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Out of all things she could possibly be doing on a Friday night, going to an art exhibition was Isabelle’s least favorite option.
She would much rather be at a good club, dancing to good music and having some drinks and enjoying herself, or be at home curled up in bed with a cup of tea and a nice book, or even hang out with Meliorn and Jace than strolling around a freaking museum at 10pm.
“A night showing,” she huffs as she follows Alec and Magnus through the corridors packed with paintings, sculptures and other art pieces, “who even comes up with that? What person in their right mind would voluntarily come to a night showing of art on a Friday night?”
Alec looks over his shoulder to frown at her.
“You, apparently,” he says. Isabelle narrows her eyes at him and pushes herself between him and Magnus to hook her arm into Magnus’.
“I said voluntarily, Alec.”
Alec smiles sweetly at her, falling back for just a moment only to reappear on Magnus’ other side to lace their fingers together.
“You’re doing this voluntarily under pressure,” he shrugs, “because I’m your brother and I organized this whole thing and as my sister you have to support me. Those are the sibling rules.”
“I hate the sibling rules,” Isabelle mutters. Magnus pinches her in the arm and gives her a close to pitying look, to which she just rolls her eyes.
They stroll the exhibition for way too long, going way too slow even when Isabelle starts dragging Magnus with her. At one point she gets a text and she shoots a quick prayer to whatever god is listening that it’ll be an excuse to leave before opening it, but it’s just a picture of Jace and Meliorn shirtless on Meliorn’s couch, sharing a joint.
“Now they’re just trying to make me jealous,” she complains as she shows the picture to Magnus.
Magnus rolls his eyes at her.
“Come on, Izzy. It isn’t that bad.”
“It is. I’m bored out of my mind and suffering.”
“Well, go find a way to entertain yourself while I help Alec make some connections for next parties to plan, then. Go find a cute girl to talk to and flirt with.”
Izzy wants to make a snarky remark about girls in here probably not being her type, but then they just so happen to walk past a girl with flaming red hair staring intently at a painting, head slightly tilted, and she falters in her movements.
“That’s actually not such a bad idea,” she says, offering the two boys a sly smile before disconnecting her arm from Magnus’ to go stand with the girl.
They stand there in silence for a few seconds, both watching the painting. Izzy honestly doesn’t get it; it’s one of those ‘modern’ art pieces that just looks like someone threw paint at an empty canvas and gave it a deep title like ‘metaphor for the constant void surrounding us all’. The girl next to her seems to be sharing the same confused frown, so Izzy chuckles and says: “My ten year old brother could make this. Just splash some paint on a canvas, right?”
The girl looks at her, big-eyed and slack-jawed like Izzy just threw her the biggest insult imaginable.
“What?” Izzy asks when the silence stretches between them.
“I made that,” the girl stutters, her cheeks turning as red as her hair. Somehow Izzy doesn’t think it’s with embarrassment but with rage.
“Oh – oh my god,” she says quickly, reaching out to the girl but not really knowing what to do with her hands, “that was so insensitive of me, I’m so sorry. I don’t think before I speak.”
The girl stares at her for a moment, then looks away. She’s chewing her lip.
“It’s fine, people can have different opinions,” she breathes, but she doesn’t look fine at all. To be honest, she looks close to punching Izzy in the face. Which is, weirdly enough, spiking Isabelle’s interest in her.
“Let me make it up to you,” Isabelle suggests.
“Say something mean about me. Come on, I can take it. I deserve it.”
The girl frowns at her and lets her eyes travel over Isabelle’s body, as if to find some flaws. Isabelle immediately regrets this and feels herself getting insecure, which barely happens anymore. But the girl in front of her isn’t just checking her out – she’s looking for something to say something mean about. Which usually isn’t the reason why people check Isabelle out.
“Well,” the girl says after having looked her up and down, “you’re – you’re really mean.”
Isabelle raises an eyebrow, barely able to swallow her chuckle.
“Seriously? Is that all you got?”
“I – yeah – you’re just – your appearance is quite flawless,” the girl stutters.
“Is that so?” Izzy asks, not even trying to hide her smirk anymore.
“Yes, but you’re still mean. Goodbye.” And with that, the redhead turns around and disappears into the crowd.
Izzy stands in front of the painting staring at the spot the girl was a few seconds ago, wondering how such colorful hair could so easily disappear into the crowd, and then she goes after her.
***
“My name is Isabelle. Isabelle Lightwood? Maybe you could make a mean comment about that?”
The girl startles and turns around to glare at her. She was admiring a sculpture when Izzy found her, obviously too deep in thought to hear the clicking of her high heels as she approached her.
“People call me Izzy. Jace – that’s my brother – used to call me Icky when we were kids. I’m sure there’s a drag in there somewhere.”
The redhead narrows her eyes at her.
“Honestly, what do you want from me?” She wonders, crossing her arms over her chest.
Izzy bites her bottom lip and sighs, making a vague hand gesture.
“I just – I’m sorry. What I said was really insensitive and I deserve to be treated the same way.”
“What if I don’t want to treat you the same way?”
“Why not?”
The redhead cocks a bow at her.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you’re cute. Maybe it’s because I’m not petty.”
Izzy laughs.
“You think I’m cute?”
“I also think you’re petty.”
“I can work with that,” Izzy smirks. Then she takes a step closer to the redhead, who looks surprised at the movement but isn’t planning on taking a step back.
“Okay, so how about this instead: I take you out for a drink later and you explain the painting to me. Educate me on it.”
The redhead thinks about it for a moment, then breaks into one of the most beautiful smiles Isabelle has ever seen.
“That doesn’t sound too bad. Your treat, of course. Since you insulted me and all.”
Izzy smiles at her, hoping the redhead finds her smile just as beautiful.
“Of course.”
***
“Oh my god, I’m such an idiot,” Isabelle exclaims later that night. They’re sitting in a bar across from the art exhibition, where Izzy left Alec and Magnus to make some connections or whatever. Clary (they exchanged names as they were crossing the street to the bar) sips from her Mojito while Izzy wants to punch herself in the face.
“If I’d just read the title of the painting instead of making fun of it… I’m really sorry, Clary. I should learn to keep my mouth shut.”
Clary shrugs, playing with the straw of her drink.
“It’s okay. I made that painting when I came out as a lesbian and I just started throwing paint at an empty canvas, as you said. For me it was a way to rid myself of internalized heteronormativity and homophobia, to get all the anger and self-hatred out so I could make room for self-acceptance. I figured Pride was a good title for a painting that helped me a lot when I was learning to be proud of who I was.”
“Still,” Izzy mutters, shaking her head, “knowing the meaning behind the painting makes me feel even worse. How can I make it up to you? You want to come over to my place and make fun of my star charts? Or burn one of my forensic books? Or tell me the evolution theory isn’t real?”
Clary smiles shyly.
“Actually, I was kind of hoping we could just… sit here and talk for a while. If you could just show me you’re not actually as rude as you made yourself look earlier, that would do a whole lot more on your way to forgiveness than allowing me to badmouth something you enjoy.”
“Oh, okay. I can definitely do that. Let’s talk.”
And they do, almost the entire night. Alec and Magnus eventually come to pick her up to go home, and Izzy regrets not being able to spend more time with Clary. So before she’s basically dragged out of the bar by her older brother, she grabs Clary’s hand and scribbles down her number on the back of it.
“Call me?” She asks.
“I mean, if I have by now proven I’m not a complete asshole?”
Clary looks at the number on her hand and then up to Isabelle, that same breathtaking smile on her face.
“You’ve redeemed yourself. And if I were to call you, would that be to ask you out on a date, or to… hang out as friends?”
Izzy realizes she’s never mentioned being into girls too the entire night, and Clary must be wondering if she’s accidentally hitting on a straight girl. Izzy has been in that position before, and it wasn’t pretty. So she’s quick to reassure Clary by saying: “Oh, definitely on a date. Maybe not to an art exhibit though.”
“No,” Clary agrees, “how about a movie instead?”
Izzy nods, and then Alec is actually dragging her out of the bar.
“Call me!” She says right before being pulled out onto the curb.
Clary’s cheerful laugh rings in her ears even when she’s sitting in the car back home.