Summer Term
Summary: "...He's supposedly the hottie professor of the summer." "Ew, Izzy." "Don't tell me you wouldn't bang a hot professor."
Disclaimer: The Mortal Instruments and all its associated characters, places and events all belong to Cassandra Clare and the copyright holders. This is a non-profit fan work and no copyright infringement is intended.
Acknowledgement: The utmost thanks to my wonderful beta, ddpjclaf. She's the bestest. Beta. Ever. Also the coolest.
A/N: This is just a fun story I've been wanting to write for the past two months, and I finally got the courage to do it. Hope you all like.
Chapter One: Techniques of Integration
Clary entered the Math department's lobby and slid into one of the booths. She stared up at the NYU crest hanging on the wall resentfully before dropping her bag next to her. She rummaged through it to fish her phone out, and glanced at the time. 10:35. Clary was early, but she couldn't risk being late to class on the first day.
"Well, that business class was fun," Isabelle said as she plopped in the booth in front of Clary.
"Was Isabelle Lightwood actually bored for once?" Clary raised her eyebrows.
"Don't get me started. The professor was old and wrinkly. The male population in the class consisted of only nerds. And the females..." she wrinkled her nose. "I don't even want to think about them."
"What was wrong with the girls?"
Isabelle shrugged. "Just didn't seem like my type of crowd."
"You'll be fine," Clary replied as she scanned her surroundings.
The lobby was filled with people varying from age seventeen to seventy. It still didn't cease to amaze Clary how utterly chaotic New York was. Despite the fact that she'd lived there almost her entire life, she still wasn't fond of the state. Maybe it had to do with the busy life, or even the god-awful humidity. But she knew none of those excuses were the reasons why she'd left. She just wished she didn't have to come back.
"Clary. Clarissa. Clarissa Morgenstern."
Clary looked up to find her best friend giving her an odd look. "What?"
Isabelle enlaced her fingers together. "I say this because it's in your best interest, but what the hell are you wearing?"
Clary glanced down at her outfit and remembered how her morning went with her father.
"Clarissa, I don't appreciate you disobeying my orders," said Valentine as he shrugged on a black suit to match his attire.
Clary flashed her eyes angrily at her father. "You may be able to order people around in court, Dad, but not here."
Valentine narrowed his eyes. "Change your clothes. You will not be seen in public like that."
She looked over herself. She'd chosen the rattiest clothes she could find: a frayed white shirt with gym shorts. To top it off, Clary had pulled up her hair in a messy bun. Let Society think what they wanted, Clary was not Valentine's property. Nor was she someone Valentine wanted to show off. She was her own person and if her father was going to try to force her to do something his way, then he was in for a surprise.
"I don't think I will."
Clary grabbed her bag from the countertop and opened the door. "Don't wait up. I won't be home until late," she said over her shoulder before slamming the door behind her.
"Lost in thought?" Isabelle asked.
Clary shook her head to rid it of her foul mood. "It's nothing. I should probably head to class."
Isabelle pursed her lips. "I really would change if I were you."
"Why?"
"Jesus, Clary. Are you completely clueless?"
"I'm not following. I'm just going to a class, which I'm being forced to go to anyway. I don't care what I look like."
"Have you looked up who your teacher is?"
"No?"
Isabelle's eyes lit up. "Mr. Jace Herondale."
Clary furrowed her brows. "You're excited about his name?"
"No, but it is a rather attractive name. He's supposedly the hottie professor of the summer."
"Ew, Izzy."
"Don't tell me you wouldn't bang a hot professor."
"Absolutely not."
"We'll see about that," Izzy said and slung her bag over her shoulder before Clary could reply. "Come on, I'll drop you off before I head home."
"Okay." Clary stood and pulled out her schedule. "It's in ECOT 256."
"Well," Isabelle said, "at least we're in the right building."
The girls made their way through the lobby and into a hallway named "ECOT." They searched for a sign which indicated Clary's classroom's number, but had no luck. Clary and Izzy then took a sharp turn to the right. People spilled from classrooms and brushed past them, some almost half-jogging to their classes whereas others slowed to talk to their friends.
They moved closer to the doors, where the number for the classroom was marked, and eventually found the right one. ECOT 256. Clary paused and looked at her best friend. Izzy nodded at her encouragingly before pulling the door open.
The room was filled with students. Seats were quickly taken as Clary and Izzy searched the room to find an empty chair. Clary spotted one in the second row and walked over to drop her bag on to the floor.
"Did you pick this one just because it's close to Mr. Hottie?" Izzy smirked.
Clary ignored her question. "Are you going to stay?"
"Just until your professor shows up." Isabelle winked.
Clary scrunched her nose. "Gross, Izzy. He's probably in his late forties and thinks scrabble is fun."
"Scrabble is fun."
"Only because you always win," Clary mumbled. "Anyway," she continued in a louder voice, "it'll be awkward if you stand here, gawking at him."
A smile flashed across Izzy's face as she looked around the room.
"What?"
Clary shook her head. "I don't suppose you like the male population in this class, do you?"
Izzy grinned mischievously and patted the table Clary sat at. "I'll see you at home. Have fun." She winked.
Clary rolled her eyes as she watched Isabelle's retreating figure. She wished she was like her best friend, someone who wasn't afraid to voice her thoughts. Someone who was completely in control of her life. Clary, on the other hand, was tangled in a mess. She had a boyfriend named Sebastian back in California, who eagerly awaited her return. She'd asked him if he wanted to go back to New York with her for the summer, but he'd made up some lame excuse about wanting to visit his family in San Diego. After hearing about Valentine from both Izzy and Clary, Sebastian decided to opt out the "meeting the parents" part of the dating itinerary. She couldn't blame him. If she had the choice, she would be spending the rest of her life far, far away from her father.
Valentine wasn't always the biggest jerk in the world. When Clary's mother, Jocelyn, was alive, they were the happiest family anyone had ever encountered. Although both her parents used to work, Clary didn't feel as if she'd missed out on anything. They would have family dinners almost every night, and over holidays, the entire family left for vacation.
But after Jocelyn died in a car accident, it took a toll on everyone. Clary became withdrawn and sad. Valentine became rude and ruthless. He coerced Clary into joining clubs at her high school. He stopped her from seeing her friends, except Isabelle. Valentine couldn't stop Clary from being friends with her, not just because Izzy was as obstinate as they came, but also because she knew how to help Clary with the situation. And although Valetine's heart had turned to stone, Izzy had made him see that she would stick with Clary throughout everything.
Though once Clary neared her senior year of high school, Valentine started applying to colleges for her of his choice. He wanted her to major in something useful, for instance engineering or science. But Clary didn't want that. She wanted to become an artist, just like her mother. She had the artistic ability to make anything she wanted, and because of that, she received a scholarship to California Institute of the Arts, one of the best colleges in that state.
The minute Clary was accepted, she called Isabelle to give her the great news. Isabelle had screamed at the top of her lungs in congratulation. She then mentioned that she also got a letter of acceptance from University of California in Los Angeles. Clary couldn't believe her luck. She suspected Isabelle had deliberately chosen to live close to Clary, but when Clary asked Izzy about it, she'd brushed it off nonchalantly. Either way, Clary and her best friend would be in the same state, only two hours apart from one another.
Clary moved out of her house happily, ready to start her new life. She made new friends and landed herself a wonderful boyfriend. Additionally, Clary and Isabelle promised each other to have weekly nights at a restaurant halfway between where they lived, so their relationship stayed alive. But once her first year ended, Valentine begged Clary to come back and visit.
When she arrived back home, she was in for a surprise. Valentine had already enrolled her in Calculus 2, at New York University. He didn't believe she would make money being an artist, so he wanted her to major in mathematics as well. Her father made it clear that if she refused, he wouldn't help pay for her future classes at California Institute of the Arts.
And so here she was, on the first day of summer vacation, ready to learn math. At least she had Izzy to keep her company.
"Hey, everyone."
The male voice interrupted her self-pity party. Clary lifted her gaze to the front of the room to find a lean boy, dressed in dark jeans with a sky blue shirt, which clung to his biceps in the most delicious ways. A mess of blond curls hung over his forehead. Clary wondered if the boy was also a student in the class.
"My name is Mr. Herondale and I'm your instructor for the summer."
That solved the student question Clary had earlier.
"How about you guys introduce yourselves to your neighbors?" he asked as set his binder down on the table in front of him.
Before the students could start speaking, a bleached blonde girl sitting in front of Clary drawled out a question. "Or how about you tell us about yourself first, Mr. Herondale?"
A corner of Mr. Herondale's mouth pulled up into a half-smile. "Call me Jace. I'm a PhD student in math, third year."
"Ooh, here?" BB (Bleach Blondie) asked.
"I don't like disclosing personal information." He turned to face the entire class. "You all have five minutes to notify your neighbor about your joy-filled life."
Clary couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes. Joy-filled life story. Wonderful. She turned to her left and found a friendly-looking pair of brown eyes looking at her through thick, black glasses.
"Hi, I'm Clary."
"Simon." He extended his hand to her.
She shook it. "What's your major?"
"Business. Yours?"
"Art."
Simon's eyebrows rose. "Why are you taking this class then?"
Clary was asking herself the same question. Instead, she replied with, "It's a long story. But I'm pretty much majoring in math and art."
"You don't seem thrilled to be here," he guessed.
"I'm not."
Clary fished out her book and notebook from her bag to avoid his gaze. "Are you any good?" She finally asked.
Simon shrugged. "I'm all right. Not a big fan of calculus though."
I'm not a big fan of math. Period, Clary thought.
Simon pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Are you good at math?"
Clary laughed humorlessly. "I'm better at baseball than math. And I really suck at baseball."
"How old are you, Clary?"
"Twenty."
"You look younger."
Clary gave him a look. Simon wore an orange baggy shirt which said, "I haz cooties", and she was the one that didn't look her age?
"All right, everyone," Mr. Herondale said, and almost immediately the classroom quieted. "I hope you learned a little something about your new friend. If they weren't friendly to you, I suggest giving them a giftcard to the zoo. Penguins can win over anyone."
Simon leaned in to whisper in Clary's ear. "Do I need to get you a giftcard?"
Clary laughed quietly. "No, we're good."
Mr. Herondale looked pointedly in Simon and her direction. Clary felt her cheeks pool with blood and lowered her gaze to her book on the desk.
"We'll start on Chapter 6: Techniques of Integration."
Mr. Herondale neatly scrawled the name of the chapter on the blackboard, then turned to face the students. Clary knew she should have been paying attention to the words that spilled from his lips, but she couldn't take her eyes off from his mouth. His jaw flexed with each movement and when he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbed.
"Who can tell me what the techniques are?"
His tawny eyes searched the sea of students and landed on Clary. Almost instantly, she felt her stomach drop. She had a bad feeling about him looking at her the way he was, as if he were going to embarrass her in front of the class.
"How about the girl with the fiery red curls?"
Clary looked behind her, hoping against all hope there was another girl in this class who was also a redhead, but she had no luck. She faced the front of the room again.
"Me?" Clary asked, pointing at herself, as she felt her cheeks get warmer and warmer by each second.
"Yeah. First tell us your name and then tell us the techniques, if you know what they are." Clary sensed a challenge in the way he looked at her.
"Clary."
"Great, Clary. Do you know the answer to my second question?"
She swallowed. "No."
"What about your partner?"
Mr. Herondale raised an eyebrow at Simon.
"Name's Simon. One technique is integration by parts."
Mr. Herondale nodded and wrote Simon's answer neatly across the board.
Simon nudged Clary in the waist and winked at her. She rolled her eyes at him. So she wasn't the best at math, she knew that. But so what? It didn't matter to her that being an artist wouldn't bring much money to her. If art made her happy, then she would draw as long as she wanted to.
But of course persuading her father to her logic was almost impossible. He wouldn't hear a word of it. He believed art was some ridiculous hobby, which didn't need much skill. He thought of it as a nuisance. Well, she thought math was nuisance. And to add to that, she categorized Mr. Herondale under nuisance too, even though he was unbelievably good-looking.
Clary looked down at her notebook and flipped it open. She placed the nub of the pencil onto an empty page, and started drawing the scene in front of her. There was a row of students. Her pencil sketched their backs and their heads, some bent to write down what Mr. Herondale was saying, while others sneakily scrolled through Facebook, or some other social networking site. Clary then drew in a desk, where Mr. Herondale had situated his binder and a green water bottle. Once done, it was time to draw her professor.
She outlined his frame, starting from the broad shoulders and down to the slim waist. His body seemed athletic, and she could only imagine how taut his muscles must be underneath the layer of clothing. Clary roughed out the frayed jeans he wore before focusing on his shirt. She glanced up at him as he scribbled more words and numbers on the blackboard. She observed the way his biceps flexed, making the sleeves of his shirt shift up and down, as his hands gestured at each explanation he stated.
When Clary peeked at Mr. Herondale to study him once more, she noticed his golden eyes staring into her green ones. She looked at Simon from her peripheral, and watched him as he jotted down numbers. Clary realized Mr. Herondale had given the class a problem to solve, and was clearly waiting for everyone to finish.
She quickly wrote down the question and scanned the board for the examples that Mr. Herondale had done. Clary chewed on the eraser on the back of her pencil as she processed the problem. And then it was if the answers had clicked inside her brain. She hurriedly put her thoughts in writing and circled the solution once she was done.
"Is everyone finished?"
There were several positive mumbled responses from the students.
"Good to know you all are enthusiastic about this problem. Who wants to solve it?"
Clary kept her head low and stared at the piece of paper in front of her, pretending to study her answer.
"I will!" came an excited reply.
Clary presumed it was BB from the way her shrill voice sounded. When she raised her gaze to the figure standing up, her suspicions were proven right.
Mr. Herondale gave her a genuine smile and handed the chalk to her as soon as she neared him. BB wore the shortest red skirt Clary had ever seen, matched with a black top that looked five sizes too small for her.
Clary saw Mr. Herondale look at BB from top to bottom. He walked to the corner of the room and leaned back against the wall to watch the girl write her steps to the solution. Clary felt anger spread through her. Did he honestly think the too-tan, too-white-haired girl was pretty? Or was he just enjoying the fact that her shirt was so low cut that her cleavage was visible to almost everyone in the room?
"Ginge, did you get the answer?"
Clary blinked and the redness she started to see disappeared. "What did you just call me?"
Simon grinned. "Ginge."
She willed herself not to roll her eyes at him again. "I did."
He nodded in the direction of BB. "What do you think of her?"
Clary shrugged and tried to seem nonchalant at the fact that Mr. Herondale had checked her out. It wasn't that she had a little crush on him, because that was not possible. He was her teacher, and she his student. It just wasn't practical.
"She seems all right," Clary finally said.
"I think she's hot."
If Clary wasn't mistaken, she was sure Simon was staring at the other girl's huge butt.
"Ah shit," Clary heard Mr. Herondale mutter as he checked his phone, and the next words he spoke were louder. "Sorry guys, I didn't notice class was over. You can leave. The homework is on the website. Bring it tomorrow."
Clary stood and gathered her school belongings before sliding them inside her bag. She looked up to find Simon handing his phone to her.
"Give me your number so that we can study together. You know, like a study buddy," Simon said as a way of explanation.
Clary took the cell and entered in her number before giving it back. "What about the girl you thought was hot?"
"She'll be my booty call buddy."
Clary cringed. "Ew."
He smiled. "I'd better head out. I need to pick up my sister from the airport. I'll text ya."
She nodded. "Nice meeting you."
Clary slung her bag over her shoulder and was about to follow Simon out, when she felt inside her bag for her phone. She started panicking and checked each pocket. She finally found it and sighed in relief.
She glanced around to see if anyone had noticed her mini freak-out, but there was no one in the class except for herself and Mr. Herondale. Fantastic, she thought sarcastically as she headed toward the door.
"Clary."
She froze and whirled to face him. Her heart automatically started beating faster, and she willed herself to not seem like a fool. "Yes, Mr. Herondale?"
His eyes darkened as he walked over to her, until the distance between them was only a couple of inches. "I recommend getting a tutor for this class."
Clary's brows furrowed. That wasn't what she was expecting. "Excuse me?"
"You seemed lost everytime I asked a question."
Clary put her hand on her hip. "I figured out the answers. I'm doing fine."
"You were doodling in my class."
Her cheeks flamed. "No," she replied weakly.
"I'll make you a deal, Clary," he said, leaning into her. "If you manage an A on the upcoming exam, I'll let you draw. If you don't receive that..." His mouth pulled up into a crooked smile and his golden gaze burned into her.
"Then?"
"I get to have all your drawings."
Butterflies suddenly pounded against the walls of her stomach. She tightened her grip on her bag and gritted her teeth. "May I go now?"
Before she let him reply, Clary spun around. A low chuckle sounded from behind her, and Clary bit her tongue to prevent the insults that her mind was mentally spewing at her new teacher from leaving her mouth.
A/N: Thanks for reading!
