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It didn't take long for Jace to climb his way up the social ladder at school. It didn't seem fair to me that a ninth grader could get the respect and admiration of nearly everyone else in the school within a matter of weeks. But he just had a way about him that drew others to him like moths to light—when he flashed that smile or let out that smooth laugh, everyone within a mile radius melted.

Except for me, of course. And the other people he had deemed "loser-worthy."

Jace wasn't an outright bully. He ignored more than he picked on, but somehow that was worse. At least, that's what I heard other people saying, the ones he looked straight through like they were invisible. As for me, I would have preferred that a million times more than what I was getting.

And to think, if I hadn't picked that stupid seat on the first day of school, he probably never would have noticed me. If he hadn't noticed me, I wouldn't have become his personal chew toy.

Turns out, everyone avoids Jace's personal chew toy. Making friends in the Big Apple was even harder than I'd anticipated, which was certainly saying something.

About halfway through my freshman year, just when I was contemplating begging my mom to abandon her newly opened diner and moving back home again, my friendless status changed.

It was during P.E. I'd always been great at gym class in my old town; everyone always picked me for their team, and flinched every time I aimed a dodge ball at them. But here, it was like I'd changed into a different person. I was the one that was shying away from the volleyball as Jace—wearing a disgusting little grin on his face—spiked it toward me every time he was up to serve. But can you blame me? The force of that volleyball would have taken my head clean off my shoulders.

Near the end of the period, one of Jace's friends made this incredible serve—right onto the top of some poor kid's head. He staggered around for a few seconds, looking dazed, and the teacher told him to get an icepack and sit down on the bleachers. He trudged off the court while Jace and his friends roared with laughter.

I'd seen the kid a few times before. He had friends, I was pretty sure—he sat with some of the less "cool" kids at lunch, though they didn't say much. Mostly they had their noses stuffed into comic books. But he looked so lonely sitting on the bleachers that I jogged off the court—the teacher didn't even notice—and stopped in front of him.

He looked up at me with the eye that wasn't concealed by an icepack. He held his glasses in one hand, so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. He had the glummest expression on his face, like he expected me to take a volleyball out from behind my back, yell, Surprise! and catapult it into his face.

"Hi," I said, always the articulate.

"Hi," he said quietly.

I stood there for a second as awkward silence descended. I searched for something to say. Had I always been this antisocial? Finally, I managed, "Are you okay? Looked like you got hit pretty hard."

"I guess."

"I'm Clary," I told him.

He dropped his eyes and mumbled what sounded like, "Simon."

"Cool. Nice to meet you."

He bobbed his head in a nod. Silence fell.

In my defense, he wasn't exactly making much of an effort at conversation, either. His face was bright red, as if everything about that moment embarrassed him.

Words blurted out of my mouth without my permission. "I hate Jace and his friends."

His one visible eye widened and he looked at me with something akin to awe, like he couldn't believe I'd had the guts to say it. "Yeah," he said. "Me too." He paused, then added, "I hate Jace a lot," as if trying out the words for the first time.

I smiled tentatively at him, and he smiled back.

It was a sorry first impression on both our parts, but it was enough to start us on our way to being best friends.

And I have to say, having a friend makes every situation look a whole lot more hopeful.


My mom dragged us to New York for two reasons: one, her best friend Luke lived there, and two, she'd always wanted to open her own diner, which she apparently couldn't do in Colorado. I'd been against the whole thing from the start—even though I loved the idea of getting to see Luke whenever I wanted—but she made it clear it wasn't open for discussion.

She opened her diner only a few months after we moved to NYC. She named it Valentine's, but whenever I tried to ask why she'd chosen the name, she just got a funny look on her face and changed the subject.

Anyway, my mom didn't have a lot of money after she bought the property, the store, and fixed it up so it didn't look like a complete dump, so naturally she depended on me to be her star employee. And by star, I mean only, aside from Chef Timothy.

When my sophomore year rolled around, she hired Mona Welch, a twenty-something high school dropout who chomped gum like it was an Olympic sport and who treated waitressing like a hobby she'd get around to when she felt like it. But my mom couldn't afford anyone better, no matter how much both of us disliked her.

I didn't mind working at the diner at first, despite Mona's laziness and the way one look from Chef Timothy could strike fear into my heart. Simon came to keep me company a lot of the time. Once you got to know him, all of that shyness he showed that day in P.E. vanished, and he became the most animated kid I'd ever met. He could go on for hours about comic books, video games, movies, and everything else that fascinated him. A lot of the time the things he said went right over my head, but I didn't have the heart to tell him that I didn't know who the Green Lantern had defeated in issue no. 24.

Long story short, the diner was enjoyable a lot of the time. My mom even paid me sometimes. Yep, it was just wonderful.

Until Jace Wayland started showing up.

The first time he walked through the door with his gaggle of friends crowding into a booth after him, I made a strangled yelping sound and hit the deck behind the counter. The last thing I wanted was for Jace to see me wearing an apron, in prime position for teasing.

My mom picked that moment to walk out of the kitchen. She saw me and stopped, looking down at me with that somewhat sad look she got when she was thinking, Where did I go wrong?

"Are you all right, Clary?" she asked. Translation: Are you nuts?

"Oh," I said, scrambling to my feet and keeping my back to Jace's table. "Yeah. I'm great."

She gave me an odd look. "Okay… Go take care of that table then, please."

I swallowed the panic that was building in my throat. "Y-you mean that table?" I pointed to the tired-looking mother who was trying to feed her yelling toddler some yogurt. They'd been seated and served for about ten minutes, but hopefully my mom hadn't noticed that.

She narrowed her eyes. "No. I mean that one." She took my shoulders and spun me around. Jace was facing me at the table. His gold eyes were already fixed on me, as if he'd been just waiting for me to turn and see him. Of course he knew it was me—the hair was a dead giveaway.

When he saw me looking, he wiggled his fingertips in a mocking wave.

I turned quickly back to my mom, my face heating up. "Can't Mona take that table?" I asked in a voice that sounded like I was choking.

"Clary." My mom was using her Exasperated Voice. "Mona's section is full. You can't always dump your work on her whenever you don't feel like taking a table."

I opened my mouth to protest against this shocking show of injustice, but my mom had already hurried over to another table to smile and ask if they were having a pleasant meal.

That was another problem with New York. My mom didn't have enough time for me anymore.

I moved toward Jace's table on robot legs, wishing a hole would open up in the floor and suck me in so I didn't have to go through this. Hadn't I had enough punishment from Jace for taking that damn seat? Hadn't I gone through enough tripping as I passed his desk, being shouldered into lockers in the hall, and the endless, endless redhead jokes?

I was never going to catch a break, was I?

I stopped in front of their table, my eyes glued to my notepad, and mumbled, "What can I get you?"

"I'll take a ginger ale," Jace said, and my eyes glanced up at him against my will. He was looking at me with a totally serious face, but the snickers from his friends informed me that he wasn't a ginger ale kind of guy.

You see what I mean? Endless redhead jokes.

The rest of them gave me their orders as well, all of them red-related and humiliating. I got out of there as fast as I could, certain my face was as fiery as my hair.

It didn't improve my mood when I ducked behind the counter and found Mona waiting for me. She had a scornful look on her face, and she was leaning against the counter in a casual way that certainly didn't look like she had a full section to attend to.

"What?" I snapped, wishing she'd butt out of my business for once.

"You totally let them trample you," she told me. "What ever happened to fighting back, huh?"

I kept my gaze fixed stonily on my notepad as I flipped furiously through the pages without seeing any of the writing there. "It doesn't concern you, Mona."

"Oh, come on!" she exclaimed. "You're going to let them win? You're pathetic, Clary. Absolutely pathetic." She paused for a second and studied the table. "The blond one is pretty hot though," she observed, and it took an admirable amount of will power on my part not to swing a bar stool at her head.


Thanks for reading another chapter! Unfortunately I won't be able to update next week since I'm going on vacation, but I'll update as soon as I get back, cross my heart and hope to die. ...Well, maybe not hope to die. But I promise!