” I sock-slid the rest of the distance, stopping smoothly behind him, although he still didn’t turn. “I’ve already explained the physics of stretching to you once,” I was poking a pattern onto his back and watching him squirm. “You have to do the other side now, too.”

“I don’t have to do anything.” 

“Please?” I pouted. “You have no idea what this feels like! I’m uneven.”

No comment.

My bottom lip jutted out, arms folding almost automatically. He was being so stubborn, and for what?

No, I take that back, I knew exactly what. Getting the chance to be up-close and personal with the Isabelle Lightwood would be a dream—any guy could tell you that. And yeah, boys will be boys—most of them begging to be with me no matter how busy, or skinny, or bitchy I was. So maybe it was a little wrong to seduce your friend into such a…compromising position. But according to every guy that’s ever heard my name, it’s what I do best.

According to me, it’s what I did best.

And besides, it’s only a little wrong, isn’t it?

It was just like dress up, just like acting. Smoldering at him as I drew in closer, tapping into this…inner sex goddess everyone swears I am. Teasing him without any effort at all—making circles on his neck, drawing a finger up his arm. His body tensed immediately and his breath caught mid-inhale, goose bumps appearing every place my hands passed by.

I had him wrapped.

“You know you want to….” I cooed, my lips just barely grazing his ear. “Just one more round…?”

He wasn’t facing me, but his beet red face was reflected across a thousand mirrors.

And three minutes later my left foot was over my head. All thanks to Simon.

And maybe just a little thanks to me.

“Okay, I’m good now.” I announced after losing feeling in my left leg.

Simon looked as if he just made bail. “Thank God,” He exhaled, darting to his lunchbox like a kid to recess.

I followed with much less vigor, taking the time to roll through my splits and sneak a peek at Simon’s blushing face. It was absolutely adorable. “You know, Simon,” I pondered, hovering over to a spot across from him. “Most guys would love to say they’ve been in that position. They’d jump at the chance the second I asked.” He wasn’t looking at me. His orange was more interesting, but I continued as I sat down on the floor. “It’s funny. You’re reactions make me think you’ve never done…that before.”

“No, I’m not having this conversation.” He muttered.

“Oh, but you should.”

“Oh, but I’m not.” He replied. “Don’t use any of that AP Psychology on me, it won’t work.”

“But seducing you did.”

“You weren’t seducing me, I was being nice.”

“Nah, you were melting in my hands—a little blushing beauty!” I beamed. “Don’t deny it Simon. You know lying to yourself is bad for you.”

“I’m not lying to myself! All I’m saying is—”

A pause then, like a needle coming off a record. His eyes shot up towards mine as his voice stopped mid-sentence. Mouth agape and completely frozen—he was staring at me, and I was gawking at him.

“…What?” I worried, suddenly self-conscious.

His response was quite cryptic, and even though I tried to locate the source of this sudden shock the only thing I could really do was make sure my friend didn’thave a heart attack. That’s exactly what it looked like. He was barely breathing, his eyes bulging as his features clenched, then softened, then clenched again.

Yet he was still staring intently at me with this sort of…relief.

“Oh my God.” He breathed, finally, his face coated with an outlandish astonishment.

“Simon…?” My confusion was now laced with alarm.

“Oh my God. Isabelle!”

“Oh my God. Simon, make words!” I was on the verge of shaking his shoulder like they did in movies.“I can’t tell if it’s me, or you, or—anything, just spit it out—!”

But not even I could finish my sentence now. Simon closed the distance with probably the roughest, sloppiest, tightest hug I’d ever been given.

It was more for him than it was for me, seeing as my wrists were pinned painfully between his chest and mine. His hands were just fine and were, suddenly invigorated with the strength of the divine. He squished me to him, forcing his chin protectively over my shoulder as his cheek stayed pressed to mine. His eyes were closed and my hands whined in protest, but it was probably one of the most comforting hugs I’ve ever received, and I couldn’t figure out why.

And I didn’t realize what he’d been staring at before, what made him freeze as if he’d seen an angel, until he pulled away. By then I saw it plain as day—all over his shirt.

“Oh. Shit. Simon, my lunch is all on your shirt—here—” I dived for my lunchbox, tossing out its contents haphazardly. Surely if two sandwiches, a full bag of popcorn, and what seemed like an entire pineapple made it in there one napkin should’ve too. “God, I’m sorry, I’ll get it off I—!”

“Izzy, stop it’s okay!”

“No it’s not!” I was still digging. By the Angel, Mayrse, where is it? “That’s one of your favorite shirts, isn’t it?” I looked up, exasperated. “The Avengers are covered in cream cheese now and—”

“Izzy, stop it. Stop that.” His hands latched onto my little arms, immobilizing them as I was forced to endure his stare. “Isabelle, I don’t care about the shirt. Alright?”

We took a breath, and I nodded reluctantly, instantly embarrassed as a shuddering exhale pressed my gaze to the floor.

“I care about you more than this over washed t-shirt, you know that. And if I had to guess, this little outburst has less to do with the shirt,” he paused to lift up my chin. “And more to do with, oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “This absolutely massive amount of food you brought to school.”

His tone wasn’t accusing, he didn’t even sound shocked, he sounded happy—genuinely thrilled with my sudden change of heart. I wasn’t even sure what this meant.

He was glowing, and I was still confused, even if it wasmy call.

Do it for yourself, Jace said.

I just hope that’s the case. Was this choice all on my own, or was it because of fear—because of expectance? Mayrse, Jace, Simon, hell, probably the entire dance cluster’s been watching me like a hawk. I could feel them wondering as I walked by, their stares of regret and surprise plainly asking if I was going to fight this thing again, or continue fighting myself.

They think I don’t notice. I know somebodystill thinks I’m crazy, or selfish, or overdramatic. But they didn’t really realize how long I tried—how hard I tried.

Not until now at least. Eat a bagel and rejoice.

I wiggled my arms out of his grip and started to repack my lunchbox. Simon immediately jumped in to help.

“When did you start eating again?” He whispered, as if the question couldn’t actually be asked aloud. And I never wanted it to be asked, not really. Questions spawn discussions, I’ve discovered. For some reason discussions involving me always end up here.Yet again, it’s anotherconfrontation from anotherboy in my life—the same as this morning, and the time before that, and before that….

But I can’t blame them anymore. I’m used to it by now. I got used to Jace’s bracelet checks, didn’t I? I took them quietly. I never brought it up. But I knew that silence wasn’t an option now. My friend was expecting an answer and I had to give it to him.

“This morning.” I mumbled. Sweeping my hair to my other shoulder and flicking my eyes away from him, I sighed again. “I decided that it would end this morning.”

I tried to avoid his gaze, but in the studio I couldn’t avoid those thousand mirrors. Simon’s reflection was so sadly happy that it made me want to kiss him and cry at the same time. I could only imagine, throwing my arms around him, his lips meeting mine as his hands circled around me. Sliding into his lap and latching into him, refusing to let go…

Snap out of it, Izzy.

I shook my head slightly, dismissing the thought as some starry-eyed fantasy, and falling back into this less exciting reality. I kept expecting him to say something, anything, but even after what felt like hours he was still silent, still surprisingly happy. So I filled the spaces in for him.

“You know, it’s almost laughable.” I confessed. “I tried not to make a big deal out of the whole thing. I mean, I know you’re ‘proud of me’ and whatnot but I don’t want the parade. No fireworks. I wanted normalcy, that’s all.” I shrugged roughly and laughed. “I wanted to get breakfast and go to school like any other kid would do, but no. I make a huge scene walking into the pantry and argue with my mom for ten minutes. Jace treated me like a twelve year old the entire morning, and now I look like I have OCD.” I zipped up the rest of my uneaten lunch and looked to him with sorry, sarcastic eyes. “Isn’t that just brilliant, Simon?”

He sighed and stroked my cheek, his fingers that were still so familiarly warm and calloused left trails of sparks in its path. His small smile was showing in his bright eyes. “Of course it’s brilliant, Isabelle. Fireworks aside this is amazing. I know it. You know it.” The small smile grew large, like a fire, and he was glowing again.  “I’d shout it to the world but then you’d never speak to me again. Isabelle, you have to know that this is fantastic!”

His happiness exploded into elation—it was so overwhelming that I felt the need to hold him tight, calm him down. But there was no hope in that, and the soft fingers that stroked my cheek mere seconds ago came alive with excitement and latched onto my shoulders, shaking me once violently as I was surrounded with his peals of laughter. “I know this sounds cheesy as hell, Izzy.” He went on. “But we have to celebrate tonight, we just have to.”

“What?” I sputtered, caught off guard and flattered. “I thought we said no fireworks!”

“No, you said no fireworks.” He flopped onto his back and pulled me down with him. “I think that you deserve them, don’t you?”

I was impressed by his gesture, but I was drained. When weekends a year ago held promises of parties and flings, the only thing I wanted now was sleep.

Another thing I wanted was to stay right where I fell: directly next to Simon’s face.

I started to inch away. “Oh, that’s so sweet, Simon. It is.” I sighed.

“But what?” He questioned, moving closer to me with his eyebrow raised. “You’re about to kill my vibe, Izzy. Don’t do it—!”

“I’m glad that you’re happy for me—”

“You’re doing it!”

“But I really think that—”

“You’ll regret it Izzy!”

“Simon, I just need some rest—”

“And I think that you just need a shot of—”

“Vodka?”

“I wish—wait. No!”

“Vodka.”

“Caffeine.”

“Or Vodka.”

“Or,” He pressed on. He wasn’t letting up. “Or. I can buy you that chai tea you used to love so much.” He tempted.

Now that caught my attention.

He saw my interest and was reeling me in. “Give me one reason why this sounds like a bad idea, Isabelle.”

I could only think of one.

“Today’s Friday, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t have rehearsal tonight?”

“No, your point?”

“Well, since it’s the end of the week and my brother is rehearsal free, too, that means after school I’m riding home with Jaaaacc—shit.”

“Your plans change?” His face lit up.

“Yeah.” I huffed, and I heard Simon whisper an enthusiastic “yes!” as I scooted away from him.

He caught my arm and pulled me back, still lying next to me.

“Jace has this thing tonight with—um.”

“With Clary?” He propped his head up on his elbow, surprisingly unaffected.

“Yeah,” I did the same. “Does that piss you off? Seeing them around all the time?”

“No, not really.” He shrugged lightly. “They’re kind of hard to miss. They’re the talk of the school, Ben B’s ‘most perfect couple,’ and Jonsey and Alex won’t shut up about them….” He glanced up at the ceiling. “We had our thing and moved on.” Now he glanced at me. “And now I’m over it.”

“Are you really, though?” I whispered, just like he did to me, staring at him intensely and trying my absolute damndest to read between the lines—searching for the truth in his eyes.

It was harder than it looked.

He shrugged again and nodded, not fully meeting my eyes. “More or less.”

“Is that good enough?”

He was quick to answer. “Only because I have you.”

My breath caught in my throat, my heart nearly stopped, but he didn’t even flinch as he said it, and he didn’t blink as he said it again. “You make me forget, and you make me remember, and I can see past the pretty face and into the real you, and to me you’re not missing a step.” He put a hand on my hip and pulled me tight to him, and this time I didn’t try to move. “You’re my best friend and you scare the crap out of me, but you’re such a badass that I can’t get enough of it.” He put his forehead to mine. “So please just let me buy you coffee, and dinner, and take you home tonight—and I mean that in the most PG way possible—because you deserve it.”

“So…” I breathed, drawing my hand up to his. “Did you just ask me out on a date?”

“What?” He flashed me a crooked smile. “Friends can’t just casually take friends out to dinner?”

“Look at the way you’re holding me!”

“What? Friends can’t just casually embrace on the floor?”

“Are you friend-zoning me?”

“What? Friends can’t just—?”

“No!”

“But best friends can.”

“Wait. What?”

“Best friends can do all of the above!”

“No they—”

“Yes they can!”

And he pulled me tighter to him for a split second, placing a kiss on my forehead before I could even register what was happening. He broke away from me as quickly as the first time, but there was a sense of longing still resonating between us. That tiny ache that comes from separation, like waking up from a really nice dream….

“Meet me in the sculpture yard.” He said, scooping up his bag and reaching to help me to my feet.

Goosebumps appeared everywhere his hands passed.

Luckily for me, he left before my glowing pink face could be seen on those thousand mirrors. And even though this lunch was spent alone with him—completely unsupervised in a tiny dance studio with no windows—nothing happened. No action.

As I swept up my bags and started off towards my ballet class, I realized that three months was a really long time.

And that unfortunately, Jace was right about almost everything.

XXX

He curled his arm around my shoulders, a protective hand encasing my arm, and with my bags safely in his car and ready for our late-night ride home I melted into Simon’s embrace. As we tromped our way to Pei-Wei, our white breaths intermingled as we spoke. Simon insisted at the stoplight that I wear his beanie to keep my head warm. I insisted under the overpass that he zip up his jacket. Both of us insisted the whole way that we stay as close as possible. Body heat was the best way to keep warm after all—though that one was left unsaid.

Golden brown pine needles dusted the long, tree-lined sidewalk. Falling like snowflakes and piling up like leaves, they skirted around our feet on the last stretch to the restaurant. The entire length I had to resist the urge to jump from stone pillar to stone pillar, the large ones spaced in between the towering trees, knowing from freshman experience that the leap was larger than it looked and took more energy than I was willing to give. Besides—I could hear the sass in my head—Simon would be freezing if I left his side. This is all for him, not for me. I said yes to make him happy.

At least, that’s what I had to tell myself. It’s what I wanted to believe.

I refused to admit to this fear, this apprehension in my head. It was like walking into a warzone—I could never let my guard down no matter how comfortable and safe I felt. Relationships are a ruse.

They’re all for fun, aren’t they? All insubstantial, ethereal surface-feelings, right? It’s just a cute little crush. Right?

I hoped so, because after last year I’d convinced myself that “true love” was an urban legend—some myth in a story that I’d forgotten the words to. But it’s been ages since a boy has wanted anything this…chaste with me.

Forget chastity, it’s been ages since a boy has held me like this, or dated me like this, or treated like I wasn’t a trophy to some game…

But this isn’t love, is it? It doesn’t exist—I’d gotten used to that fact a long time ago. Lust, I’d discovered, was tangible. Love, on the other hand, was not. And you can get close to that myth; I did once a while back. But that was history. Old, unpleasant history that I really didn’t want to bring up if I didn’t have to.

But unfortunately, it looked like I had to.

Simon had an agenda that was far different from my own. It was full of chance discussions and oddball questions that he spat out in order to “get to know me better”—a highly personal Q and A that seemed unavoidable. But I’d gotten away with being mysterious for this long. It looked like my grace period of secrecy came to a close the minute I’d said yes to this date—the minute I’d let him be my friend and bawled my eyes out in front of him.

I guess this was the price I had to pay. And let’s just say I haven’t paid up in a long time.

Echoing my doubts, he’d blurted so innocently, “What was your last relationship like?” as we turned the corner, leaving pine needles and pillars behind us.

I also left my peace of mind. I wanted to roll my eyes and throw up at the thought of my last relationship—and this stupid question—but I fought the urge to grimace as he went on, and I tried to be as pleasant as possible.

It was a challenge.

“What was he like?” He bleated. “Was he a complete asshole, or just your average amount of cocky? I mean, he had to be better than that douche at the party, right?” He was oddly into his question and was completely oblivious to the scowl on my face. As he shook his head his glasses wiggled down his face, and he shoved them up as he went on. “That was unforgivable, Izzy. Completely heartbreaking and dirty—”

“Can we not get into that right now?” I muttered, my words tumbling over each other as I fixed my eyes straight ahead. The longer this conversation went on the antsier I got. “I know it’s the past and all, and they say to let that crap go and bury the hatchet. But there are some things that I want to forget. Some things I’d rather not talk about—”

“No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He murmured, cheeks slipping to a deeper red. He glanced at his surroundings rather than meeting my eyes. “That was random and impolite and over the line. Forget I said anything. I’ll stop bombarding you with questions; I’m totally not into that anyways...”

His words fell as his lips fluttered closed, and is grip loosened for a short second before tightening once again. He pursed his mouth shut and held me closer as he decided not to let go. Our steps seemed to echo across Uptown Dallas, the streets and crosswalks nearly deserted even on a Friday afternoon.

We felt alone, and I instantly felt terrible.

I was kicking myself on the inside for bringing this up, but an upset Simon, though quiet, was the hardest to ignore. He never meant wrong, I knew that.

So when I said, “It really shouldn’t be a big deal.” I meant it as a chastisement for myself, not him. I breathed the words, extra sounds whizzing out of my mouth when my fists clenched slightly, and my lips caught between my teeth. “It’s me, I’m sorry.” I replied with an exhale. I took a deep breath before continuing, reluctantly. “I know I’m not an easy book to read. And there’s no reason you shouldn’t get an answer, just—” I hated this part of the story. “My last so-called ‘boyfriend’ left a lot to be desired…but he was my boyfriend regardless. Granted,” My voice dropped into sarcasm. “We constantly saw other people, he was terrible at talking about his feelings, and the breakup wasn’t really a breakup…but we held hands and bought each other gifts and stuff. You can think what you want, but that was the only thing that made him…different than everybody else.”

In plain English: He was a charismatic, unsympathetic asshole—and no. I’m not talking about Jace this time, thank God.

But he did buy me this really nice ring…

I pawned it after we broke up.

“In my mind it was nice, you know?”  I went on with a brighter attitude this time. “We went on dates, we went to parties—believe it or not we dated for like, four months. And before you say that isn’t a long time, I’m telling you it was. It was the longest consecutive time I ever saw a guy—” I stopped myself, shoulders slumping. “And now I sound like an entry in the record books. Great.” I grinned in annoyance, but felt Simon laugh as we approached the restaurant. The guilt I initially felt started to melt away.

“So you didn’t only see him while you were dating?” Simon glanced at me as he shoved a hand into his pocket.

“Of course not.” I breezed. “I slept with like, two other guys while we were dating. He hooked up with, I think, maybe three or four girls?” I waved it off. “I can’t remember. Not important anymore, anyways.”

“How does that work?”

I shrugged. “What you don’t know can’t hurt. You just don’t talk about it, I guess.”

“Like….” He searched for the word, reaching to stroke his chin. “Like…like cheating?”

I nodded slightly. He was right…more or less. Cheating was only cheating if you were exclusive—and until this year I didn’t even know the meaning of the word. Back then it was just main guys and side guys. You had your favorites and your newbies and everyone in between…All this to say, no, me and my last boyfriend were not exclusive. But according to about 75% of the high school population, that didn’t even make us a couple.

Simon was astounded by the idea. “You just put up with that? Four different girls in four months?” He gawked as he held the door open, and we hushed our voices as the door signaled our arrival. Waiting for a moment until all three adults in the room scrutinized us teenagers for “invading their space.” The longer you went to school in the city, the more you got used to adults treating you like children. It was unavoidable.

Although, after that moment was up Simon kept talking as he put in his order. “You weren’t self-conscious?” He hissed to me. “You didn’t worry about it at all?”

“I was. I did.” I slipped out of his grip, and he caught my hand instead. “But I saw him every day—had him almost every weekend. There was no time to be worried, really.”

“Wait.” His eyes went wide. “He went to Ben B.?”

“Yeah. In music.”

“For what?”

“Piano.”

“Figures.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“What year was he?”

“Graduated last year.” He laced his fingers between mine. “You probably know him, Simon. Think.”

“Oh…let me guess,” He said as he slid into the booth. “Dark eyes. Pale blond.”

“Kind of gorgeous?”

“Really pretentious.”

“Really hot?”

“A total dick?”

“Yeah, well I know a lot about dicks. Wait no. That came out wrong.”

“But Sebastian? For four months, really?”

I feigned innocence. “I was sold, Simon. What can I say?”

“You can say ‘ew.’”

“More like ‘yum.’” I muttered under my breath.

“You say something?”

“No,” I looked away. “I think you’re hearing things.”

His eyes narrowed, but he brushed it off, the thought evaporating as his steaming food was dropped in front of him. “But why?” He asked in between bites. He looked starving. “If you admit that he’s a total douche then why bother?”

“For starters he was really good in bed.” I dropped my voice low as I scooped up a tiny spoonful of rice. Adults also didn’t like when teenagers talked about sex, especially when they weren’t getting any. “He was cute, and charming. He cared a little bit, but not much else mattered to me at that point.” I glanced at my bowl, and then at Simon who was staring at me. My eyes flicked back down. “It’s different now, I’m glad. I probably wouldn’t be able to handle him this year.”

The laughed that followed was high pitched and fake—some sort of silence filling, involuntary reaction. We both could tell.

But Simon, being the gentleman he was, pretended not to notice. “Well, let bygones be bygones.” He smirked. “That’s what people always say whenever they talk about ex’s, I think…”

“I’ll drink to that.”

The old lady next to us gasped.

We rolled our eyes.

“Okay, it’s my turn now, Simon. You’re not getting out of it this time.” I teased.

“Not getting out of what?” He was preoccupied with his chopsticks and his mouth was completely full.

My eyes narrowed. “Talking about all the times you and Clary hooked-up.”

I swear, I thought he was going to choke.

I tried not to laugh as he fought for his breath, but his face was redder than a tomato. Somehow after all of that he’d manage to fix his face into a frown, lip poking out and arms crossed. “I don’t want to—”

“Too bad.” I cut off his whining and he slumped in his seat.

“How long did you two date?”

“The entire summer.”

“Did you get her gifts?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Did you guys kiss?”

“Of course we—”

“Did you shower her in love?”

“What the h—”

“Did you guys have—”

“Shut up.” He clipped.

“Well,”

“Shut up!”

“Did you or did you not bang—!”

“Shhhhhh!” He hushed, eyes darting around the almost empty restaurant, nodding slightly. “You got an answer now hush, Izzy!” He gnawed on his lip, and I didn’t have the heart to point out that his face was reddening again.

I don’t know why he was getting so worked up. My questions weren’t that loud, were they?

I dropped my voice lower anyway, I felt like a gossip queen. “How’d it end? Was it messy? Who dumped who?”

He wiggled his shoulders like he was preparing for a fight, taking his time to finish his last bite of noodles before glancing at my half-eaten bowl of plain brown rice. I’d set my fork down a while back, sliding my dish to the center and waiting for the table to be cleared, but we didn’t need to talk about that right now.

He sighed and snuggled into the corner of the booth, getting comfortable and matching my body language as his eyes began to droop. This was going to be a long story, I could tell.

“It was the last week of summer,” He began lazily. “Clary made this huge deal of planning this date-thing in a field not too far from our neighborhood. It used to be our place when we were younger, and we didn’t have to drive to get there, thank God, because she’d managed to sneak wine coolers out of her Mom’s house and made a huge scene by cracking the first one, and the next, and—well, you catch my drift. I laughed every time she cringed into me because a bee flew by, she threatened to throw my glasses in the nearby stream, playful stuff, you know?” His voice dropped an octave as we went on.

“We watched it get dark, sort of curled up in the grass as the sun set. It was getting late and we were stumbling our way home. Her mom was out of town for some art thing. My mom was getting Rebecca settled in with school, so she was gone for two days. Again, thank God, because we were a complete mess.” He sighed. “But I walked her to her door, and she looked at me once and just started bawling. I had no idea what was up. Clary Fray doesn’t just spontaneously burst into tears—I thought she was just a sad drunk—and it really wasn’t all that bad until she started talking. That’s when it all went to shit.”

He tore his eyes away from mine, his gaze fluttering around until it settled on something in the distance. He folded his hands behind his head, trying to act nonchalant. He didn’t realize his eyes were turning green. “She threw her arms around me,” He continued, “Sobbing into my shoulder about how she ‘missed when we were friends.’ I remember her words were slurred and they muffled in my shirt when she spoke. She told me—and I’m surprised I remember this at all, honestly—‘When it’s like this it’s not the same—it feels wrong. We feel wrong.’ She pulled away from me and shook her head, and the tears were still pouring down her face, but she kept talking. ‘I can’t do it…’ She’d whispered. ‘I can’t deal with us anymore.’”

His eyes rounded back to mine, and he sniffed as he sat upright again. “I think I stood there for maybe ten minutes before I realized she’d already gone back inside. And then trying to find my way home in the dead of night and completely hammered was a trip, too.” Simon scratched the nape of his neck as his eyes closed. “I tried to forget it, we both did. We tried to be friends again. But I pushed too hard, said some things I regret, and that was the end of that…”

Simon smiled once and hopped out of the booth, reaching for my hand to pull me to my feet. Fingers lacing between mine immediately, he guided us out the door and back into the cold. “So, basically,” He said this brightly. “Clary kicked my heart in the ass.”

“And you two haven’t spoken…?”

“Not since school started.” He shrugged. “It was awkward on the first day, of course. She completely ignored me, didn’t want to sit with us anymore, found a new group of friends. She seemed fine and I felt like I was drowning!” He laughed, and it was that same fake laugh that slipped out of my mouth earlier. “I’m not saying that she changed,” He said slowly, his words were muted. “Just that we did. Our relationship did. And I don’t think I could ever rekindle it, so…”

He wrapped his arm around me again. For a moment we fell into silence.

“Is this where I say sorry?” I mumbled.

“No, it isn’t. Don’t worry about that. This,” He grinned, “Is when we go get hopped up on half-price caffeine, sit on a couch, and listen to high-schoolers read their poetry.”

I grimaced at the mention of high-schoolers, even if I did see them every day. And yeah, sure, the kids at my school were different—to say the very least—but I didn’t want to hang around a swarm of agnsty teenagers for too long tonight. I was kind of being a hypocrite.

We both sighed at the idea.

“Or we could just get coffee and leave.” I suggested.

“Yeah, I like that idea better,” Simon hugged me closer, chuckling. “I always knew you were brilliant.”

“What can I say?”

“How about,” He wondered aloud. “’This is the best not-actual-date-date I’ve ever been on in my life, period.’”

I smirked back at him. “Okay, now you’re pushing it.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“I really don’t think I am.”

“You are.”

“Well then,” Simon cooed, suddenly smooth and charismatic. His eyes flashed as he stopped dead in his tracks. “I’ll just have to find a way to prove you wrong.”

His hand slipped quietly off my shoulder, trailing along my back, fingers drifting over my jaw before they found a gentle hold on my chin. Softly twisting his body towards mine, his other hand snaked around my hipbone, eager to snatch away the distance between us. Simon’s eyes were blazing, and I was hyperaware, registering the heat that surrounded me, standing out fiery hot when the cold wind surged around us. Gasping slightly when my pulse spiked as he began to lean in, eyes dropping shut when he guided me closer…

Too fast, yet so agonizingly slow.

Our lips touched, and in that moment everything shifted, everything changed. Suddenly we couldn’t get enough of each other, but there was no lust. His stance didn’t turn. My body didn’t move. Our lips did all the work in one simple kiss. One instance somehow stretched into a blissful eternity. Our empty, twinkling surroundings evaporating until it was just us. Until it was just our lips and that one kiss that I wanted to last forever.

I didn’t want them, but I got them regardless.

Fireworks, and fire, and passion matched with a fluttering sweetness, a comfortable softness. For once there was chastity—and for some reason that was more fulfilling than any raunchy endeavor I’d ever gotten tangled into.

Those beautiful feelings resonated even as he pulled away, a muted disbelief settling over us like snowfall. And even as we regained feeling and life into our limbs, setting off towards our destination—

Fireworks were still bursting in the back of my head.

XXX

JACE

Clary was holding my hand again.

Except now our fingers weren’t the only things intertwined.

She leaned lazily into my shoulder, our arms flung haphazardly across our bodies. Her tiny frame was half on my lap, half on the worn leather loveseat that sat in the middle of the coffee shop. Our seat. Our spot, since no one dared take up the space of the couple “forged in the crucible of writing” as Mr. David had so eloquently bellowed the minute Clary and I stepped into the place.

She’d tossed her legs across mine, feet dangling and tapping in midair as they threatened to knock over the—precariously placed—coffee cup on the end table. But Clary, being as absentmindedly focused as she was, only made sure that her hair wasn’t in my face or that she wasn’t completely sitting on my lap. Somehow she was convinced that 100 pounds was enough to get my legs amputated, or that throwing her hair into a sloppy bun was the best option no matter how much she shifted and squirmed. Her one-track mind was adorable, but steadfast. I didn’t try to tell her otherwise.

I moved the cup to the center of the table, away from its impending doom.

“So, how was your day?” I asked, brushing a stray curl behind her ear.

“You asked me that question already.”

“How’s your winter art project coming along?”

“It’s coming.” She puffed, irritated. “Don’t ask.”

Her eyes connected with mine, and they danced away again.

“Got any plans for break?”

“Not yet.” She grunted.

“You are just like Isabelle.” I murmured, too low for her to hear.

She didn’t even notice.

It was 6:00. By now the darkness had fallen over Dallas and the shop was packed with students. Most on their phones, few listening to the freshman, Eric, I think his name was, wail about his ‘nefarious loins’ or something. I tried to hardest to block it out and zone in on the task at hand, but Clary was more distracted and antsy than I’d ever seen her. Every 30 seconds she clicked her phone on and off, harrumphing when the status never changed and her inbox stayed empty. She’d start on a sketch then abandon it. Sip on a coffee and let it get cold. Yeah she was in my arms, but after all this time I’ve never felt farther away from her than I did tonight.

And tonight was the worst night for that to happen.

“Hey,” I called to her, waving a hand in front of her face, trying to bring her focus back as it drifted. “Clary, did something happen?”

“What?” She drawled, floating back to me, completely dazed.

“You’re a million miles away,” I dipped my voice low and had to fight to hold eye contact with her. “You keep checking your phone and have barely said a word all night. Something’s got to be going on.”

I watched her face slip, her features receding into an upset scowl as a groan echoed from her throat. “If I tell you would you pretend to care?”

“I wouldn’t have to pretend.”

“Will you promise not to say anything snarky?”

“Well—”

“My mom called an hour ago,” Clary cut me off. “She called me the minute I got here—she knew I had this thing tonight but couldn’t wait until I got home.”

“You think she did it on purpose?”

“Yes!” Clary whined, then changed her decision. “No?” Her face fell. “I don’t know. All I know is that I’m pissed off—”

Not good.

“At her.”

Clary slumped into me, her hand falling out of mine as she reached to push through her tied up hair. “My dad called her. Said he wanted to see me over break to ‘catch up’ and stuff. Apparently he went on and on about how he ‘misses his little girl.’ And my mother—she’s so naïve and actually believed what he said! What can’t she see it’s such bullshit? He’s messing with our heads again and I’m sick of his crap.”

Clary was fuming. I moved my hand to her back, attempting to offer solace. She didn’t respond to my touch, and didn’t look at me as I spoke.

“I take it you don’t want to see him.”

“No!” She wailed, eyes rolling, face flushing red. “I chose my mom for a reason. But she’s not helping much now either so…I’m screwed.” Her bun bounced as she shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe her.”

Clary’s eyes started to water, not in sadness but in frustration as her lips scrunched into a pouting grimace. All the while her hands were knotting into fists, her red cheeks glowing. I knew now that Clary’s dad was…far from a nice guy. Fairly wealthy on his own—fairly scandalous with someone else. Clary didn’t talk about him much except to say how much of an asshat he was. After he left, she and her mom and were on their own—it’s been that way ever since—so it was pretty odd that he wanted back in. I just didn’t realize how disastrous it really was, and how pissy it made Clary…

It had to be better than nothing, right?

“Maybe he’s making amends.” I tried. “You know, make up with you and your mom? Get back in with your family?”

Clary was staring daggers at me.

“No?”

“Not a chance.” She groaned again, hands sliding down her face. “He hasn’t spoken to us in two years! Just picked up and left for some other woman—why all of a sudden does he want to see me now?”

“You know, I could always come with you when you meet him.” I offered. “It might suck less if I’m there.”

“And say what?” Clary laughed sarcastically, green eyes hovering over me. “Hi Dad, haven’t seen you in a while. Meet the biggest player in school! We’ve been casually making out for the past week and he may or may not try to sleep with me soon.”

“Okay, ouch. Not true.” I squeezed her side and she squeaked, earning me a small smile. “You can say something a teensy bit better, can’t you?”

She crossed her arms and smirked. “Enlighten me, Wayland.”

“You can say, ‘Hi Dad, it’s been a while and that sucks, but meet my gorgeous boyfriend Jace!” I started. “He makes straight A’s, plays multiple instruments, and will not get me knocked up in the near future. How about dinner tonight? On me! And—’”

“No.” She broke in, head bobbing in disagreement. “I am not paying for dinner. Ever. Don’t even think about it, Jace!” I watched her smirk grow wider as she jabbed my arm. “And you do not make straight A’s and play multiple instruments. That’s a lie.”

“That’s the truth, Clary.” I taunted. “You just never asked if I played the violin and viola and piano, or bothered to look at my grades.” I ran a hand through my hair while the other slid around her waist. “Second year in NHS, and I did help you with Calculus that one time—you haven’t forgotten, right?”

“No,” She scoffed as she tried to keep her cool. “B-But there’s another thing—”

“The boyfriend part?”

“Yeah, we’re not actually—”

“We should change that.”

Her green eyes popped wide open, the irises shining bright like jewels as a silent gasp formed on her lips. I felt her hands fall to my chest, the fingers instantly digging into my shirt and grazing the skin underneath. The words that she uttered after were firm, but her mouth was pulling into a smile. Her face was coloring, features relaxing as her body realized the meaning behind my words before her mind seemed to—her face was defying her.

She would say yes before she knew it.

“Never ever in a million—!”

I inched forward and kissed her quickly, finally. Her hands flying to my hair, like magnets. Her chest rising as I caught her off guard. The kiss was powerful and electric—jolting us both as we pressed ourselves closer and tumbled—

I felt Mr. David throw us a sideways glance.

“Years…” Clary breathed against my lips.

“Never in a million years what?” I teased. “Say it, I dare you.”

“Never in a million years will I get tired of kissing you, Wayland. You’re too good at it...”

Her words fell out as she kissed me again…and again. Both of my hands wrapping around her waist as her arms locked around my neck. They were subtle, sweet kisses—even though no one but the single adult in the room ventured as much as a peek at us. The rest were probably expecting much more PDA than what was actually happening—but probably feeling hella uncomfortable regardless.

I didn’t care. We didn’t care. I was kissing my girlfriend for God sakes, finally!

I had her. Finally…

I held Clary just like that—locked and tangled in a fit of giggles for what felt like a lifetime. Completely happy to only have her.

All these years and it finally happened—things finally felt right—and I didn’t have to deny it anymore. I didn’t have to hide from her anymore…

We went in for another kiss just as a cool breeze blew through the shop. The hair stood up on our skin, a quick shiver rippling through the both of us as the blistering cold tore at the warmth. A pair of steps creaked on the old hardwood—I felt another set of stares

I could’ve sworn I heard Isabelle’s voice.

And instantly the door slammed shut.

XXX 

ISABELLE

Clary and Jace were never shy about kissing.

            Ever.

My voice cut off mid-sentence as I tried to stifle my surprise, praying to whatever God or angel was out there that they would stop before Simon could—

Stare directly at them with his eyes wide open.

His jaw and fists clenched simultaneously, turning on his heel just as the draft caught the door, slamming it closed with a reverberating bang. He glided to the counter ordering, quite tersely, “Macchiato for me and a small chai. To-go please, we won’t be here long.”

This was not good.

“Simon!” I whispered, drifting over to him and trying not to make a scene. “Hard to miss? Talk of the school?” I snagged my cup, already steaming, while he slid his money to the cashier. “This shouldn’t be some huge deal, right? It’s just Clace.”

“Yeah. Right.” He clipped, swiping his coffee off the counter. “But let’s get out of here. It’s pretty crowded—and this isn’t really our scene.” He was making up all kinds of excuses. “I don’t see Jonsey and Alex, so there’s no point in us staying. And it’s getting late, we should go.”

The clock read 7:15.

He waited behind me, pouting as I surveyed the room for an open spot. A small stage took up most of the space, the furniture that used to occupy the area was now pushed into a semi-circle around the speaker. The place was packed with kids from school, most I knew, a few I’d never seen before. They were standing, leaning, propped up on tables and couches. It was almost suffocating. The only spot left was on a loveseat next to—

Clary and Jace.

Nuh-uh. Not happening.

Jace finally pulled away from Clary, turning his head lazily in our direction, meeting my eyes for a short second and smiling at me. Glancing once at Clary and then again at me, the confidence that seeped from his eyes was enough to tell me that the bet was still on.

As he fell back into his embrace, making lovey-dovey-googly eyes with his new girlfriend, it was enough to make me barf.

I caught Simon’s hand.

“Let’s bail.”

“On it.”

And in a split second we were back in the December air just as quickly as we left it. The sound of Jace’s muted laugh ringing clearly in our ears even after the door had swung shut.

We vowed to block it from our memories.

Our noses went numb as we started back to Simon’s car, our cold fingers slowly thawing out, and sporting burnt tongues from drinking coffee too fast. Threats were thrown and comments were made as our feet began to ache—why we didn’t drive seemed to be the question of the night—considering this would be our third time tromping the city streets like kids without a license. Although, it was fun to get smart with each other, and since it was nearly impossible to be this close in a moving car we were glad to put it behind us.

We forgot all about the ache the minute we started laughing. We forgot about Jace, we forgot about ex’s—all the drama seemed miles away by time we crossed out of Uptown and caught sight Reunion Tower’s light display. A giant snowflake shone over all of Dallas, and a virtual snowfall seemed to rain down—just for us.

At least, it felt that way as we stumbled back to the Arts District, careless and high on life—drunk off each other, hopped up on caffeine—you name it. We were elated.

He held my hand the entire way home.

It was a loud, energetic ride filled with shouts, giggles, curse words, and sighs. He let his music blast with the windows down, screaming about some concert that was coming up and struggling to keep me awake.

I told everything that I wanted to say tonight, goddamn.

Hair windblown, ears ringing, I didn’t protest when he reached to hug me tight on the steps of my front door. His arms around me, still strong and gentle, were the only things that kept me warm right then. His seemingly infinite heat fusing into my body the longer we stood in the cold, the Christmas lights shining around both of us as we fought to prolong the moment.

He didn’t try to make a move—didn’t have to prove me wrong about anything...It was quiet and sweet—there was no Jace to look out for. No family to pick fun at me. The bet hasn’t crossed my mind since the sun set, and just for the record—

I whispered it into his ear as he pulled away, my words generating a smile that made my pulse flip-flop and probably stayed plastered on his face as he drove his way home.

It was a smile that was hard to forget, and it was on my mind until I fell asleep.

What can I say?

That was the best not-actual-date-date I’ve ever been on in my life.

Period.

Chapter Text

ISABELLE

Do you ever get that feeling when your eyes are still closed? Maybe you're cradled in pillows and fluff and swathed in that foreign mink your dad got from somewhere. Maybe you realize you're warm and cold at the same time, so you decide not to move. No, instead you stay there, sweating and shivering—waiting for the heat to kick in—that way you have an actual reason to fall out of bed. You can tell it's still dark, and there's no point in moving since your alarm hasn't started. But even though your mind is awake it's telling your eyes to stay closed, your body to stay put—and you're so willing to do just that.

Although, do you ever get the feeling you might be oversleeping? Now your body swears you've missed your alarm. You're starting to feel uncomfortable—too hot, too cold—you need to fix this. So you reluctantly pry your eyes open, glance at the time, and realize you've got another 30 seconds before your music starts blaring. Countdown in five...four…three…two…

Has that ever happened to you?

Well, it sure as hell didn't happen to me.

I cursed my blinds for never actually closing. No matter how hard I tugged and prayed they would stay locked, they popped and slipped so when 10 A.M. rolled along I was still blinded by the shafts of sunlight. I was hot, and cold, and sleepy, and blind. Of course I was pissed.

My first instinct told me to yank the mink over my head. My second told me to bury my face in my pillow. I did both, somehow, and fought with myself until I decided I was starting to sweat and suffocating slowly. Tossing the covers to my feet, I let out a deep exhale as the fabric landed in a muffled thud, the cold air rushing to wherever it could find my exposed, searing skin. Alec's navy, hole-riddled sweater didn't match the purple sweatpants I was wearing, but it sounded like a fantastic idea last night when it was nearing 20 degrees. I regretted it now, wondering how it was possible for the Dallas metroplex to jump from 23 to 57 degrees in a matter of hours. Trust me, it's awful, and it makes fashion choices extremely difficult.

Ten o'clock Saturday morning—either blissful or stressful depending on your Friday night—but Pei Wei's and coffee shops aside, I still debated whether or not I wanted to roll out of bed that morning. Going downstairs meant accepting defeat; becoming Mayrse's first target on her tirade of house chores was hell no matter what kind of Friday you had, but staying up here for another hour or two meant forgoing food until lunch. That alone was enough to kick Jace's ass out of bed every weekend. It was enough to tear Max away from his books, or Alec from his phone, but I still wasn't positive. Could it be enough for me today, finally? Part of me recognized the morning hunger as habit, or as some twisted sign of progress, but the rest of me was aching and screaming for the opposite, the positive.

It's never too early for change, I've realized, but it's never too late for relapse either...

Stop.

…

I was falling into a sort of trance when I heard my stomach rumble, which was weird because it's never been that loud before, but I couldn't even try to deny it. After yesterday's surprise events—I remembered the jaws dropping at breakfast, lunch, and dinner—I was beginning to remember what it was like to be hungry again. No, not the I'm-hungry-because-I-didn't-eat hungry. I'm talking about the I'm-fucking-starving-who-replaced-my-stomach-with-a-bear kind of hungry. Teenage dancer hungry.

My stomach rumbled again. And again. Now it was more like a rustling—a rattling. Jesus, what was wrong with me?

Fuck it, I'd decided. I flopped out of bed, fingers reaching for the doorknob, feet scrambling for purchase, body nearly aching at the thought of Jace's frozen waffles…

My toes, however, had a different agenda.

Once again the stupid things got tangled in the phone charger at the base of my dresser. But in the split second it took me to realize what was happening—that I was falling, that the Tower of Crap piled on my dresser was scheduled for explosive demolition, and that I could easily shimmy out of this constricting mess if I was quick enough—I'd also found the source of the stomach growl from hell.

One step, one jump, a slight hop or two. Half a second passed and wasn't headed face first into the carpet, thank God. Instead I was standing tall, glad that I hadn't yanked Tower of Crap to its cluttered demise, and I watched the mess vibrate as my stomach rumbled again.

Though, this time I knew better.

I yanked my phone off its cord, turned on the sound, and threw open my bedroom door.

XXX

Okay.

Somebody pinch me, because I've got to be dreaming.

Out of all the crazy things I've seen when I whacked open my bedroom door—and I've seen more than the average girl—these, at least for me, were the most bizarre. And I was experiencing them all at once.

I should've stayed in bed. I should've been under the covers with my bedroom door closed. These scenarios were all so unfamiliar, so miniscule, but so weirdly out of place that I didn't know which surprised me more: the sickly sweet smell of something baking downstairs, which never happens, Max trying to drag a boxed Christmas tree into the living room, which I'venever seen, or the five text messages from Simon—which—what? Which one surprised me more?

Okay let's be honest, it was the latter.

Izzy, wake up. This is important. The first message read.

Parker's concert today. Like TODAY today. 7:30 in Deep Ellum. The Door. Are you still coming?

?

?!

IZZY ARE YOU EVEN AWAKE?!

These all started around 8:30 and would nicely explain the hysterics in the last three messages. Although, I could've sworn that teenage boys slept until 2:00 p.m. on the regular, and I could've sworn that only teenage girls got this worked up over a measly three-hour delay. I wasn't mad, I wasn't dead—I was just tired as hell.

And a twelve-hour knockout will fix that problem easy peasy.

I tried to let it slide, my heart-fluttering excitement beginning to subside as I took the stairs to the kitchen one by one. I made sure to—calmly—reassure Simon that I would be at the concert along with Connor, Jonsey, and Alex. The latter two—bless their overexcited hearts—texted me four times that morning, begging me to confirm that we were still going dress shopping at noon, praying that I didn't go to that sketchy acid party in the woods last night. All the rumors were true, apparently—everything was laced with LSD—but forget about the thrill, screw the under-the-table invites—if I'd gone, by the angel, I'd probably be dead.

It's a Ben B. thing. Don't ask.

By the time I'd answered all ten thousand messages, I'd stopped moving, a subconscious action since I'd reached the fork in the steps at the midway landing. The right—the direction I never went—led to the dining room, front door, and master bedroom. The pathway was pristine, the carpet almost completely unscathed despite the age of the house. The path to the left, however, was worn with my steps and Jace's, both of which disappeared on that last wooden step that led to the kitchen, family room, patio, garage, you name it. I shifted my weight, ready to sprint to the kitchen and appease the stomach-bear from hell, but I paused this morning, still completely awestruck from unfamiliar situation number two.

Slipping my phone into my pocket, I sighed as I rested against the banister that overlooked the living room below. I briefly glanced at the gold-framed mirror that hung on the opposite wall, meeting my eyes in the glass for a fleeting second as it reflected my slouched figure in the morning sun. My focus darted away. Normally the mirror would catch my attention, hold my gaze, but today I knew exactly why it couldn't. Watching my little brother push and pull a loaded box twice his size was far more amusing than my bedhead, and that would always be true.

The railing creaked and groaned as it bore my weight, but Max didn't notice. He was too focused on weaving the box through the structured, white furniture to acknowledge my presence, but I noticed him. Really noticed him—as if I haven't seen him in weeks. It wasn't until then that I realized, with a sick pang of disappointment, that I haven't really—I haven't seen him in weeks. Not enough to notice that his arms were growing taught under his tight knit sweater. Not enough to notice that the roundness in his face was starting to disappear, or that his hair was getting shaggy and long like Alec's when he was ten.

A guilty cold settled into my skin. Was he taller now? Leaner? More independent?

How did this—?

Happen. I wanted to finish the thought, but I didn't. I couldn't even though I wanted to. Somehow it would be better if I didn't know how my brother's childhood was slipping away from me, but I was only kidding myself. I couldn't finish the thought because I already knew the result: I was too preoccupied with myself to notice him. I was too preoccupied to notice any of my family these days, save for 's the last time I spoke my mother, or attempted to greet my father? Did I call Alec this month? Had I teased my younger brother enough? I couldn't remember, and no matter how hard I tried I was starting to think that maybe I didn't do a single thing. Instead I cloistered myself in my room, and yelled at Jace, and kissed Simon.

Kissed Simon…

But even the pleasant memory couldn't shake the cold pit that was festering in my stomach. Despite my attempts to repress it, the feeling spread deeper as I sighed, and even though I felt like complete shit I was still staring at Max when something else clicked—something much more lighthearted and…completely alien.

A Christmas tree?

I'd completely missed the memo. My family wasn't particularly religious, and whatever my parents had come to a consensus on was never passed on to me and Alec, or Jace, or Max for that matter. But I knew for a fact that my parents didn't own one crucifix, and except for the occasional angelic anecdote, the Bible just a big book stuck in Dad's library. But a Christmas tree? We've never had one before—why the hell do we have one now?

There was a soft sigh and a speck of silence as the muted dragging slowed to a halt. "I wanted one, Isabelle. Is that a bad thing?" Max's voice, still small but deeper somehow, drifted up from the room below.

I clapped my hand over my mouth, eyes wide, and my words were jumbled behind clamped fingers. "Did I say that out loud…?"

"No." He said brightly and resumed pushing. "I could see you," he huffed, "scrutinizing me from that high and mighty mirror."

I felt an eyebrow rise, the cold only beginning to ebb. "Scrutinizing?"

"Yup."

"High and mighty?"

"Indeed."

"Really, Max?"

"I mean it."

"Whatever!" I scoffed lightly, eyes rolling and voice softening as I heard him grunt and whine with effort. "Do you need help, Max? Honestly, that's a big box for such a tiny kid."

He didn't look at me as he responded. Instead his focus was on the box, now fixed in an empty corner by the banister, his long fingers prying it open with a careful precision. "No, no. I'm fine." He waved his hand as if to shoo me away. "Go eat something or something, you're the one that's too tiny."

Whatever cold had left returned with full force now, bringing back a shock so starling that I felt myself reel backwards, hands gripping the railing for support. But to him I'm sure it looked like a gentle sway—a simple shift of weight if he'd been looking, which he hadn't. He was too invested, too preoccupied, and had no way to tell if I was teasing or distraught when I called, "You're the tiny one, squirt. Just watch me eat my weight in waffles, I dare you."

But I knew good and well that if I pushed it—if I forced recovery even with the best intentions—that I'd be back at square one before anyone else could save me. And at that point it wouldn't matter who saw, who noticed.

Relapse: To fall back into illness after apparent recovery.

I pressed my wrists around my waist.

XXX

It was a candle. Of course.

I was picking and tearing at waffle number two, so transfixed on Mayrse's new Red Velvet candle that it made me want to eat cupcakes and throw up at the same time. The oven was off, the pans were clean—there was literally no sign of baking and I was thoroughly disappointed.

I huffed and the flame wavered.

"You know, if you want sweets so badly you could make them for the rest of us."

I whirled around, almost knocking myself off the kitchen barstool in the process, and met the smug, familiar voice with a look of irritated alarm. Jeez. "Did I say that out loud too?"

"No." He replied, less brightly than Max but still with a smile as he snatched remains of the waffle off my plate. "You have a major tail, Iz."

He didn't notice the glare; his back was to me and his mouth was full, but he managed to speak in between bites. "See, you stare at things whenever you feel guilty or want them. And I'm assuming you didn't actually ingest the candle, so you'd probably take the cupcake instead." He shrugged and hoisted himself onto the kitchen counter. "Either that or you're gonna drop dead in a few hours, which no one would appreciate."

I couldn't stop my mouth from popping open. I'm sure this banter was all playful—I couldn't forget the idea of that perfect, hypothetical cupcake even if he was just kidding—but shits and giggles aside, his comment was far from praise. "I do not have a tail!" I sassed, sliding off the stool and migrating to the freezer for another waffle. "Name three instances where that's actually true."

He rattled them off like they were common knowledge but not after pretending to ponder his answers. "Hmm." He tapped his chin, smug smile returning. "The fancy shoes at Nordstrom, a failing test grade…and my—"

"If you say 'self' I will punch you so hard in the—"

"CAR. My fucking car."

"Ooooh." I whistled aloud, the sound dying as the kitchen slowly fell silent. As I slid three more waffles into the toaster, I reluctantly mulled over Jace's observations—his near perfect observations. "Yeah, I guess." I shrugged, recalling all the hours I spent at the Nordstrom exit making googly eyes at Jimmy Choo's, the sour mood my last test grade put me in, the utterperfection that was Jace's hand-me-down '67 Chevy Impala—and how much better it would look in black than in navy and if his dark haired sister got behind the wheel—but of course he never budged; I shouldn't expect him to. Apparently I should only expect him to shoot me down, rile me up, and inform me of myself.

When…did Jace start to know more about me than I knew about me?

My eyebrows were practically in my hairline, and I had to fight to keep my mouth from dropping open. Honestly, I was more alarmed by Jace's keen insight than anything else that morning.

I groaned long and loud. "Jace, how can you always be right?"

"It's because I'm perfect, but thanks for finally noticing." He breezed and pretentiously flipped his hair. Not a second later was slipping off the counter, placing his feet silently on the floor, rolling his eyes at my obliviousness.

"Wait." I held up a hand."I'm making more waffles for you."

"Oh, I already ate."

"So why the hell did you—!"

"Give them to Alec," he said in passing, "he'll eat 'em. Like always."

My tirade stopped short—completely forgotten even as I felt my stomach rumble. Once again I was surprised into silence, and a simple, astounded, "What?" was all I could manage.

Jace's expression warmed, and he twisted towards me as he spoke. "Yeah, he's taking a semester off for his internship. Ya know, before he heads off to study in Italy? I'm actually surprised he has time to come home this year since he's been swamped with projects—photography, sculpting, painting—our brother's making it big in the city, but he decided he wanted to leave for a bit." I watched Jace shrug as he threw me a light smile. "Can't blame him. He's finally breaking out of his shell."

I think I blinked. Internship? Italy?

What?

Jace's eyes narrowed slowly in question. The gears were turning in his head. "Wait. You're telling me you didn't already know?"

I shook my head, mouth sliding open.

"Wha..?" He stole the words right out of my mouth. "He's bringing his boyfriend here for the holidays…? He met him at art school?"

It was news to me.

"Izzy," he chastised, retreat wholly forgotten. "When's the last time you spoke to Alec?"

Well that sounds familiar.

I did the math in my head and winced at the answer. My voice was small. "Beginning of fall semester?"

Jace groaned, palm audibly slapping his forehead. "Isabelle. You can't just—"

"I know. I know. Terrible sister—fucked up priorities. I've been over this already."

He blanched, backtracked. "Iz—wait—you know that's not what—"

"But Alec's coming home, really? Where is he now? Is Mom gone?" I bullshitted a question—or questions, rather—in an attempt to cut off his argument. With his brow beginning to furrow and his lips starting to purse, I could tell he was about to get defensive. "Honestly, Jace, it's too quiet right now. She'd normally be cleaning or something."

"She's—she went…" His sentence sputtered through tight lips. I watched him swallow his words, debate on an apology, but he gave up, voice smoothing out as he gathered that his attempt at solace was futile. "She went to the airport to pick up Alec and Magnus. That's his boyfriend in case you didn't—yeah—you catch my drift." When his eyes dropped to my waist his voice fell into defeated mumbles. I felt my stomach roll. "She must've taken them shopping or something because their flight landed around 9:00. But they should be back soon, I hope." He choked out. Jace looked so uncomfortable that it was making me uncomfortable. He took his lip between his teeth, slowly reaching to scratch the nape of his neck—even as my eyes flicked away I could still feel is apologetic gaze. He could just say it—don't be so hard on yourself. But he knew that was exactly what I didn't want to hear. Granted, I didn't want to hear silence, either. I couldn't bear it.

I had to break the tension. Had to. "Who made the coffee, then? If Mom's gone?" I blurted, nodding in the direction of Mom's Jesus coffee pot that was filling up now. The dark, steaming gurgle pooled loudly into the glass pitcher, which normally signaled bliss for the sleepy Saturday Mayrse…but she was completely M.I.A.

Jace's expression fell as he grimaced in distaste, flicking a thumb and cocking his head to the left while he hissed behind clenched teeth. "Look who else decided to come home this year."

I glanced in the direction of his finger, watching it drop in annoyance as I saw exactly what made him scowl. I groaned internally this time.

What an unpleasant surprise. For once my father was actually in his office, actually home, and I was far from happy.

My features collapsed into a frown of equal verve. "Joy to the fucking world. Thanks for gracing us with your presence, Dad."

"Ha." Jace deadpanned, eyes beginning to glower. "Maybe if I don't say hello he'll leave."

"I can't believe he actually came back."

"I know." Jace huffed. "But we'll all have to deal with him sooner or later, won't we?"

"Nah." I shook my head casually, laughing once as I stole my breakfast from the toaster. "That's all you. I'm leaving for the mall in half an hour." I corrected, taunted. "Have tons of fun with Robert while I'm gone!"

With a waffle clamped in my mouth and one in each hand, I giggled and patted his shoulder, almost dizzy at the fact that I was avoiding my father's company for yet another holiday. Jace, on the other hand, looked dumbfounded. His lips popped open as he reached out after me, just barely missing my wrist as I walked away. "Where are you going? What—Why are youleaving me here?"

"Unless you wantto go dress shopping with a bunch of teenage girls," I sassed, swinging around to meet his worried gaze. "I'd assume you're stuck here."

His eyes were huge, innocent. "B-but—"

"Next time, Jace, don't steal my breakfast. Maybe then you'll get your way."

I left in a flourish. Still with bedhead, still with purple sweatpants, but in a flourish.

I didn't even look in my Dad's direction as I left.

XXX

JACE

She left me here with him.

Clary hasn't texted me back. I'm sweating in my underwear and Izzy left me here with him.

Okay, that probably sounds bad, and I'm right, it could be worse. But of all the adults to be stuck with why did it have to be Robert?

I flipped face down on the covers.

How long has it been? I should be over it. I shouldn't really care, but my mom called me stubborn once. Hardheaded. So true to my nature I'm here in my bed, thinking about the same old thing again. And If I could rewire my thoughts—just take my brain and make it different—I would. But for now my mind is stuck on an endless loop. Like always. Ever since the crash.

There was a time before this mess when I wanted to call Robert "Dad"—when I wanted to be called "son." I didn't ever want it to be my kids and Jace, not my kids and Michael's son—I wanted to be his son and part of his family. It never happened.

Was it really too much to ask? He was just as involved in my life as he was with his own kids' back when my parents were still alive. One day he'd be standing at the back of one of my dreaded piano recitals, hulking and formidable as a soft smile formed on the hard line of his lips. The next day he'd be at my door, joking with my father and clapping a hand on my shoulder, all too eager to drag me to one of Isabelle's horrific dance competitions that I'd been invited to. Hell, we used to dress up all nice for Alec's middle school art shows, pretend to understand Max's drabble at science fairs. Robert was like a second father to me—it wasn't ever an issue.

But then there was the crash. That day I went back to a house that wasn't my own, to parents that didn't belong to me. That day messed everyone up.

The minute after the funeral, when those sorry empty caskets were lowered into the ground and those watery eyes were trained on me—when he became my real father—he copped out. He didn't come to my performances anymore. He stopped speaking to Alec. Then Isabelle. He stopped speaking to me and went down the line until the only person who could elicit a single word out of him was the business consultant at the end of the receiver. At that point I believed his phone was permanently attached to his head—and Max swore it true. It was startling to see Mayrse's reaction to her young son's innocent realization—that he didn't have a father anymore. She'd left the room flushed and in a hurry.

But she'd seen it coming; it was harsh but true. By the time Isabelle and I had started high school Robert was always at work, never home, and if, by the grace of the Angel, he was home, he was endlessly busy—just like he is right now. That home office is his safe haven and refuge, and at some point back then he started locking the door and lowering the blinds because it helped him "focus." Of course, we all knew it was bullshit. He'd pushed us so far away that we stopped looking for him. We stopped caring. Yet, somehow we managed to coexist in the same house, that is, until he started leaving.

Trips to Paris, England, Germany, Idris—cities and countries that I didn't even think existed suddenly held more interest than his home and his family. Every weekend he'd leave and stay gone for weeks at a time, only coming back to keep the title as husband—not father, obviously. At that point he'd already missed every single one of our birthdays. Twice.

I remember the devastation when Mayrse lofted up to my room, tears in her eyes and voice shaking when she told me I couldn't take the surname I'd rightfully earned years before my parents passed. I remember not caring. I remember not caring a lot.

But the most vivid memory, the most savage reminder of his obvious infidelity was the one that was caught on the reel. Stuck on the loop. Again and again no matter how hard I tried to dispel it.

I remember I'd woken up early one morning, hoping to beat Mayrse to the punch by cleaning my room and bringing down my dirty clothes without her telling me to—without her doing it herself. It was a simple gesture, no drama; Robert was already in his office and Mayrse was already in the laundry room, of course. But by then I was old enough—I'd been in the family long enough to realize that a silent mom was a scary mom, and a silent cleaning mom was basically a harbinger of doom.

But like I said, I wasn't expecting the dramatics. So when I glided into the laundry room to meet Mayrse, all whistling and giddy at my minuscule effort, I expected to see a little skepticism, maybe even irritation, but not her standing there, stalk still, with a makeup stained dress shirt in her hand.

It balled in her fists when I walked in, and she jumped when the basket I'd been holding hit the tile with a clear and audible clap. She let the shirt flutter to the floor, and this sound escaped her lips—I can't explain it, but it was heartbreaking—and it died in my ears as she'd pushed past me with a force I'd never seen coming, especially from her.

My eyes fell to the ground. Black, red, and beige dotted the thing, and there was nothing left to guess. Nothing left to speculate. All this time he led his family on, and he had the nerve to walk back into this house? To lie to our faces and pretend to stay in our lives? I didn't have to ask why—I didn't care anymore. The proof was blatant, I was vehement, and Robert was a dead man.

I didn't bother to knock. I didn't check the lock. I went straight to force, kicking the door open and cracking the large, blind-drawn windowpane that occupied the entryway. Finally, I'd thought as I stormed in. That door had masked his adultery countless times, I'm sure of it. And I couldn't tell if it was my profanity that had woken Max in his room across the hall, or if it was the innumerable things I'd wrecked and smashed and shattered, but it sent him running to Isabelle, who then called Alec, who then called Mayrse ten minutes later when she was still in her bedroom, silently crying her eyes out.

That was this summer, and by the end of that day he'd packed up and left the house with less than a goodbye.

We said good riddance. By then, at least, we could all stop pretending.

I love my family. I love Mayrse, and Isabelle, Max, and Alec, too. But now you can see why I don't want to be tied to him. Now you can see why I can't bear to stay in the same housewith him. He might have regretted the affair—he didn't, but he might have—could have. He could've taken back the lies, ached for the family he once had…but Robert had a choice. He alwayshad a choice, and that day last summer was the ultimatum: stay and beg that it works, or leave and never come back.

Well, he made his decision, and we heard it loud and clear.

He left us for dead and he knew it.

XXX

A subtle alarm broke the silence, rousing me from a sticky and tangled sleep. In the distance door swept shut. Heels clacked on hardwood, and keys jingled in hand. Drawing my eyes open, I felt my eyelashes catch against the cotton of my covers just as the voices began to filter in from beneath. There were three different tones, each one distinct, and they all registered in bright, quick succession.

I felt myself grin against the pillow.

"Why, you have a lovely kitchen Mrs. Lightwood."

"Ms. Lightwood, but thank you, Magnus."

"Mom," a light pause, "what is that amazing smell?" The voice gasped, shoes shuffling against floor. "Are there actually cupcakes somewhere?"

"No," The other two said in unison. "It's a candle."

The third voice sighed in defeat.

"Alec, hun, where is the rest of your family?" Someone cooed. "That pretty blond one and that stunning sister of yours, are they hiding somewhere? Don't tell me they're not here—there's no fun in an empty house!"

"You live in an empty house."

"Oh no, no, no. I have parties and Chairman Meow most nights, and of course whenever he's gone I have you."

"That cat's always gone."

"And I always have you, so it evens out, yes?"

"Wh—" There was a pause again as he regained his voice. "Don't listen to him, Mom. Where's Isabelle?"

The smile in her voice was clear, refreshing. "She's out dress shopping with friends. Winter Ball's coming up, you know."

The voice that followed was jubilant, vigor filling each syllable with ease. "A ball? Truly a ball? Take me with you, and let's go shopping!"

"Magnus, you just went—screw it. Where's Jace then?"

"Oh, he should be—"

I was already downstairs.

And don't worry I put pants on. Promise.

"Hi, I'm here. Hi." I stammered, still stumbling down the steps with my momentum throwing me off balance. As I fought to regain my footing, I was greeted with a chorus of hellos, even a few waves, but all eyes were stuck on me as I stepped down. My excitement showed clearly on my face, which was a surprise in itself, but it seemed that my presence was not as meaningful to them as theirs was to me.

Which was a first, might I add.

Mayrse's gaze held mine for a brief moment, a hint of chastisement registering behind it before she darted off to mindlessly clean the kitchen. Alec's eyes, however, were filled with a soft elation as he started towards me for a hug. His bags clunked on the floor, and he made a beeline for my open arms, but his pathway was cut short when Magnus, his bright and cat-like pupils shining, let a certain sentence slip through his lips.

He probably should've kept his mouth shut.

"Oh my God he is gorgeous." He glanced at my brother. "You weren't lying when you said so. Oh my GOD."

Off in the distance, Mayrse dropped a plate in soapy water. Alec, now wide eyed and furiously blushing quickly elbowed his boyfriend. He mouthed an apologetic "Sorry," in my direction.

"Oww!" Magnus whined and rubbed his side. "You're lucky I don't bruise, Alec. That really hurt."

"You'll live." He sighed, eyes suddenly tired and defeated.

But let's be real, complements aside I was the defeated one. I may go to Ben B., and it may be a free-spirited performing arts high school, but never have I ever seen a person quite like Magnus. Not that I didn't know what to expect—Alec had warned me fervently—but even though I'd seen pictures on Facebook, and Twitter, and just about ever social networking site that could possibly exist, the photographs didn't do Magnus a single ounce of justice—just as he probably expected.

Magnus was, in a word, scintillating. Not in the overly explicit manner of rhinestones and jewels I'd imagined he'd be accustomed to, but in the subtle manner so implicit that I had to make sure the sunlight wasn't playing tricks on me. His darkened cheekbones were dusted in a golden tint that shimmered with every minor flex of his jaw. It stuck to his collarbone and his chest; they lay exposed under his crisp white button-down—or rather unbutton-down seeing as only the last three were actually fastened. The powder gilded his wrists as they stretched out of his blue, crushed velvet blazer; he was covered in the stuff, and for all I knew it could've been embedded in his skin. His fingernails were a polished, gleaming black that were the same color as his expensive looking Oxfords. Both were completely unscathed, though I doubted they were entirely new—and I don't quite know where one goes to buy glittered hair gel, but Magnus made it happen. His pants were a dark purple alligator print—metallic purple of course—and trust me when I say this: Magnus is the only person on this great wide earth that could pull off that ensemble. It may sound like a hot mess, but the man looked good.

But no. I'm buying alligator pants.

Magnus smiled, his teeth a pristine white, and jutted out a glistening hand. "Hi Jace, charmed to meet you. I'm Magnus—"

"Bane. I know."

"Oh." He seemed surprised, but he quickly rebounded. "Of course you do, I'm an A-lister back in Brooklyn." He withdrew his hand from mine, feigning pompousness as he smoothed his hair back. Although, I was starting to think he wasn't exactly feigning.

I took the opportunity to wipe the glitter off my hand.

"Well, happy holidays!" He beamed, shoes clicking on the wooden floor when he bounced on his toes. "It's the best time of the year, and I just love love love the Christmas tree you've got up!"

"Christmas tree?" Alec bleated, looking past me and into the living room where the tree stood, completed.

"Max." Mayrse and I responded.

Alec nodded in understanding—no questions asked—and subtly rolled up his sleeves. The dark sweater that kept him warm in New York was probably baking him in this weather. Alec should've guessed since he's lived here for most of his life, but this unnatural Christmas heat never failed to catch us off guard. There was only so much you could do to combat it. Mayrse iced her coffee on the hotter mornings, and I can't begin to tell you how many times I've seen Izzy strut around in a sports bra, but holy hell, I was shirtless and I was—

Oh by the Angel. That explains so much.

See, I would've put on a shirt, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and extra layers were not gonna happen today.

"God, is it always this hot in Dallas?" Magnus inquired, dramatically fanning himself as his cheeks began to shine just a little more than usual. "It was snowing when we left the city so I expected it to be a little chilly. I even packed my scarf collection because I thought—!"

But we never got to hear the end of Magnus's chatter. Though this Dallas weather-talk was dully customary at any time of year, his innocent jabbering was brutally curtailed when a fifth voice chimed in.

Well, not chimed exactly, more like scolded. Boomed. Accused. Whatever was lighthearted and blameless before was tainted now, and somehow I knew there was no getting it back. Oncehe came in the picture you could never really go back.

"What the hell is this?"

Alec and I tensed immediately at the sound of his voice, and Mayrse, still in the kitchen, paused mid-wipe to defensively glance up at her soon to be ex-husband.

Robert's large fists balled up, and his mouth pursed into a formidably stony line as his eyes seemed to widen in disgust. We all knew what was going to happen next, but Magnus—poor thing—was completely in the dark. Robert is a series of long stories. Each year after my parent's death gets its own book, and each family member gets a chapter describing how and why Robert screwed us over. So if you can guess the bullshit reason why Robert started picking fights with his eldest son—the scintillating reason why Robert was ecstatic to see his son go off to college two years ago—you could see why he was going to flip his shit. And for no good reason at all.

Just don't let Magnus start—

"Hi, Mr. Lightwood!"

Fuck.

"I'm Magnus Bane and—"

"Alec," He criticized, ignoring the greeting entirely. Even though Magnus had been completely polite, Robert's words were coated in a venomous malice. "What is the meaning of this?" He stuck a finger toward the supposed intruder, eyes flaming with dark burn and wholly transfixed on Alec. "I told you not to bring another one of them into my house when you were in high school—have you learned a single thing since you left, or am I paying for you to study idiocy this semester?" He scanned Magnus with distaste. "Disgusting. Immoral." He shuddered. "It makes me sick to see what he's done to you."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." I held up a hand, moving towards Robert who looked close to mauling down his own son. "Since he left? Your house—no, fuck that—disgusting and immoral?" My blood was beginning to boil. How dare he come back just to wreak havoc, just to make our lives hell—it was practically my job to get defensive. "After the crap you pulled this summer, Robert, you're one to talk."

"Jace. Don't." Alec croaked.

I ignored his warning. Taking it would've been the smarter thing to do, but in situations like this I've realized I'm not always that smart. "You know what? Why the hell are you even here?" I went on. "You left. You made your decision, you were gone for months, and you suddenly decide come back now? What? Did you run out of condoms for your whore?"

"Jace." Mayrse clipped. "That's enough."

"No it isn't." I growled, a fireball of rage seeping through my body as the words slithered out from my unclamped lips. Glancing back at my family, I could see that Alec's eyes were fixated blankly on the floor. His hand was tangled rigidly in Magnus's, making Robert fume as every hate-filled second passed. Mayrse abandoned her cleaning endeavor. Looking just as crushed as her son and his partner, she dragged her posture upright and forced her battle face on. They formed a somber force behind me, standing like stone as they willed this encounter to pass.

Everyone was quiet, but I had no problem speaking my mind. "I don't care what happened in the past. I don't care if we all used to get along. This dickhead doesn't belong here anymore—he's as dirty as the bullshit he's been feeding us and we all know it."

"You better watch your mouth."

"To hell if I will!" I barked, swatting away the finger that was pointed at me now. "Why the fuck should I take orders from you anymore? I'm not a child, and you have no authority over me!"

"When your parents died I swore I would be a—!"

"You became a shadow!" I cried. "A fucking ghost when you—!"

"Jace!"

"NO!" I belted. "You messed all of us up! You single-handedly tore this family apart and did it all without a single ounce of remorse! We trusted you, Robert. We loved you once, and now—" I choked off my words. He didn't deserve a thing like praise.

I had to fight to keep my hands from his neck, and my eyes were drilling into his, but I willed myself to bring it down a notch. And only a notch. "You've overstayed your welcome," I huffed. "So like I told you before, I think you should leave—and for good this time. I mean," I glared at him now, eyes piercing and cold. "That is what you do best, isn't it?"

"I refuse," he sneered, voice rumbling, "to take orders from my teenage son!"

"Well, newsflash Robert." I charged towards him, fire reignited like a single flash of lightning, and I was unafraid. I confronted him face-to-face, nose-to-nose, and hissed my words hot and low. "I'm not your son. You made it very clear that I never was and never will be. So I'm telling you right now—as a man, not as your kid—to get your things, pack them up, and get the hell out right now."

I let the words hang. I let the silence dwell between us.

"We've been doing just fine without you." I spoke again. "I won't let you drop into our lives just to poison it again. Not this time."

His eyes detached from mine, his furious gaze now searching for my mother. She was slowly escaping the kitchen, cautiously approaching the ordeal, and now Robert was ready to attack. "Mayrse, do you hear him?" He shouted across the room. "It was your decision to take him in when Michael passed—learn to contain your son this—!"

"I think you should go." Mayrse said softly, aligning herself with Alec and Magnus as her arms neatly crossed. "You've done enough damage to this family already, and Jace is completely right. I shouldn't have let you stay the night in the first place, Robert—just look at what you've done."

His eyes stayed locked on Mayrse. They didn't touch his children once.

"I'll call you when the papers go through."

My eyes darted between my mother and the trespasser; they watched his expression sputter and falter. But when, at last, he had nothing else to say, I took my place next to Mayrse, united. She kept her composure this time around. She might not have needed my help though I was prepared to give it, but I saw her face in the laundry room that day. I saw her crying in the kitchen yesterday morning. She's being strong because she has to—because she needs to in this instant—and I wasn't going to let anybody drag her down for any goddamn reason.

Robert stared at the four of us incredulously, dark eyebrows angrily framing his glare as he fought back the string of invectives hiding just behind his lips. His eyes fluttered shut, but Robert shot us a spiteful grin, eyes reopening and blazing in the unsaid triumph of destruction and release.

Somehow I knew the feeling.

It made me sick to my stomach.

Spinning on his heel, he surged towards his office at a lightning speed, slamming the door shut without another word. Force rattled the doorframe. Blinds clacked against glass. The boom echoed throughout the house and made the paintings on the walls shudder with its strength. It drew Max out of his room with sad, tired eyes, and while I had to believe he was listening the entire time—seldom did Max escape disputes like this—I prayed that somehow he'd been deaf to this one.

"He's leaving us, isn't he?" He said.

We heard the click of the lock.

XXX

ISABELLE

The biting winter air blew straight through my fishnets and raised faint patches of gooseflesh as I strutted along. The sound of my heels and his buckles and her chains made a cacophonous sort of symphony that rang loud in the dead of night—or so I assumed—I had to assume. My ears were still ringing with an annoying yet satisfying whine, and while I could still hear my friends' chatter behind my own personal peal, they were getting louder and louder as the night drew on. I didn't have to guess to know why—it was necessity—it was the only way we could hear our own voices. Every one of us was a little more deaf than usual—we'd all danced next an amp that night.

Jonsey took a swig from her water bottle and passed it to Alex, who sipped and passed it to Connor, who chugged and glanced in my direction before pretending to barf at the sight of Simon and I walking hand in hand. Suddenly, I'm assuming, the act was too explicit for him to witness with the naked eye.

Simon only laughed and tossed him a smirk, gripping my fingers a little tighter and hugging me a little closer as if to piss him off more. I gave Connor a choice hand gesture, which reallyshould've pissed him off more, but it just barely caught him off guard. Knowing him—knowing us—he'd probably expected it, and I should've known.

In a slight fit of vexation, though, Connor aimed the plastic bottle right at Simon's grin—or maybe at my hand—but skill aside, he missed dramatically, vision probably blurred and skewed by the exact thing he launched at our faces. But Simon caught the wild, spiraling thing—he'd snatched it out of the air without so much as a flinch—and the look he gave me afterwards failed to spare our friend another fake wave of nausea.

Although, I'll have to judge for him—it was probably closer to a real wave than fake. He looked ready to hurl. Apparently it wasn't the first time Jonsey had convinced her mom that it was water in the bottle and not vodka, tea and not rum. Of course, it wasn't the first time her group of friends had happily accepted the drunken offer on a night like this. But after only three quick rounds Jonsey had only gotten sloppy, Alex was starting to go mad, and Connor looked close to tears. According to a slightly tipsy Simon, this happened all the time—they were all lightweights.

I, on the other hand, was not.

I went for the stuff in Simon's hand for possibly the fifth time that night. I'd lost count a while back, but it didn't really matter, not when you used party on weekdays as often as I did. Some just call it "handling your liquor," but I call it a sixth sense. My muscles were loosening, my veins were buzzing, but somehow I was still clear of mind; even my friends were shocked at my apparent sobriety.

I'd barely noticed.

"Wow..."

"Damn."

"I'm jealous."

"And I'm hurt, holy crap, Isabelle."

My eyes danced around defensively, the rim of the bottle pressed to my lips, my friends' faces a confused mix of admiration, shock, and denial. "…What? Am I in trouble?" I said without a trace of slur. "I mean, I'd gladly say I'm sober, but I'm obviously not."

"You're obviously not drunk either and something tells me you should be."

Connor had also gotten a lot sassier.

"But how do you do it?" Simon breathed. His words were definitely blending together. "My head is fuzzy, and you're just—"

"A badass?"

"A heavyweight?"

"An angel." He sighed, wobbling a little with each step clenching my hand for support now instead of comfort.

"Wow. Okay. You're drunk." I declared to anyone who decided to listen, which at the time was absolutely no one—they'd all conked out. Connor was making googly eyes at Jonsey, who had stumbled into his arms and was attempting kiss him. He fought to keep her standing with every unsure step they took, but that seemed to be a hefty task since neither of them could walk in a straight line. Alex floated next to the faltering duo, her steps more like a shuffle since she'd become less fascinated moving and more fascinated with the dots and veins that stood out on her forearm. Simon's face was flushed with warmth, eyes bright as day as if he'd just seen, well, an angel. Of course, he could've been tripping—you can't trust the stuff at concerts nowadays—but even though I'd probably had more alcohol then all of my friends combined, I was the only one that wasn't falling over myself or anyone else.

"Jeez, you're all completely shitfaced." I said under my breath.

They whirled on me then, four pairs of eyes trained on me, glazed but raging since their hearing seemed to be perfectly intact.

I abandoned understanding.

"What the fuck, you bitch!"

"How could you say that, Izzy? We're friends!"

"I'mmm soooo…"

"Isabelle, believe me," Simon pleaded when Alex, Connor, and Jonsey fell into a tirade of inarticulate swears. "I'm not drunk at all. I mean, look at me!"

I didn't, but he pretended I did.

"I'm going to be just fine. I'm going to—"

He paused, easily distracted as his eyes snapped away from mine and focused on something in the distance. "THE PARK. IZZY!" He wailed and tugged my arm, pulling me sideways and sloshing the liquid in my hand. "It's the park! Come on—we have to—let's go!"

Not drunk my ass.

Connor—like any delighted five year old—gasped at the sight of Simon's observation and followed in suit, rousing Jonsey from her intoxicated half-slumber as the two of them trailed after an awkwardly sprinting Alex. She'd darted out before a trail of oncoming midnight traffic and nearly gave me a heart attack, but, unfortunately for me, Simon tried to do the same. He was still holding my hand, and it would've meant death had he not dragged me along at full speed. My heart was in my throat.

We hit the park's grass alive. Simon stumbled to a walk, tipping his head to the sky and drawing me close just as his voice fell from frantic to quiet. "God, I love this place." He said with a sudden clarity, breath drifting upwards in long and wispy puffs. "You know, when the place opened I just thought that Dallas was trying too hard. It just screamed, 'lame ass attempt at Central Park' and that's all it is, really. All it's ever gonna be." We listened to our footsteps echo, and I watched him shake his head, glasses sliding down his nose. "Take the real version of Central," he said, "and remove the trees, the ponds, the street performers—basically everything that makes Central Park Central Park and scale it down about five sizes and you've got Klyde Warren. It's pretty lame in comparison, but that's all we've got." He rolled out a long sigh. "Well, that and a Cool Haus food truck, which is all that really matters in the long run. New York's got nothing on that." He smiled lazily. "Have you ever been?"

I'd been staring at the city lights that towered all around us. Reds and blues and greens glittered high and low, completely mesmerizing me in its swirl of dazzling color, but Simon's question brought me back to reality. "To the food truck?"

"The food truck, the outdoor stage, the dog park—have you ever been to Klyde Warren?"

I shook my head, lips matching his drowsy grin. "No, not really."

"What?" He laughed in disbelief. The twinkling lights that reflected off his glasses were as radiant as his eyes. "School is literally two blocks that direction!" He pointed. "Winspear Opera House! Meyerson Symphony Center! That giant apartment thingy with the windows!" He made some sporadic gesture. "How could you possibly avoid this place when it has grass and board games and a playground with a bouncy floor?"

"I guess," I sighed with a laugh. "I guess I never had anyone to go with."

"Well, now you have me." He pecked my cheek so quickly it couldn't register. It was like a firework bursting in the sky, like a single snowflake melting as it embraced the warmth of skin. "But seriously," he went on. "This bouncy playground floor is godly—and the jungle gym is monstrous and—Oh I'll shut up. Come see for yourself!"

He yanked me along before I could respond, the cool, dewy grass brushing against the tips of our boots as we rushed to catch up with the gang. We were tripping over ourselves, sliding and silly and loud, and to my overjoyed surprise Simon was right: the bouncy floor was godly, the jungle gym was monstrous, and as much as I wanted to dash for the thing—climb and jump and flip all over it—I hesitated. The frigid air reminded me of what I was wearing—how old I was—and I gathered that 18 year olds in tight skirts were not optimal for amateur acrobatics on a children's jungle gym.

Instead Simon directed me to this sort of urban tree house in the middle of that soft, bouncing playground. Shallow steps led up to a wood paneled platform with an intricate, yet subtle design was carved into it; the circling pattern looped and swirled until it led to a spiral staircase that coiled around the slender trunk of a tree. It was the tallest in the park, hence its shrine, though now its branches were spindly and bare as it endured the dead of winter that I could barely stand.

The second platform was similar to the first, but elevated as it rose above the playground, the park. Simon and I mounted the tiny steps, though they were made for a child's feet, and held tight to the railing that kept tree from child and child from ground.

Or teenager from ground. I guess they all function the same when Jonsey suddenly decides she has wings. She was climbing at the barrier now, trying to gain height like a chick ready to soar.

"I'm a bird!" She screamed into the wind. "Feathers, wings, and all! Wind set me free—I feel like flying!"

"Oh no you don't." Connor muttered, wrapping an expert hand around Jonsey's waist and preventing her from takeoff. "Sit your ass down."

She did as she was told, but only by force. "You're no fuunnnn Connor! What the hell?" She whined in protest, squirming in his protective grasp. "Let me gooooo…"

"Jonsey. You're drunk, you're horny, and you're going to get yourself killed."

"Whatever! You're drunk too!"

"Yeah but I'm not batshit crazy."

"And I'm not a sassy di—!"

"You know what would be fun?" Alex's delayed response came from—somewhere. I couldn't see her as I ascended, but I later found her lying on the ground with eyes fixed on the sky. "We should play…" A prolonged pause. "We should play never have I ever!"

"YES." My friends chorused at the exact moment I moaned, and I wanted to shake Alex for even thinking the idea into existence. So maybe I wasn't blasted now, but combine one of the world's most infamous drinking games with one of school's most infamous flirts and you've got one wasted Isabelle Lightwood. I knew that much.

The smiles danced around me, my friends were euphoric, but the vibe was far from contagious. Their collective laughs were nerve-wracking, their movements agitating. I was outnumbered, out of luck, but not out of alcohol, unfortunately.

I dragged my feet into the circle my friends had begun to form, Simon lugging me along like dead weight as he rushed to this seemingly innocent play. I'd tried not to whine, and I kept my mouth shut, but he could sense my apprehension despite his own unfettered eagerness. He squeezed my hand as if to comfort me, and his eyes seemed to say I still like you anyway, but hands and eyes and grins aside I was not looking forward to this.

I slammed the bottle in the middle of our crisscrossed feet and filled my voice with an irritated malice. "Alex, you suggested the damn thing so start." I crossed my hands over my chest. "God I hate this game."

"First question!" She proclaimed, ignoring my statement entirely. "Never have I ever…" She paused and thought it out. "…Kissed a girl." She finished slowly, a devilish grin spreading across her cheeks as she waited for her outcome to precipitate. Alex cheered triumphantly before it happened, knowing the boys would reach for the vodka—and they did—but the only thing greater than asking the right question, the one that sinks everyone in the circle, is the utter shock that comes from the unexpected turnouts. It's when your sweet and innocent friend admits to giving a blow job to her boyfriend, when one of the smartest girls in class proudly declares she gets high on the regular, when your best friend, who you swore you knew up and down, takes hit after hit after hit until you realize she's just having more fun than you are. Your jaw drops, your eyes bulge, and your mind whirrs like an old computer unable to process new data.

Well, that was Alex when Jonsey and I went for a swig. Her once victorious and jubilant expression began to waver, and then crumble. Now her eyes were frantic; they bounced wildly between the two girls as she watched the bottle empty.

"What?" She gasped.

I heard Connor cackle, and Jonsey placed the vodka in the center before turning her gaze to Alex. She was completely indifferent, even proud of her accomplishment, but I was sweating where I sat.

"What?!" Alex said again, almost shrieking when she threw her hands in the air. "How did I not know this?!"

"I was drunk." Jonsey drawled.

"And I was curious." I said, avoiding everyone's gaze.

"For how long?"

"A few hours." We said together and shrugged, but I bluntly called, "Next question," in an attempt to quell that budding curiosity. I wanted to squash the idea before anyone else—especially Simon—could question it, but he didn't seem to care.

Alex looked completely defeated, but she managed to nudge Connor out of his drunken stupor. It was as if she'd pressed a button and started him up; the second she touched him Connor snapped awake and bleated his question before slipping back into his trance.

"Never have I ever kissed a boy."

No surprises there—a standard second question—all the girls took a shot, and Jonsey was still holding the bottle when she asked an invasive question of her own. It was almost as if she was anticipating her own response, ready to sell herself short and take a shot to confirm it, but I hoped she remembered the game didn't quite work that way.

No such luck.

"Never have I ever hooked up with an ex." She slurred, eyes fluttering before they drew wider in realization. "Oh wait." A thought out pause. "Fuck! Why did I do that?" She exclaimed, pouting as she took a guilty sip but wearing her slip up with pride. "Ask the question, I mean, I know why I hooked up with my ex."

"Were you—?"

"I was drunk."

Alex put her head in her hands, but Jonsey gave us a lopsided smile and simply raised her shoulders. She knows she's screwed up things others wouldn't dare admit, let alone announce in some game. But she didn't regret her past, not one bit, and part of me wondered if I should try the same.

But let's face it, I've had way too much alcohol to try and put any lifestyle changes into effect. Usually attempts like that led to drunken phone calls, unexpected hook-ups, and extra shots in never have I ever. Again, I knew that much too.

Jonsey bypassed Simon and, almost knowingly, slid the bottle to me, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket and sitting back on her hands. I took a sip, gathered some shred of dignity, and the last of my inhibition melt away as the alcohol drained down my throat.

Now let's be honest. Drunken phone calls? Check. Unexpected hook-ups? Triple check. I know I've probably done everything under the umbrella of sex whether I remember it or not, but there I sat, loose and drunk and warm despite the cold, and I couldn't care less.

Simon, though, was a little bit drunker and quite a bit more irritated. His sentences were sloppy, his brows formed straight, hard lines, and he shifted aggressively on the floor. "What the hell, Jonsey?" He stormed. "The fucking hell? How could you just—you just assume Izzy's done that before? Like, you don't fucking know if she has or hasn't. Just because she used to be—"

I reached up to cover his mouth. "Simon, you're babbling, and Jonsey knows because I told her, like, a month ago," I laughed once at the memory. Twice. "When she and Alex and I—when we all went out after Senior Showcase—" I choked out, still laughing. "And nearly died trying to make it to Deep Ellum at ten o'clock—!" I removed my hand so I could cover my own mouth, tears squeezing out of my eyes when I fell over consumed by giggles.

The giggles. I was super drunk now, and the story wasn't even that funny.

But Jonsey and Alex squealed at the memory too, and Simon stared down at me with a blank sort of worry.

"Izzy, you're drunk."

"I know that." I snapped, and then giggled again. "And if you don't want to see what comes after the giggle phase, which, by the way, is the sexy phase, then I suggest that you don'tquestion my sex life." I stuck a hand to the sky above me, watching my breath rise and my fingers twirl. "It'll throw me over the edge."

"Fine!" He threw his hands up. I was still on the floor. "Fine! Fine. Never have I ever smoked a cigarette!"

My hand fell to my lap, surrealism shattered. "Well damn," I muttered. "I guess I've done that too."

"Are you—?!"

"You tried, Simon." I tossed the bottle to Connor when he reached for it. "You just…didn't consider what I might've done after sex."

"Oh my God."

"Not your fault."

"Oh my God."

"Well, there is one thing I haven't done."

"And what," Simon clipped, "could that possibly—"

"Never have I ever fallen in love."

Simon's voice was cut short, and the chatter around the group went mum. They looked as if they'd been insulted—as if what I'd muttered was completely alien, or impossible, or in another language entirely. For all I knew it very well could be.

Connor broke the stillness and tossed the alcohol like a hot potato. "Nope."

"That's funny."

"Love? I'm pretty sure that's an urban legend."

And we all seemed to rise at once. Alex, Connor, Jonsey and I shrugged and snickered as we abandoned the game and dumped the ludicrous idea of love along with it, but Simon, however, was fixed on the bottle, assessing his actions, and debating whether to drink or toss. "Was that really love?" He seemed to ask himself. "Is that what it was?" He was reliving life in his head—not playing a game meant to be so dumb and lighthearted and fun.

I'd read enough. I'd watched enough. I'd seen and experienced enough to know I don't know what love is. A lot of people don't, yet sometimes we swear it's the elongated crush, or the affectionate boyfriend, or the routine hook-up that texts afterwards and takes you to coffee. Hell, sometimes we confuse friendship with love and it screws us over. Sometimes we do the opposite and end up losing what we needed—what we deserved.

But every now and again we're wrong. I couldn't say so, but someone could. Someone can.

Love is touchy-feely—it's a total bitch—and I guess I'm saying that you can know when it's love, you can know when it isn't, or you can guess either way.

But when Simon unscrewed the cap, pressed the bottle to his lips, and drank, I was completely and utterly clueless.

Is that what it was?

My friends were long gone—down the steps, out of the playground. I was the only one at the top of the tree house staring at Simon's daring and confident smile. And while half of me wanted to pounce—attack him, hug him, kiss him for being him—the other half wanted to flee. I wanted to run home and never look back because I knew what he was going to say.

I refrained from kissing him, and I didn't run home. Instead I forced an airy laugh, eyes guarded as he rose lazily from the floor. "I guess," I started and stuttered, "I guess you really had it for Clary, huh?"

I wanted to hear him say yes. So badly, so terribly, I wanted a yes.

"Maybe I did," he said and waltzed towards me. Not a yes, not a no, but still not quite good enough. "I seem to have forgotten about that though."

He was inches away from me now. He was so sure of himself, but I felt my strength fracture and crack with every heavy step he took in my direction. I was frozen into place, stunned into silence. My fingers clung to the railing behind me as if predicting the need to steady myself, and in a light, swooping motion he covered the distance, closing the short space between us by reaching his hands for the railing at my back. He smiled as he caged me in, taking a moment to push the hair out of his eyes before he spoke in a voice so low that I swear I imagined his response.

"Isabelle…" he started.

My stomach dropped.

"Isabelle, I—" he broke into a light laugh, coughed once into his hand. "I…oh this is going to sound crazy right now…you probably don't want to hear this from me—but—um," he managed to spit it out, but closed his eyes as he said it.

I think I closed mine too.

"I dream about you, Isabelle."

He let a beat pass, reopened his eyes, and sighed into a smile.

"You're on my thoughts constantly." He went on. "My mother and sister know when I'm thinking about you because I get this stupid smile on my face and this light in my eyes, they say."

In truth his eyes weren't clouded, no, they were dazzlingly clear, locked on mine, and they made his words even harder to swallow.

"Clary wasn't like this—" He coughed again, scratched the nape of his neck. "Clary never made me feel this…different. And I know it's crazy, I know it's only been a semester, but I think…"

Don't say it.

"I think somehow…"

Please don't say it.

"Isabelle,"

Simon, please—!

"I think I'm in love with you."

And in that moment, that simple, startling moment when his confession made my breath stop and my heart cease, I swear I saw each light around me shatter into a million dazzling fragments that sent me buzzing from the neck down.

"Oh, Simon…" I forced my grip to loosen but could already feel the pattern the railing had pressed into my skin. "Simon, I—I don't…"

My eyes brushed past his, and he could see it now, the hurt and, more importantly, the fear. This was not the reaction he anticipated—far from it, in fact. There was no kiss, no smile, only embarrassment and an unshakable, trembling fear that should not be associated with this moment. Right in front of us, something beautiful was shattering.

See what love can do to us?

You can guess either way.

To love is to destroy.

I watched his expression slip. "Oh my God I'm an idiot." He breathed and stumbled away from me. Across the deck, towards those little baby steps that we'd ascended so brightly. His hands fluttered to his temples, and his voice wavered to the same degree. "I just screwed everything up. Dear lord I'm such a dumbass!" He let out a wild, masochistic laugh.

"Simon, don't—"

"Honestly what was I thinking? That you would like me like that? Right on the spot?" He spiraled to face me, and then whipped his body away as if looking at me hurt. "No, I'm delusional, I know it—I can see now that—"

"Simon, please—"

"You don't feel the same way." He said finally, eyes flat, face flushed, but not from the cold, not from the alcohol; those things seemed absent now, and there was nothing blurred about this moment. Everything, unfortunately for us, was painfully clear.

We breathed.

"All this time," he began after I didn't respond. "I thought maybe…after Wednesday, after everything…that this would work out—that we would…"

When his eyes peeled off of the ground and whirled in my direction, I'd expected to see a degree of hurt, maybe desperation or loss, but the look he gave me was one of stone cold indifference; it was an unfeeling, utterly emotionless gaze that restarted my heart with an icy jolt of concern. It felt a lot like fear, like loss. His eyes were the darkest brown, not even a twinge of green in sight, and it was then that I realized his voice had gone as blank as his face.

"I was wrong."

He turned away from me then, started towards those steps, and I thought vaguely, just for a moment, that if I let him leave now I was letting him leave for good.

I couldn't find it in myself to let that happen.

I threw myself against the railing. "Simon!" I wailed, and he refused to turn around, jamming his hands in his pockets instead. "Simon—Simon, just wait!"

I chased after him, placing each darting foot on each little step and praying to whichever god was listening that I didn't go tumbling down that stupid childproof staircase. I hit solid ground and ran—uncaring, determined—hair streaking behind me as the distance between us lessened.

He picked up his pace. He was done listening to me. Now, he's right, after everything he decides to leave…

You know what? I just can't deal with you right now—have a nice life.

I stumbled.

Those old words resurfaced as I watched him walk away. Different time. Different boy. But it hurt all the same.

It felt as if my legs had turned to lead. I was suddenly aware of the blistering cold. I couldn't run anymore—I couldn't walk—yet every part of body wanted to tell him how much he meant to me. I wanted to tell him that sometimes I dreamt about him too; that even Jace could see something was there—that dense asshole. The issue wasn't with love, no, it was with trust, and I wondered desperately, after everything—after absolute hell, howcould I even begin to trust another soul?

How could I?

How could I?

"Simon how could I?"

I couldn't tell if I'd thought the words silently or if I said them aloud, but even in the quietness he turned.

I'd barely noticed.

"How…how could I love someone when I think—when I do—all these…awful…terrible things to myself and hurt the people around me?" I hid my wrists, wrapped my hands around my waist. I took a fragile step forward, but kept staring at the ground. "How could I love someone when every guy I trust tries to leave? Robert's gone, and Sebastian, and J—"

Jace.

My mind finished the name for me as I choked on my own words.

"They all leave…" I mumbled to myself. "I love them but they leave and it terrifies me. They show me that affection is possible, that trust is good, but all I can think as they walk away ishow could I ever trust again?"

Simon, I love you. I wanted to say. Yes, I think I do too.

But can I trust you?

"Won't you leave me too?"

His touch made me look up, but his hug forced my eyes to close. It was a surprise given his deadened flight, but his solace was all encompassing; it drove out the cold as I melted into him, and his voice was crystal clear.

"No," he sighed, but there was firmness to his resolve. "I'm not leaving. I don't…" He squeezed me tighter to his chest, and I felt my hesitant arms snake around him. "I don't think I could ever leave, Isabelle. I promise—I swear—I'll find a way to prove you can trust me."

Maybe then… We thought. Maybe there will be something brilliant then.

Simon ran a hand through my hair, swirled patterns into my back. For once the silence was forgiving, and as we stood there in that freezing park, swaying and shattering in the same moment, it never once occurred to me that this in itself was trust.

And at last, without saying any more, we seemed to understand each other.

XXX

JACE

"Knock knock o brother of mine!" Alec called without actually knocking. His voice drifted in from behind my closed door, surprisingly chipper despite the events of the day, and he was alone despite his boyfriend—probably asleep—in the next room. Peace had returned after hurricane Robert whirled in and whirled out, but not after hours of pleading and mending and mounds of apologies on behalf of the offender. We all wore smiles, but underneath we held sour moods—Alec especially. His voice seemed to suggest otherwise, but I could see it in his walk. He was still wounded by the whole ordeal, and if I had to guess, Alec was only beginning to accept what he'd anticipated, but he was accepting it graciously.

No more drama, no more yelling—who needs a father when it's Robert you're stuck with anyways?

I pulled my sleeves over my palms. It was quarter after midnight. Frost had begun to cling to the edges of the windows, creating those ornate patterns of ice that would be gone by morning at best. The cold from the outside seemed to seep through the cracks in this old house, forcing everyone to burrow down in their beds before heat gave life to the halls the next day. But Alec knew I was nowhere close to sleep, and I knew he was coming to pry. It was expected, like always, but I had no intention of stopping him when he arrived.

Or barged—let me correct myself—he did not arrive, he barged.

"I'm coming in," he deadpanned and did as he declared, throwing my door open then diving for my bed with about as much grace as a fish out of water. The door shut behind him with a bang that nobody heard, but my picture frames rattled in response, their perpetual stillness only momentarily disturbed.

"So elegant." I nodded without looking up.

"I know." He grinned and closed my laptop for me. "I've been practicing."

I gave him a brief glare—I was working on something—and he smirked in my direction, making a point to let his floppy hair fall into his eyes. "Don't think you're getting away this holiday without talking to me." He made himself comfortable. "I've been gone for months and want to know all the dirty details."

We blinked.

"I—"

"Okay," he rethought his words. "Okay, maybe not all of them. I'm guessing," he put up a hand to stop me and laughed, embarrassed. "What I don't know won't kill me. So please, spare me."

He rolled then, a sort of undulating movement, and he was on his back, the top of his head pressing into my knee as he lightly punched my thigh. I tapped his forehead to the same rhythm. "Go. Talk." He was being dramatic. "And keep it PG-13."

I flicked him between the eyes and he punched me harder. "I met a girl." I began again. "Goes to Ben B. Senior. And she's…" I shook my head in a sort of disbelief. "She's pretty awesome."

Alec rolled his eyes beneath his bangs. "Jace," He whined, rubbing the sore spot at the top of his nose. "I came to hear something new. Not something I already know."

"But this is new, Alec, trust me."

He eyed me carefully, his brow slowly rising the second that dopey smile started to tug at the corners of my lips. It spread to the rest of my mouth, covered my face though I tried hard to conceal it. I fell onto my pillow, arms draping over my eyes in a love-struck defeat. "Trust me. It's new."

"Well," he said after a moment. A car zipped down the icy street and flashed an array of white light into my room. We stared. "What's her name?"

I hugged my arms around my shoulders. "Clary Fray."

"Isn't she…?"

"Perfect?"

"In visual?"

"That too."

"Huh," he clasped his hands behind his head and fixed his eyes on the ceiling. His brows were knit in confusion. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"Me neither."

Silence.

"Is she cute?"

"Beautiful."

"Tall?"

"Absolutely not."

"Curly hair, right?"

"Mmhmm."

I was dazed.

Alec was confused.

"I remember her." He said, eyes lightening a shade as he thought back to Ben B. "She was in my ceramics class when I was a junior, she was a freshman." He screwed up his nose just slightly. "Hard to imagine her now as a senior, what's she like?"

I glanced down at him. "You really want to know?"

"No, I'm just being an ass."

"She's an author. And a painter—"

"There he goes."

I grinned at the memory. "First time I went on a date with her, actually, she had paint on her arms and her face. Her hair was in this adorably messy bun." I gestured without realizing. "And we went to this coffee shop—Crooked Tree—because I wanted to hear this poem she'd started and she actually said yes. I was on cloud nine." I faltered. "Of course, that was after I'd snuck into writing club and got caught."

"You're whipped."

I wasn't listening. "Then we just started talking and…" Dopey smile was fully blast now. "She's feisty and powerful, but she's observant and won't let me forget it. Sometimes she's too headstrong for her own good, but she can tell what's bugging when I'm in a pissy mood. She always calls at the right time. They're a damn near superpowers if you ask me and plus she's fucking adorable."

"You're whipped." He said again.

"She's got me going to writing club now, God." I ran a hand through my already messy hair. "And I'm eating lunch with her in the painting studio—"

"Jace."

"She's—"

"You're—"

"She's—"

"Jace Wayland you. Are. Whipped."

"What?"

He was rolling now, gasping between laughs, "You're totally taken."

I kicked him. He blocked it. "I am not! Alec," I dropped my voice an octave. "You've got it wrong. I'm Jace Wayland. I date around and don't get whipped."

"What's her favorite drink at Starbucks?"

"That's the dumbest question I've ever heard."

"Jace—"

"You know it depends on the season—right now it's a gingerbread latte with extra—"

"Whip?"

"No, espresso."

God damn it.

"Oh fuck."

I'm whipped.

"Damn it!"

"Whooooooo!" Alec howled in delight, clutching his stomach, ready to burst. He was laughing his ass off and I'm pretty sure I was blushing. "Someone had to tell you, dude."

"It's not funny."

"Oh, but it is."

"For you maybe!"

"It is! Oh, but Jace what happened?" Alec took a breath and let his aching stomach relax. "Not to be mean, but this definitely isn't like you."

"It was the bet." I confessed. "Had to be."

"A bet?" Alec cooed. This, apparently, was news. "With who, Josh? Sebastian?"

"No, actually." I shifted to my side and came up on one elbow, facing him. "It's with Isabelle."

His eyes snapped open. They were electric blue and wide with shock. "Izzy made a bet with you?"

I nodded, affirming his disbelief. "If I date Clary for the rest year without cheating on her, Izzy's my bitch and has to do whatever I say."

"And if you lose?" His voice was carefully guarded.

Whatever blood was left in my face drained. I pronounced each word cautiously—in truth, it made the declaration hurt less. "I think she wants my car."

We winced. Alec, of course, understood the gravity of that situation.

His eyes were deadly serious. "You have to win."

"I plan on it."

"So you actually like her, then?"

"I'm whipped aren't I?"

"That you are."

"Izzy's kind of an evil genius."

"That she is."

We smiled.

There was a touch of stillness.

And Alec let his lips flutter shut. His hands folded together as they settled on his lap, his breaths deep and even as they seemed to fall in time with my own. The color in his eyes sank from that startling electric blue to a sullen midnight indigo and glazed over. He'd turned to stone, and I felt it too. My heart shook with every thudding pulse, and my face dropped, completely dead, I imagined, compared to the lively day to day. I let it happen. We let it happen, and a queer sort of heaviness set in.

The feeling fell over us like wet snow, cold and suffocating, and we were trapped under that silent and deadly avalanche. The cold seeped into our skin, ran fast through our veins—it searched wildly for our hearts that were already refusing to beat.

A light flashed into my room.

Alec only moved his lips.

"Is she going to be okay?" He asked, his voice suddenly hoarse. Something within us seemed to creak, and we were breaking from the heavy. "Mom said she's…" He couldn't finish. "Is she eating? Is she better?"

There was a plea in his voice, and it was sincere. Though his body was stuck in position, his emotion ran rampant through his consciousness and sought to color his voice.

"She was eating…" I told. Saying yes would be a lie. "And then she wasn't…" I told. Saying no would be a lie too. This issue is complex, it shifts and he knows that, but it can't stop us from hoping. While it looks like she's has finally found an out, we can't rejoice, not really, not yet.

Relapse.

I know she fears it more than we do.

Still, we could not find it in our bodies to move. And our brains, though weighted like rocks, were frenetic. I couldn't keep myself from talking.

"She met a guy." I murmured. "Named Simon. He plays the cello. They have chemistry together, which she adores, by the way. And he's kind of a total nerd."

My words were running like water, coming up like vomit. This babble was utterly useless, but I continued.

"He played for her solo in the Collab this fall, and I think she's at his concert right now."

Alec was silent.

"He really likes her." I felt my breath catch. The air was still heavy. "And she likes him, I can tell. I said if she could learn to trust him that I'd buy her Starbucks for a year. If she can't, I get her iPod for two weeks."

I waited for a response.

Alec didn't move.

So I started speaking again. "You know she's so attached to that thing." I laughed—a brief, nervous laugh that barely made a sound. Something wasn't right. "I thought, 'what a perfect thing to wage in a bet.'" Still heavy. "Although, I think she'll probably end up winning her end. They've been hanging out a lot these past few months and have gotten really close—"

"I told you to protect her."

Still heavy.

I was silent now; an odd sort of obedience, but Alec's voice was harsh. I could see his jaw was clenched, his eyes were tight, and his fists balled as he spoke. The words were low, controlled—he was containing something like rage.

"You promised me you would protect her."

Still heavy.

I didn't want to remember our fights. I didn't want to remember my insults, but they surfaced now, ringing loud in my ears.

Five pounds shy of dead.

Slicing your wrists like bread.

That twisted little head of yours.

I flinched, shuddering at the memory like a nightmare. I knew I cared about Isabelle, and I promised to protect her from herself, but what about me? If I'm the danger, have I been helping or hurting?

I abandoned the thought.

Alec continued. "You said, 'Stay in Manhattan, Alec. She'll be fine,'"

It's true. I did. She was.

"And I believed you, Jace." He was tripping over his words, far past flustered. "A-and now—now she thinks she has a brother that doesn't care whether she lives or dies when really, all this time, I've confused myself into thinking she was taken care of." I watched his hands tremble. "No. No, you—you know the only reason I stayed there and didn't come home after freshman year was because you swore she would be okay." He was choking up. His face was flushing, and with a sudden, shattering release, he moved. He bolted upright, jolting the bed and sending my heart into a jagged flurry as his eyes, now watery, connected with mine. "She is hurting herself, Jace! She doesn't speak to me like she used to! I was convinced she was doing just fine and come home to hear from Mom that she's—she's thinner, she's sicker, and you're making bets with her for fun?" He shook his head, not in disbelief, but in disappointment, and that motion was devastating. He blinked once before looking away. "Who are you, Jace?"

Still heavy.

I couldn't look at him. The words I said to the sheets were quick but serious. I whispered, but I wanted to scream. "I still care, Alec."

"Like hell you do."

"Of course I do!" I shrieked. We were both near hysterics, taunting the line we were going to cross with sticks and fire and ice. Not a silent avalanche, no, a loud one now.

Still heavy.

"I care about her so much, Alec, it makes me sick. Physically sick. And honestly, I didn't even know that was possible."

I was still staring at the sheets, almost blacking out from the anger, the pressure, but I forced myself to speak before the guilt could fully register.

The guilt.

I abandoned the thought.

"I got onto her every day for weeks," I cried,"telling her that she needed to take care of herself. I was there when she fainted. I was listening every single time she spoke so I cannot explain to you how—!"

"Then how could you let this happen? Jace? How could you?!"

"I don't know, Alec!"

"What have you done to her? She's my sister and she's—"

I watched him rock as he said it, as if the question had taken some sacred energy stored inside him that now, completely depleted, made him want to collapse beneath the weight of the effort. But instead of falling apart, he held his ground, eyes dipping low as they fell to a color like black as I spoke.

"She started eating again yesterday. She ate again today. She stopped covering her wrists with bracelets because she stopped—you know—"

He did. I knew he did.

"And if you think for one second," I went on. "That I don't care as much as you, or Mayrse, or Simon then you are wrong, Alec. I think I care about her more than anyone."

We stared each other down. Backed away from the line.

"I don't know how I can prove it to you, but I worry about her so much." My whole body was shivering. "She was—is—my best friend. And yeah, I've screwed up. Some things are my fault, but I—I can't imagine losing her to something like—"

Alec reached across the bed and finally collapsed, finally broke down. Falling into a hug around my shoulders, Alec buried his face in my neck and moaned, triggering a response of my own as my hands fluttered softly to his back. There I could feel it all—the anxiety, the dread, the relief that seemed to wash over him as his muscles relaxed into my own.

Thank you. He said, without actually saying it.

I felt myself to the same—

My phone buzzed.

We parted, a snapping motion that detangled us as quickly as we had entangled ourselves, and he let me search. Buried under the endless mounds of covers was my phone, never to be found, like always.

That heaviness lifted like a slow melting snow, and our voices fell to slight murmurs as we spoke about nothing, laughed about nothing, and felt utterly exhausted about everything.

Just as we forgot about the tears we never shed and the pain that never left, I found the buzzing thing beneath a pillow and wondered, as I always did, who in their right mind would text me on 12:48 on a Saturday night—now Sunday morning—other than—

"Izzy."

We sighed.

She was drunk in a park and needed my help, but Alec and I were out the door before I finished reading her long-winded apology. We didn't need an explanation. We only wanted our sister, and somewhere along the way on that oddly silent ride, Alec and I vowed to never yell like that again.

And somehow, secretly, we seemed to omit the bad parts of that night because I only seem to remember the good.

Chapter Text

JACE

Her favorite kids movie is Finding Nemo. She adores Chick-fil-A french-fries. Her favorite color isn’t blue, it’s not green—it’s teal, she says, which in my eyes is only a combination of said blue and said green, but in her eyes it’s a new color entirely. Doesn’t phase me—she seems to see the world differently anyway.

She seems to think that rewatching Interstellar is better than rewatching The Fault in our Stars even though I’ve seen her tear up over the latter and completely bash the former. She says the science is wrong—and she hates science—but she’s in AP Physics and is pretty good at it too, despite the obvious animosity. Of course, she’s much better at writing, that little form of expression she forged for herself. And I’ve concluded, now, it’s because she absolutely loves reading. I know her entire being is made to create with her hands and her mind, but there is an undeniable portion of her that seeks to discover, and she does that with her eyes, with books, and I’m sure of that fact. I once called her name five times—I counted—“Clary. Clary. Clarissa.” On and on, almost yelling, and got no response because Slaughterhouse-Five had completely stolen her attention. It’s a good book and all, but in that moment I hated the thing for temporarily murdering any sort of attachment I had to my girlfriend. I wanted to murder it right back. So it goes.

Stops at Half-Price Books or Barnes & Nobel turn into day trips. “Let me read a few pages” turns into, “Just a bit more, Jace. Please?” I’ve never seen eyes get so wide over classics and contemporaries and manga alike. I didn’t know an ending could make her run or scream or cry. The more I’m with her, I’m realizing, the more she confuses me. Her interests and disinterests contradict what she says and how she acts, but they add up perfectly to make my Clary, and somehow we always end up in sync. It’s strange, and I’m not sure how it happens, but now I know that no, she actually doesn’t like that movie she’s watched five times because they left out that one scene in that one book that, in her eyes, was perfectly written. Now I know that yes, there’s a difference between violet and eggplant even though they’re both shades purple—a color she despises. To her, purple is only “an indecisive blue.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be educated,” she says. “A real artist can’t avoid all the colors, now can they?”

No, Clary. I guess they can’t. And I can’t seem to avoid you.

A semester ago I would’ve never admitted to liking—no—loving Clary the way I would now. I want to scream it from the mountaintops, “I LOVE HER.” But then her face would turn that shade of red that clashes with her hair and later she’d hate me for it. I refrain, but not from adoring her.

I know, I know—it’s sappy. I mean, how could I even be familiar with love when I’ve hooked up with more girls than I could count? How is it that this time it’s different?

It’s got to be Clary. Has to be. And if that’s true then damn, you’re right Isabelle. I can feel what you were talking about during our big fight…she’s changing back from this thing that I’ve started to detest. She’s teaching me how to love even though I’d forced myself to forget the process. I guess my attitude was out of defense.

Izzy, I’m so sorry. For me.

But when school starts tomorrow I’ll try—I know I will—to come back, the real me.

It’s for the best. Isn’t it?

 

XXX

 

Her tiny hand folded into mine, but her mind was miles ahead of me. And though she held her chest high, her spirits were low—I could see it in her clouded eyes. She was apprehensive, terrified even, but at the very least Clary Fray was absolutely pissed.

“I don’t want to do this.” She’d growled more than once on the way to the park, crossing her arms as she spoke. “I don’t care what ‘important news’ my dad has to tell me, I don’t want to speak to him.”

She’d been grumbly like that since New Year’s, but still, when the time came she slid into the passenger seat of my car without a true fight. I’d honored my promise; I’d come with her to meet her father for the first time in years—but unfortunately for me, my presence didn’t seem to make Clary any less…bitchy.

“Oh come on, Clary! It’ll be—f”

“Don’t you dare say ‘fun.’”

“Fucking amazing.”

“Yeah. Sure.” She harrumphed. “Because meeting my father will be the thrill of a lifetime.”

“No,” I corrected. “I’m not saying that.”

“Yes you—”

“What I’m saying is,” I let my eyes flick in her direction, “that if your father wants to meet you it’s not arbitrary. You can feel that,” I snatched the hand that had crept to her lap and held it firmly in mine. “Can’t you?”

Her eyes must be sore from rolling so much. “Yeah, I guess.”

“There you go.”

“But I still don’t want to see him.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“Seriously Jace,” she was beginning to beg. “Is it really too late to turn around?”

“Clary, we are literally in the parking lot.”

“That’s close enough to home, isn’t it?”

“Clary.” I shot her a warning look.

She uttered a sigh, and then a low whine of defeat. “Fine.”

A moment. Then she flung the car door open and stepped into the warm afternoon sun. “I’ll do it.” She squinted into the light. “But not because he wants me to, that asshole.”

That’s my Clary.

My Clary.

I swung out of my seat and around the front of the car, searching for the hand that was searching for mine. She was still fuming, and a light, chilly breeze ruffled her hair. Her curls flung forward, fanned across her face, but she didn’t notice. Instead her eyes were downcast as they refused to acknowledge the perfectly cloudless sky. She was rigid at first, unwilling, but as we walked—slowly, surely—she was beginning to soften. The warmth was getting under her skin, and for a moment it was just Clary and I, strolling down that park’s pebbled sidewalk. It could’ve been a date without much thought at all, and the purpose of the trip seemed to shift with every slow, synchronized step. It edged away from the dark and urgent task we’d been called to and now inched toward that sun-drenched, winter break lethargy we’d grown comfortable with. I could feel it—the happiness and the bliss—as her fingers twirled into mine, as she relaxed into me, a slight smile playing on her lips—

But then she saw the shoes. They were dark and urgent; it was the reality that shattered our short-lived fantasy. There was no more bliss in her smile. No happiness in her skillful hands. Clary, in that one instant, nearly refused to walk at the sight of her father’s shoes.

They were obsidian black. So were his laces, his socks. His entire being was uncomfortably pristine, and his suit, pitch black and unwrinkled, seemed to absorb the color surrounding it. Perhaps it was the contrast—that paper white skin that slipped out from pitch and tar—that dulled the colors of the world to a pitiful grey that only onlookers could perceive, but somehow it was unmistakable. Children shied away from him, pedestrians avoided him.  He stood only on the sidewalk that boarded the park and scowled at his phone, glared at his watch, frowned at the black and white flowers.

Clary took a rattling breath and gripped my hand tighter. “Valentine hasn’t changed.” She said, and I watched as something like disappointment poured over her features.

But then she shook out her hair—a show of strength, of preparation—and guided me forward like a commander leading her troops to battle.

I just hoped she realized this wasn’t a battle I could fight.

Valentine’s eyes, a perfect, gleaming finish to his all black ensemble, slid up from his phone. The malice behind his glance sent an icy pulse through my veins.

“Clarissa.” He acknowledged, curt yet charismatic.

Clary eyed him like a snake. “Valentine.”

And suddenly his eyes snapped to mine. It was an instant, desolating connection that nearly knocked me off my feet, and somehow his black eyes got darker.

“And you are?” Valentine said with a rising brow.

There was half a hesitation, a mental stutter, and then my hand shot out in time with my words. “Jace Wayland. Pleasure to meet you.”

He took it; his grip was hot despite his frigid stare, but there was some forgotten emotion registering behind it. Amusement maybe? Acceptance? While I had no desire to understand the workings of Valentine’s mind, that ambiguity numbed my insides even more.

“Wayland?”

That emotion in his eyes grew brighter, stronger. But what was it? I was drowning.

“So nice to finally meet you, Jace.” His lips curled into something like a smile. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

He must’ve read the confusion on our faces—Clary and I were open books today—but the Angel knows she hasn’t breathed a word about me. Not to Valentine at least, and the bewilderment in her eyes confirmed it.

Valentine simply held up a palm and corrected his error, our error. He began again. “Allow me to re-explain.”

The breath that escaped his mouth was something like a laugh.

“I’m Valentine Morgenstern of Morgenstern Business Management. I work primarily in Dallas and Seattle, but I think you know my…” He paused, glancing at Clary. “My son.”

 I felt Clary jolt beside me, and Valentine’s pseudo smile slid wider across his face. “He went to Ben B. until only last year. I’m sure you remember him, both of you.”

My mind was whirling—what was it? Who was he? I was still drowning—

But the name that followed was like a threat. A curse.

“Sebastian Verlac.”

 

XXX

 

Son?

Clary let out a breath—half exhale, half gasp—and in that one lowering moment it all suddenly made sense. This meeting, this timing, that emotion in his eyes.

Recognition.

He wasn’t amused. He didn’t approve. No, instead he was finally able to put a face to a name he’d heard all to much from his son, my best friend. All those years of “I’m going out with Jace” or “Wayland’s an idiot” or “I’m first chair over Jace Wayland.” That was it. That’s all it was.

I’d never felt more naked. Here was a simple, powerful man who could pinpoint all of my flaws, recount all my successes, criticize all my mistakes, and yet I could only mention his last name, the name of his company, the name of his son. These names are so meaningless—worthless even, if muttered to Valentine—but they’re all that I have, and it seemed like enough to destroy me. Who knows how many conversations his son had begun with my name? Who knows how his image of me has shifted now that we’ve met? Now that he knows I’m dating his forgotten daughter?

But soon it hit me—recognition, realization. As my thoughts bounced between Clary and Valentine, as I remembered the hell he created for his daughter and her mother, I realized this man deserved none my worry. Yes, he could recognize my name; he could make a connection and analyze all my life’s decisions, successes, and failures. Here was a simple, powerful man who seemed to understand everything his eyes touched, but Valentine failed to notice the damage he’d done to his own daughter. The world she knew has shattered, and he didn’t even seem to care.

Clary broke in now, speaking between the frantic rise and fall of her chest. “Sebastian is,” her hand clenched mine tighter as she spoke. “All this time he’s been my—”

“Half-brother.”

Clary jumped in response to the fourth voice, releasing the hand she’d been squeezing like a human stress ball, and though we’d heard the footsteps from behind we didn’t need to turn to see who it was. His carbon copy of a father was standing right in front of us, pride dancing in his darkened eyes.

What imperfect timing.

Valentine’s gaze rolled over us as his hands slid behind his back. At last, he thought, all his children in one place, finally righting a wrong that should’ve never been hidden, but hidden nonetheless.

“I’ll let you three catch up.” He smirked, turning on his heel, producing his phone from the contents of his suit, reassuming his routine and nature. Thank goodness, he must’ve thought. Now he could exhale in relief and exchange his role as father for a far more important, more pressing role—one that summoned him back to the mass of gleaming buildings with his initials on the insignia. He was better at that job anyway.

I guess that’s one thing our fathers had in common.

And so Clary and I could only grimace as we were left with Valentine’s creation. His arrow. And in the span of 3 minutes, though we didn’t to believe it, we were forced to reconcile with the sense that there was more to this boy—and this family—than what we assumed when we passed in the halls of Ben B. not too long ago.

 

XXX

 

“So just be straight with me Wayland. Honestly,” Sebastian put a hand over his heart—a grand gesture of, albeit forged, sincerity. “I promise I won’t be upset as long as you tell me the truth. No secrets, right? No bullshit. Just like old times.” Sebastian clapped that same heartfelt hand on my shoulder dropped his eyes, his voice. “You can trust me.”

But his words weren’t low enough for Clary not to hear.

“Are you fucking my sister?”

Just like old times.

“No! I’m—”

“I’m not your sister.”

“Okay, okay. I guess that was wrong.” A pause. “Are you fucking my half-sister?”

“No! I’m—”

“Sebastian!”

“What? Can’t two best friends—?”

“No, Sebastian.”

“Whoa, whoa.” He put his hands up in false surrender. “Bros before hoes, man.”

Clary sat in her hip. “Let me point out that you just called your sister a hoe and a man in the same sentence.”

“Half-sister.”

“Oh by the Angel.”

“Just—for the record,” I finally broke in. “I’m not fucking anyone.”

Sebastian’s grin dissolved off his face as leaned to whisper in Clary’s ear.

“Is he okay?”

She moaned. “I have no idea.”

“Because that doesn’t sound like the Jace I know.”

“Well maybe you don’t know Jace all that well, Verlac.” Her scowl darkened. “Just like you know absolutely nothing about me.”

Sebastian gave a knowing smile, his eyes full of charm. “Do you still want to go to Tisch for art?”

A brief pause. “Well yeah, but—”

“Is that Simon kid still your best friend?”

“No, but—”

“You’re obviously in love with Wayland here,” his head tilted in my direction. “You’re senior at Ben B., probably hating AP Physics, loving AP Literature, and…” He let his smile grow. “You probably despise me.”

Silence.

Sebastian’s voice softened. “Did I miss anything?”

“You forgot to mention that I hate our father.”

“That was implied.”

A hand slid down my face. “I still can’t believe you two are related.”

“And how,” Clary’s brow furrowed, “did that important detail slide exactly? You know, with us going to the same school and all?”

“I’ll tell you how exactly.” He crossed his arms in time with Clary’s and failed to notice the similarity in the motion, the attitude.

Damn, they really are related.

“It’s because Valentine’s a sneaky shit. That’s why.”

 “Damn straight.” Clary and I nodded.

“So get this Clary,” Sebastian leaned into the park bench we’d commandeered, slinging an elbow over the top, jamming a hand in his pocket. “Dad was married eight years before he had kids, right?”

Clary didn’t realize, but this was when her face began to lose its color. “I thought it was nine.” She said in a small voice.

“It was nine before he had you. Only eight before he had me with my mother.”

A breeze blew between us.

“According to Dad,” he rolled his eyes, “he started seeing my mom about 3 years before I was born.” Sebastian’s eyes were softer just then. “I assume things were…manageable that first year I was there. If Dad’s good at anything it’s managing multiple projects.”

He took a solemn breath, realized his inauspicious word choice, and glanced at Clary. She’d started to pick at her fingers, but I don’t think she noticed she was nervous. Sebastian and I were the only two with a clue.

“So when Dad decided to have a kid with his actual wife,” he slumped in his seat, elbow still over the top, hand still in his pocket. “Why,” it was cynicism that brightened his voice. “Everything went to shit.”

He smiled, but I could see the defeat in his eyes.

Clary gave a slow, defeated shake of her head. So subtle, in fact, that it didn’t seem to register. “But I don’t…” Her fingers were still twisting, her voice breathless. “If I’m the reason they split then—”

“Clary,” Sebastian said, almost warmly. “It wasn’t you. I can assure you that.” He uncrossed and re-crossed his legs, slinging his left foot over his knee. "The situation may frame it that way, but they split because Valentine decided it was time. If you’re going to ask why he played pretend for so long, it’s because Valentine thought it was in his best interest.”

Clary let a moment pass, closing her eyes and reopening them as if to help clear her swirling head. “I guess that explains why he left when he did.” She stilled her fingers as they fell to her lap. “He couldn’t handle two kids at the same school, could he?”

Sebastian shook his head. “Not one bit.”

They sighed in time with each other.

“That asshole.” She said again, and I could see it now. Clary’s despair was transforming into anger. She pursed her lips as her eyes flared, and suddenly her cheeks were pinking up again.

I liked it better when they were rosy from the breeze.

Clary leaned back on the bench, and her voice took on that same, cynical brightness as Sebastian’s. “He didn’t even want me to submit my portfolio for Ben B. Mom and I had to do everything behind his back. He was furious once he found out I got in.” She jammed a hand into her jacket pocket, fuming. “He and Mom were screaming for hours, debating what was best for me—what would make me happy. It was like I was invisible. My father wouldn’t speak to me, my mother dismissed me—my entire freshman year I didn’t exist, even to you two.”

She let those words sink in, and we let a breath pass.

“And then he left.” She turned to face Sebastian, a slight smile on her face. It was the first time she’d done either—smile or address him directly—since he arrived. “He chose you instead.”

Sebastian scoffed, his dark eyes sliding away from us. “Yeah, I should be so lucky—Valentine is a marvelous example of a father. I just love having him boss me around 24/7 like some little—”

“But that doesn’t explain why you never told me the truth, Seb.” Clary interrupted, accusation in her voice.

“You think I knew?” Sebastian sneered, redirecting his attention to his sister. “Oh, you are sorely mistaken, Clairebear.”

These nicknames were far from endearing.

Sebastian’s words made him sit up. Each one was clear and precise. “Let me reiterate. He bosses me around 24/7. I don’t get to be his son anymore. I’m his employee.”

This statement did not phase Clary. She seemed bored by it, in fact, and after a moment Sebastian resumed is slouch.

“You work for his company?” She finally asked.

“Member since 2010.”

“By choice?” She pressed.

“In part.” He replied. “Not at first, believe me. When I was seventeen, I just wanted to goof off with Wayland here.” He flicked a thumb in my direction, not looking at either of us.

Now it was my turn to cut in. “Seb, I remember that year. You hated that job.” I peered around Clary, who was still as stone, to face Sebastian. “That was the summer before your junior year—you were set to study piano in New York and had to cancel last minute.”

“Yeah well,” Sebastian let out a lofty sigh. “Valentine put an end to that dream.” The cynicism returned, and his gaze was distant.  “‘I let you have your fun, Sebastian.’ He’d said. ‘Now, you owe me for everything you’ve put me through.’”

I shook my head. “God, that’s awful.”

“He’s awful.” He replied.

“And that was the same summer he left Mom, too.” Clary continued, voice climbing. “He knocked us down while he was building you up—”

“At the time, Clary,” Sebastian cut her off. “It felt more like a prison sentence than an opportunity.”

Clary didn’t seem to believe him.

“What? You think I enjoyed giving up what I loved for him?”

“Well why did you?”

“Because I didn’t have a choice, Clary.”

“Yes you did. You always have a—”

“No, Clary.”

“Yes, Sebastian—!”

“No!” He exclaimed, finally losing his temper. “With him you never do! I know you know that!”

“I made a choice, Seb—!”

“And look where that got you and Jocelyn, Clary! How are you two now?”

Clary was stunned to silence. Her mouth hung open, and then snapped shut. Her hands were shaking, and her cheeks flushed a vibrant, angry red, but still she remained quiet.

Sebastian was not apologetic. His eyes stared straight ahead.

“But you didn’t quit, Seb.” I said carefully, passing a hand over Clary’s. It was a moment before she took it.

When she did, I spoke again. “You kept working there and now…?”

Sebastian sighed, letting the anger float off of him. “Now I’m managing advertisement for MBM, living in my own apartment, and dreading my second semester at Southern Methodist University.”

Clary made a face and asked in a quiet voice, “Why SMU, Seb? Why not New York?”

Sebastian let his foot slide off his leg and onto the ground, a distasteful look passing over his face. “Now that’s a combination of Valentine, jobs, and connections with strings attached.”

I grimaced. “Sounds hairy.”

“Where our father’s concerned,” Sebastian gestured between himself and Clary. “Everything’s a little hairy.”

“But how can you—” Clary’s voice was colored with frustration. “How can you let him rule your life like that?”

“Because he’s the only one that ever gave me anything.”

Clary paused for a moment, startled by his sudden sincerity. “But didn’t your mom—?”

“She blamed me for ruining her relationship with Valentine. She blamed me nineteen years ago, and it doesn’t help that now he’s moved on to some other woman. Somehow she’s blamed me for that, too.”

Now you know how I feel. Clary wanted to say. I could see it in her eyes as she glared at Sebastian. I could see that she wanted to explode—to release all the anger she harbored for Valentine onto his son, her brother.

But she didn’t. Instead she surprised us both.

“I’m sorry, Sebastian.” She started. He was turning his head now, interested in her apology. His hands slid softly into his lap, and Clary went on. “I’m sorry about your mom and your music—I’m sorry that he stole all of that from you.”

Clary’s color was returning to normal, the tension releasing from her body. And suddenly, with no warning at all, Sebastian began to smile. It wasn’t a full-blown grin—nobody could ask for that at a time like this—but it was a small, genuine smile given only to his sister.

Out of all the years I’ve known Sebastian, I’ve never seen him smile like that. But I was glad—especially if this was the first—that this smile was saved for a moment like this.

“Thank you, sis.” He whispered, cynicism gone for good. “If I’d known about this earlier, a year ago even…” He trailed off. “Things would’ve been different. We would’ve been different.”

Clary glanced in his direction, but now there was warmth in her eyes.

“I’m not asking for us to be besties or whatever,” Sebastian went on, cool-boy attitude returning. “But at least,” He glanced away from her. “At least now you know.”

Clary nodded, a subtle thank you as she leaned into me, resting her head on my shoulder.

I put my arm around her as Sebastian’s phone buzzed once. He read the message quickly, eyes widening and then falling flat. He shoved the phone in his pocket.

“You’ve gotta go.” I said, noticing the look on his face.

He nodded, rising from his seat and towering over us. “There’s a D-Sig party I’m headed to. Starts in an hour.”

Clary raised an eyebrow. “It’s four PM.” She said.

Sebastian dismissed the comment with a quick wave of his hand. “Party, dartie, whatever. There’s Fireball and a Franzia Forest.” He reasoned. “You guys coming or what?”

Well…Fireball didn’t sound half bad—

“Frat parties are gross.”

She’s right. Fireball sounded terrible. Absolutely terrible.

Jace Wayland you are whipped!

It was Alec’s voice in my head, loud and undeniably clear, but at that moment, when the sun shone down on the two of us and Clary circled her arm around mine, I didn’t even care. Not one bit.

Sebastian shook his head, chuckling as he smirked at us—his old best friend and his new half-sister. “Okay lovebirds, I’ll leave you alone to screw now.” He pointed at me, eyes wide and sharp. “Text me, Wayland.”

I nodded, but my thumbs-up was coupled with a glare.

He laughed even louder, tapping my fist as I held it out—a wordless goodbye as Clary’s body relaxed into mine. But before he took off—before he shot us his winning smile—his eyes seemed to soften, voice dropping from the conversational tone he’d used for Clary, to a more discrete, more prying tone that only I seemed to pick up on.

I’ve known Sebastian for years. Nothing slides past me; nothing phases me—not with him. But I knew that voice. I knew that look on his face, and it made my insides twist. It was the voice he used when he was up to no good, and the look he used when he wanted something he knew exactly how to get.

I couldn’t help but think, now, that these were traits he adopted from his father.

He gave us his perfectly practiced smile—the one that seeped with danger and deception.

Or at least it felt that way.

“Tell Isabelle I miss her, yeah? I want to hear from her soon.” He said, turning slowly on his heel.

I wanted to respond—a simple “Yeah,” or “Fuck off,” would’ve sufficed—

But he was gone before my entire body stiffened and before my face could drain itself of color.