A/N: Hey! Hi guys. This is my first ever fanfic. Plz R&R. I know the story doesn't sound like much, but please give it a try. Pleaseeeeee! *give puppy dog eyes* Okay, *breathe in* here goes nothing! Three, two, one. GOOO!
ThPOV (Third Person)
is a really big school with lots of kids. And there is an unspoken agreement about the levels of people there. Firstly, the 'Populars', definition: People that are popular in the school and never gets bullied. Second: The 'Normal People', which, pretty much, gives the meaning by itself. And, finally, the Invisible People, definition: nerds, freaks, geeks that get bullied every day. Clarissa Fairchild and her best friend, Isabelle Lightwood, do not belong in any of the three levels. I guess you could say they were independent. Like the Popular crowd, they are respected, and were never bullied, and, unlike the popular crowd, they socialize with everyone. Both of them have a reputation for being two of the biggest chick players St. Xavier's had ever seen, and they were both inseparable. While Isabelle had a light airy attitude, Clarissa is a bubbly kind of a girl who never loses the spring in her step, even after she broke someone's heart. And they were both known for being badasses that could take care of themselves, sharing a pent house in one of the most expensive condominiums in the city. And this story begins after Clarissa had dumped the second-last of the guys in high school, and the last one left was none other than another famous player, a brother of Isabelle, Jace Lightwood.
CPOV (Clary)
I sat on my queen-sized bed in the middle of the room, thinking long and hard about what I'm going to wear to the Welcome Back to School party tonight. I stepped into my huge walk-in closet, and smiled, picking out my dress. It was a tight black slip, with a high necklace lace corset. I smiled again and rummaged in the shoes section, and pulled out a pair of black leather combat boots. "ISABELLE!" I yelled. My best friend came running inside my walk-in closet. I grinned, and held up my outfit. She squealed, and held up her outfit too. It consists of a short bodice blood red cocktail dress, and matching five inch heel stilettos. "Yeah! We're gonna rock this party, baby!" She pumped her fist into the air. "Time to show the Bitch Queen who's boss! Now, dearest Clary, I suggest you take a seat and let me work my magic!" I sat down obediently in front of my vanity table, and Isabelle pulled out my make-up drawer, revealing an amazing array of make-up. Well, what could you say? This is the benefits of having loaded parents, sleek convertibles, tons of pocket money to buy stuff with. I waited patiently while Isabelle does my hair and makeup, and when she does, I invited her to sit, and started working on her too. In the end, we both looked into the full length mirror. I looked acceptable; the dark black slip hugged my perfect curves, and made my fiery red hair, now loosely curled, stand out even more. My combat boots made me look tough, a chick that doesn't appreciate being messed with, while Isabelle looked like a Hollywood star. I grinned like a Cheshire cat, and flounced out of the penthouse with Isabelle, into the elevator, to the sleek silver BMW convertible. Isabelle claimed shotgun, so I sat in the driver's seat, gunned the engine, and shot-off like the wind…
So, how was that? I know there isn't much in this chapter, but still. Should I continue? Love it? Hate it? Please don't hesitate to press that shining button. Please R&R!
Yours Sincerely,
KaitlynTheBadassGirlz