A/N: Before you read this, I want to warn you that the plot has been changed a little bit. Of course, the concept of the seven deadly sins remains the same, but it takes place in the fictional town of Alicante, located in California. Clary is in high school, her junior year, when she moves in with her estranged father and brother. I'll explain at the bottom why I changed it!

It was a windy day in New York. The smell of various shops reached Clary's nose as she perched herself outside her window. She was wearing a green turtle neck - it matched the color of her eyes, while creating a beautiful contrast with her red curls. The article of clothing was something she wasn't allowed to take across the continent with her. It was supposed to be hanging in her closet, along with the rest of her winter clothes. Her summer clothes, though, were packed up in a suitcase. That, and other objects that carried personal value.

Packing didn't take too long. Clary didn't own much besides a few various sized paint brushes, some worn clothing that she'd picked up from local goodwills, and sketch pads. If it was possible, she'd take her own bed with her, just to show her mother how upset she was to be leaving her place of comfort. Although, before their passing, Clary's grandparents had stated that a big city was no place to raise a child - especially alone. But Clary had befriended some of the tattooed men and women of New York. They were the people that took her to school, fed her when her mother was traveling to gain inspiration for her paintings.

Besides them, it was her step father Luke that she'd be missing. Luke was living proof that it possible to love someone more than familial blood. He owned a bookstore not too far from the apartment, and she'd often watch him carry large stacks of worn books to the apartment. Just for the sake of Clary's entertainment.

She looked back into her room, gazing at a pile of disintegrating parchment on her nightstand. War and Peace stuck out like a sore thumb. Clary had been reading it when her mother - or Jocelyn, as she had been referring her to recently - gave her the news that had her sitting outside her bedroom window.

Despite the wind stinging her pale cheeks, Clary didn't want to go back inside. It was here - outside her room - that Jocelyn couldn't reach her. Her mother was deathly afraid of heights, whereas Clary found sanctuary in them whenever she was upset, or bothered by things out of her control.

Like her Jocelyn.

Held in her numbing hands was an american airlines plane ticket. The edges were becoming wrinkled, as Clary had been running her fingers over it - wondering if this was a dream. A very realistic dream. But, could she have imagined the past day? The screaming match between her mother and herself? Perhaps it wasn't a very realistic dream. It was a very realistic nightmare.

"Clary, come inside!" Speak of the devil… "Come on, your flight leaves in less than an hour!" Jocelyn worried from her daughter's room. Her aging fingers gripped the window sill, as she wasn't brave enough to grab at her rebellious child. Clary looked down at the people walking along the sidewalk. Some of them were used to the shouts of the city, but others were curious, and looked up at the apartment building, searching for the window that the argument was emitting from.

"Why do I have to go?" Clary groaned in the way most teenagers did. "He hasn't seen me since I was five. I'm almost an adult!" She snapped at her waiting mother. Jocelyn sighed, finally reaching for her daughter's forearm, giving it a gentle tug. "The last time he saw me, I was making ornaments in kindergarten. This time, I'll be sketching landscapes in my junior year of highschool." Her voice was small this time. Angry, but it was a controlled anger. One that had taken energy as it builded up. She was tired of putting the effort into the fire. Fueling it only for the flames to burn her.

"But don't you remember all the fun you two had together?" Jocelyn added in her own willowy voice. There was some pity in it, as she had her own parents to cling to when she was young. There was no waiting by the phone for calls that would never come. No checking the mailbox for letters that had never been delivered. Jocelyn was sure that both her parents loved her. It was a confidence that never wavered. Even in death, Jocelyn felt her parents love through family photo albums and antique gifts.

"I remember it stopping, Mom." Clary responded. Head buried between her crossed arms, nose rubbing against the soft fabric of her turtleneck. "Why… why does he want me now?" She questioned. Jocelyn grip was somewhat comforting as it moved down to Clary's hand, squeezing the numbed skin of her palm.

"Believe it or not, Clarissa, parents do make mistakes. Perhaps, this is what your father has realized." Her mother's voice mimicked Clary's distaste for the man. It revealed how angry Jocelyn was over Valentine's abandonment. "I know… I know it would be so easy to stay here. To remain angry at him for being so stupid. But, down the road, when you're older, you'll wonder if you two could have patched things together. So, I'm asking you, as the other parent, to give him a chance."

The wind was blowing her red curls past her shoulders as she boarded the plane. Clary thought back to the goodbye that she shared with her mother and Luke. Should she had said more? Hugged them harder? As somber as she was, her mood could drag the plane down, bringing it crashing to the ground.

"What's so great about California anyway?" She huffed. It was as if her father - Valentine - had wanted to put as much distance between himself and his daughter. From what Clary saw on the evening news, California was a dry and polluted place, filled with nothing but stunning blonds and movie stars. It was nothing compared to the New York chill, the smell of various stands as they served meals of different cultures. As crowded as New York was, it was a place for solitude.

Besides some minor turbulence, the plane ride was smooth. To her luck, it didn't go crashing down on the way to the large state. Since it took off in the day time, Clary was able to see the sun reflecting off the clouds. She'd only been a plane two times. Once when she visited a dying relative, and then on the way back home after said relative had passed away.

She carried the same amount of anxiousness in the pit of her stomach.

After the plane had landed, Clary's eyes, tired and dull, scanned the airport for a man she hadn't seen since she was scared of monsters under her bed. Truth be told, she was more scared of him. Had he changed? What made him want to see her again? When Clary spotted her father, she could barely believe the sight of him.

His light blond hair was a few shades darker. Gray. And at his ankles were a rowdy bunch of kids. Each one giving off their own high pitched scream. Clary didn't know if she could run back to the plane, hide there until it flew back to New York. Had her father already seen her? Oh, God, what was happening?! He leaves one kid to have a hundred more?! Her thoughts were wild, until she noticed that the man was leaving, having picked up his energized wife from the airport.

An immediate sigh of relief left her lungs.

"Clary?" The voice was rough. Not as young as it had been from her memories. Though, there was tiredness to it. As if he had been wakened by his alarm at two in the morning to pick up his daughter. Which, he had. Clary stared down at her sneakers, gazing at the pen marks, terrified of moving an inch. Wondering if it was possible that if she stopped moving, then time would as well.

Someone touched her hand. It wasn't the same touch that brought her comfort, like her mother's did. No. This touch was much different. It was calloused, like his voice. It was strange. Unwanted. The moment his fingers brushed against hers, goosebumps rose along the skin of her arms, made the hair on the back of her neck stand tall. Clarissa, a firm believer of reason, of scientific fact, of the knowledge of textbooks, and men with thick, wired frames resting on their noses as they denied fictions, turned around to face a ghost.

Her father wasn't as tall as her childhood memories made him out to be. Sure, he was clearly six feet, but he was no giant. The evidence of being outside was clear on his cheeks, as they were a golden color. His hair was a light blond. Nothing like her bright red that was darkening as she aged into young adulthood.

"It is you," the man smiled, though it never reached his dark eyes. Clary could not mimic his pleasure, only an equal displeasure. In an instant, she wanted her mother. As if she were a little girl again, her father not being able to comfort her after she had fallen off of a swing set. Now, she needed to be comforted from the sight of her father. Her father that had put more effort into exiting her life then remain a constant presence.

"You wear your hair down now… no more pigtails?" He commented. Black eyes staring at her wavy curls.

"I'm seventeen, not five." She responded. Her father's barely-there smile slipped from his face. He nodded, then picked up her suitcases.

"You must be tired. Come, let's get to the car." Valentine ushered her forward, fearing that if he took her hand, that she'd slap his away. Clary followed him, staring at all the joyous reunions taking place. Couples were passionately kissing, children were squealing as they saw their parents, or it parents seeing their children. Either way, both parties were happy, unlike Clary and Valentine, who couldn't manage to make eye contact with each other. It wasn't much better in the car. Clary took out her iPod, pushing earbuds into her ears so that she wouldn't have to listen to her father stutter on conversation starters.

She stared at the distant roads. The lights of several cars made the highways look like a diamond necklace. It was beautiful, but it wasn't better than the warmth of her bed, or the tight hugs of her mother, or the smell of books that clung to Luke's clothes. She'd much rather experience those things than be reunited with her long-lost father.

Even as they were sitting next to each other, in his pine-scented car, she still felt the distance of several states between them.

"Your brother and I tried to fix the room up. Make it nice for you." Valentine commented as he led Clary upstairs towards her bedroom. She nodded, despite the fact that he could not see it. The wooden stairs creaked noisily, crying out at the weight of two people. Something to remind her of the apartment building that was her true home.

Her father pushed open a dark, wooden door. The knob squealed once, then twice when he released it. They both walked into a medium sized room, though it was much bigger than her bedroom. The walls were painted a unique purple, light, unlike the covers of the queen sized bed. Placed so that it was one of the first things to be seen when entering the room. Clary briefly wondered if this was on purpose.

"You said Jonathan helped you decorate?" It was the first real sentence she had spoken to her father. One that hadn't been filled with her obvious reluctance to be with him. Valentine, noticing this, gave her a tight smile before speaking.

"Yes. Built that dresser for you," he pointed to the east wall, where a wooden dresser was placed. On it resided a few antiques, such as a music box she hadn't seen since… well, since she was five. Next to it was a small picture filled with townspeople. They were all smiling, each wearing the same plaid outfits that small town people tended to wear. Some of the older men wore cowboy hats, and the older woman hid the graying ends of their hair by tying it back. Clary approached the picture, taking it in her hands so that she could view more of its details.

"Is the entire town in this picture?" She questioned.

"Isn't a very big town." Her father answered with a shrug. She stared at him for a few seconds, blinking. "No, it's not the entire town. Just some friends down at the diner." He laughed, and she found herself holding back one as well. It was her father that she inherited her sarcastic humor from. Clary looked down at the picture, able to spot her brother in the center, the only other person to share her mother's sparkling eyes besides herself. Behind the small crowd of people was a neon sign that read Taki's, a familiar place to her child self.

"Well," Valentine started. "I'll let you get your rest… it's been a long flight." He reasoned. "If you need me-"

"Bedroom is down the hall, and bathroom is downstairs." She answered for him. "I've been here before, I know my way." Her tone was lighter for her clarification, not wanting to appear annoyed by her father.

"Right." Valentine responded. His head dipped slightly as he shut the bedroom door, effectively giving her some alone time, despite already having much of it in the plane.

Clary reached into her pocket, pulling out a cheap phone her mother had bought her before her departure. Dialing her mother's number, she held the phone to her ear, waiting for Jocelyn to answer. After a while, it went to her voicemail, asking the caller to leave a message.

"Hey, Mom, it's Clary… just wanted to tell you I made it to Valentine's house. Call me when you can, because I'm not sure when I'll start to make friends here." She paced around in her room, not knowing what to do. While her father was right about her being tired, she didn't feel comfortable. Not yet.

Since she was still in her casual clothes, Clary decided to put them to use. She walked to one of her bedroom windows, lifting it open with only slight resistance. The California air was warm against her fingertips, inviting, unlike the stinging air of her home state. Clary stuck her head out of the window and looked down. The distance wasn't too big… but if she dropped down at the wrong angle, it was going to leave a nasty bruise.

Slowly, she stuck the rest of her body out, clinging to the window sill before dropping. The impact knocked the air out of her lungs, more out of surprise than actual pain. Clary scraped invisible dirt from her jean-covered thighs and began to walk north, towards the dimly lit town.

She hadn't been walking for long. Perhaps about twenty minutes. It was then that headlights lit up the dry road behind her. Expecting to see her father wearing a disappointed frown, Clary bowed her head and began to walk towards the parked car. Seeing blond hair supported her theory. Though, when she approached the driver's side window, she was met with a familiar, yet nearly forgotten face. It was his sparkling eyes in the pitch black darkness that she was able to identify him.

"Jonathan." She whispered.

"Little sister, why don't you tell me where you're going?" He asked with a smile that instead said what the hell do you think you're doing? Despite the authority that he held over her, even after the distance that had been put between them, Jonathan was only a year older than her. Clary shrugged her shoulders in response to his question, nodding towards the town.

"Out." Her answer didn't satisfy her brother. When Clary began to walk in the direction of her destination, he followed her in his truck. After a few minutes of this, she gave a sharp turn, nostrils flaring when she approached her brother yet again. "Quit following me!" She snapped, appearing more like a child than if she were to stomp her foot on the ground angrily.

"Not a chance in hell, little sister. I'm your big brother - a fact that won't change no matter how long we're separated. And, as a big brother, it is my mandate to protect you." His eyes burned her where she stood, daring her to continue her journey.

"Jonathan." It wasn't a shout, or a question. They had been apart for so long. Her lower lip began to tremble as her hands rested on the door of his truck. Understanding his sister's silence, he got out of his vehicle, slammed the door, and took her in his strong arms. Her tears dampened his shirt, but he didn't mind. He'd let her cry on him before when she'd gotten hurt as a child.

"I told you we'd see each other again." He muttered into her hair, rubbing her back with his large hands. "I told you, little sister." Jonathan continued.

"I'm sorry I couldn't wait for you," Clary apologized, to which he then quieted her.

"Let's go home." Jonathan suggested. For the second time that night, Clary was led to the Morgenstern home. Though, it was this time where she wasn't as reluctant.

The town of Alicante had only two schools. One was a run down elementary school, and the other was a prison-like high school known for its lack of cheery students. The news of a new student had spread before Clary had stepped foot into the brick building. She was trying to decipher the wrinkled class schedule in her grasp when a much taller person ran into her from her left side, knocking her backpack off of her shoulder.

"Jesus." Clary grunted, reaching for her school supplies. She locked gazes with a brown-haired kid. Watching as he scrambled to a kneeling position and began to help her.

"War and peace?" He questioned, nudging his glasses farther up his nose as he examined the thick book. Clary snatched it from his hand, giving him a deep scowl. "You're Clarissa Fairchild, right?" The boy continued. Clary stood, backpack slung over one shoulder, and squinted at him.

"Clary." She groaned. The nerd's ears perked up, a smile stretching his lips. Looking at him, the way he held himself with confidence, Clary presumed that he was the small town boy that girls in books fell in love with. He was attractive and appeared to have some muscle on his form… staring at her face, she recognized something in the boy.

"Clare bear?" He grinned. She shook her head, cheeks reddening.

"How do you know that nickname? Does word travel around that fast in this small town?" Clary interrogated. She watched as the boys smile slipped from his face as a deep blush covered the skin of his dimpled cheeks. Dimpled cheeks, she was beginning to recall something about them, when the boy began to speak again.

"You don't remember me? We used to make dust angels in you father's backyard when you lived here." Clary could picture dirt covering her limbs as she played outside with a lanky boy, large glasses that were much too large for his face-

"Simon?" Noticing his satisfied smile, Clary made the connection between the lanky boy and this small town teenager. The teenager - Simon - grabbed the schedule from her hand and began to decipher it.

"Damn, they didn't even give you the easy classes first… looks like you're headed to U.S. history." Simon, then took her hand. "I'll show you the way."

History wasn't very exciting. The teacher - Mr. Starkweather, kept dozing off as he clicked through his presentation on the revolutionary war. By the time he finally did doze off, it was mere seconds before the dismissal bell rang.

Lunch was her haven.

When Clary walked into the cafeteria, she was greeted by the smell of strange meats. "Clary!" She heard a familiar voice shout. Her eyes followed the sound and pinned it to the large hand waving in the air. Simon. His presence was beginning to bring a smile to her face. A comfort in her heart that only her mother and Luke had managed to give.

"What is this stuff?" Clary asked, raising a spoonful of a strange soup. Simon shrugged, taking the spoonful into his mouth. "Gross," she chuckled. More people began to sit down at the table, Simon greeting all of them.

Apparently he wasn't such a shy boy after all.

"You're Clarissa Fairchild?" A blonde girl asked. She didn't appear to be the same age as the rest of the teens at the table. Her clothes were different shades of pink, her headband the bright color of old fashioned bubblegum. Young as she was, the girl had already mastered the cateye, something Clary was never able to do with eyeliner.

"She likes to go by Clary, Maureen." Simon corrected. Maureen stuck her hand out towards Clary, a sheepish smile on her younger face.

"I'm Maureen Johnson." The girl smiled. Clary shook her hand, saying her name back and earning a wider smile from the girl. There were two things that Clary noticed about Maureen. One was that she was easy to please. That was fairly easy to see when Simon made her laugh - a belly filling laugh - a few times in the duration of five minutes. Two, was that she had a deep attraction for Simon.

"Maia, come meet Clary!" Maureen chirped. A caramel skinned girl with curves that would have impressed hills turned to face the trio. Her bright eyes scanned Clary, and once determining her worthy of a greeting, stuck her hand just as Maureen had done.

"Clary." She nodded.

"Maia." The other girl said back.

Sitting next to Maia was Jordan, who waved a friendly "Sup," to Clary. He seemed very relaxed, with his loose hoodie and sneakers that were as worn as the California ground. It appeared that the two were dating… that, or really close friends - ones that kissed each other. Talking to Jordan was Meliorn, a boy with the brightest pair of blue eyes that Clary had ever seen. He hadn't introduced himself to Clary, but since most of the table had something to say to him, she didn't' have to wait long to hear his name.

"Word of advice, Clary, don't date the high school football players." Maia groaned as Jordan and Meliorn began to rough house. Simon laughed, nudging her in the shoulder as if to say like you need to worry about that. She nudged him back - harder, and he stopped laughing.

Her eyes began to search for a trash can to dump her food into. Clary hadn't consumed much of it, but she feared that if she did, her evening would be spent getting her stomach pumped at the local hospital.

Clary's wandering gaze stopped as it landed on a boy and girl sitting next to each other - both sharing the same stunningly beautiful faces and ink black hair. Once they noticed her staring, the boy scowled and the girl waved a manicured hand. Like a queen would do to an adoring crowd. It seemed… practiced.

"Who are those two?" Clary asked Maureen as she continued to look at the pair. Maureen turned away from her food and followed the redheaded girl's eyes, frowning when she saw Clary's objects of interest. Another boy joined the three, sharing the dark haired, pale skin look. He was younger though.

"Those are the Lightwood's. The girl - that's Isabelle, and the older looking boy is her twin brother, Alexander. Youngest one is Maxwell, but like you, likes to be known as the shorter version of his name: Max." Clary was satisfied with Maureen's response, until another boy joined them. He appeared to bare no blood relation to the group, possessing a halo of blond waves and skin that tanned - unlike the creamy tone that each Lightwood carried.

"Who's he?" She quietly spoke to Maureen, who once again turned to answer the new girl's curiosity. Clary caught the blond's gaze, and felt a pressure behind it, making her eyes sparkle with irritated tears. She wiped at them, and wavered at the blond's leering. His eyes… they were an incredibly light shade of brown, making her eyes sparkle yet again.

"That's Jace Herondale… don't waste your breath on him." Maureen warned.

"What? Why?" Clary snapped.

"He's a prick. Supposedly, the Lightwood's took him in when he was little… I guess his parents were psychopaths. Anyway, since he got adopted by such a wealthy family, he thinks he's too good for the town of Alicante." The girl answered in a malicious tone Clary wouldn't have thought possible from someone so cheery.

"What makes you think that? Has he done something to you?" Maureen shook her head.

"No. He's just a jackass. " The girl continued.

"Isn't every guy?" Clary rationalized.

"He's like… antisocial. Doesn't go to any parties, never dates. I mean, it's two thousand fifteen! If he's gay, he should just say it!" There was a growl across the cafeteria, where a very angered Jace Herondale sat. Before anything serious could start, the dismissal bells rang into the room, saving the two girls from the blond's wrath.

"Thank god." Maureen sighed, standing up from her table. Clary stood - backpack against her spine - pulling out her schedule from her pocket. "What's your next class?" The other girl asked as they exited the lunch room.

"Physical education with Penhallow." Clary answered.

"Ah, Coach Penhallow." Maureen smiled.

"You like him?" The redhead asked.

"Hell no! But I can take you there. Not very far from where we're standing." Maureen answered.

It wasn't very far from where they were standing. In fact, none of her classes were far from where she had been standing. The school was about as big as a church, the classes more like broom closets than anything larger. Perhaps the only big room was for physical education - which consisted of various forms of exercise from jogging to pull ups - what the students were doing now. Testing in reverse alphabetical order.

"Lewis!" Coach Penhallow shouted, then blew his whistle. Clary gave him a pitiful smile, shivering as she realized the amount of students left was thinning. It wouldn't be long before she was called up to test the strength of her weak arms.

"Herondale!" The gym teacher bellowed out into the room. Clary's pulse began to race when her eyes trailed up the the standing Jace. He gave Coach a nod that all guys seemed to know. The class' average number of pull ups wasn't very high. But, as Jace Herondale shucked off his hoodie - tossing it aside - she witnessed his muscles shine in the dim lighting of the gymnasium. He didn't need to use the chair that other students had, as he jumped up to the bar, beginning his test.

Taking her gaze from her worn sneakers, Clary's eyes began to skim the walls of the room, seeing an exit that was down a narrow hallway. She was small enough… the room wasn't so well lit. Escaping would be easy. The school was small, and the faculty were hopeless. Escaping would be easy. Her feet began to move in the direction of the exit. Slowly but steadily. Almost there, almost there. The class was facing the other direction. Too busy occupied watching Jace Herondale make history-

"Fairchild!"

Shit.

Her nose was level with the sweat-smeared bar. Coach Penhallow was tapping his pen against a clipboard, ready to write down the single digit number that was the amount of pull ups she could do. Out of the corner of her eyes, Clary saw fellow classmates exiting the gym. Escaping would have been so easy! She groaned loudly, then sighed. Accepting her fate. The monkey bars weren't so hard to climb when she was little… was this any different? Her spirits began to brighten as she gripped the bar tightly, ready to take her feet off of the plastic chair. All eyes were on her as she let out a final breath before working the strength of her arms.

"Six." Coach Penhallow grumbled to his clipboard as he wrote down the number. Simon patted Clary on her shoulder, claiming that she just needed more practice - to build up the muscles in her arms.

"Sure, sure." Clary agreed, catching a glimpse of Jace Herondale exiting the gymnasium. Should she apologize for earlier? Her conscience was heavy with decision making. "I'm going to catch my breath." She mumbled. Exiting the conversation. Other students had left this way, though, not many. Perhaps this is why the blond chose this door. Antisocial, Maureen's words repeated in Clary's head.

When she walked out, though, she could not find him. There were fresh footprints in the dry grass… snapped blades of brown. She walked around a few meters, searching for him. Where did he go? Her eyes scanned the landscape of the track field, turning quickly when she heard the stereotypical snap of a twig. Clary's pulse began to race, eyes stinging when she caught his stare.

"Why are you following me?" Jace questioned - his bright eyes daring Clary to lie to him. She returned his gaze evenly, noticing the burn of his presence had begun to fade. Almost as if she had willed it away.

"I'm not following you… I'm taking a break from Penhallow." She snapped, crossing her arms like a child being scolded. Her fists clenched until the knuckles were white. An irrational anger taking control of her mind. What if she wasn't following him? She could be catching a breath of air! After all, it was humid inside the gymnasium!

"Clarissa, is it." He wasn't asking a question. More like a statement in the way he said it. She nodded, not wanting to correct him. "I don't have time for your petty crushing. Leave me be." Jace growled, pushing past her and walking further into the track field. She stood, motionless. Seething with frustration. Clary wanted to pick up a rock - toss it at his blond head until he was apologizing feverently. Though, it was hard to do so with Simon as a witness.

"Are you skipping class or something?" Simon asked her, pushing up his steamed glasses.

"No, why do you ask?" She responded.

"Uh, maybe it's because no one would see you leave." He clarified, raising his eyebrows above the thick frames of his glasses, unable to life one.

"What are you talking abo-" Clary paused her sentence, turning around to find a missing Herondale. What the hell? Was the guy some experienced escape artist? Perhaps it was best to listen to Maureen and forget about him.

"Come back inside. We have some sit ups to do." Simon said with a motioning of his hand in the direction of the school. Clary groaned, following her new friend back into the pits of hell.

"How was school?" Valentine asked both Jonathan and Clary. Jonathan turned his attention towards his sister, offering her the first complaint. Clary shrugged her shoulder, wondering where to begin. She settled for summarizing the day.

"Could have been better. I met an old friend." She answered her estranged father. His brow raised, silently commanding her to continue. Clary sucked in a breath of air between her lips, taking a drink of water before continued. They were at the dinner table, eating what her brother called spaghetti. It tasted more like… poison, not that she knew what poison tasted like. "Simon Lewis. He remembered me from when we used to make dust angels in the backyard."

"Did that guy have a major crush on you?" Jonathan questioned. Clary kicked him under the table. Their father turned towards Jonathan.

"A major crush?" He repeated. There was amusement to his words. Perhaps the sense of lightheartedness she'd seen out of him for the past couple of days.

"No, he did not have a crush on me." Clary huffed, twirling her spaghetti around her fork before taking a bite. "He just… liked to keep me company. He helped me around at school - with finding my classes. Stuff like that." She continued, omitting anything that had to do with Jace Herondale.

"That's great." Valentine approved, taking massive chunks out of his spaghetti. He wiped his mouth when he was finished. "Jonathan, how was your day? Did you stay out of trouble with those girls?" This distracted Clary - pulling the blond boy out of her head.

"What girls?" She chirped up, leaning on her knuckles to listen.

"Dad… what do you expect? How is a young stud like me supposed to know who's spoken for?" He grinned. Valentine, however, shook his head.

"You can't take what isn't yours, Jonathan." Their father chided. "What if someone did that to you? How would you feel?" He continued.

"They don't want a date, Dad. They want something to keep them occupied while their boyfriends are running the fields." This reminded Clary of something Maia had said… what was it? Clary leered at her brother. "Taking the free stuff isn't really my style." She stood up from her chair, plate clattering on the table as she did so.

"Well, my appetite's gone. Goodnight you two." She nodded, walked towards the stairs. Her father wished her sweet dreams, while Jonathan chuckled. His voice deep. Clary trudged up the stairs, wooden steps squeaking as she did so. When she entered her room, she collapsed on the bed, sighing deeply. Clary was missing her mother terribly. It was her mother that would know instantly if something was wrong with her daughter.

She pulled out her phone, checking for any missed calls or messages she may have skipped. There was a notification in her voicemail, which made Clary's face light up with a smile.

"Hey Clare Bare! Sorry I missed your call, but you have to remember the time difference - New York is three hours ahead of California. Anyways, Luke sent you some books in the mail, in case you don't make some friend. Though I'm sure you will-"

The message ended abruptly. Jocelyn had probably cut it short by accident. Great. Clary curled in on herself, holding in tears that begged to be shed. Crying means you're giving up, she told herself, wiping her eyes until they were irritated for a different reason. She was angry that her father had practically ordered her across the country, making her abandon everything she'd grown up with. She was angry at her mother for convincing Clary to give Valentine another chance. She was angry at the world.

And then the anger was gone.

As if it were a living creature that had slowly bled out from a wound. The anger left her body so quickly, that she felt completely numb without it. Her fists tightened, the knuckles whitened as the clenched the dark bed sheets. The strength of her energy fled her body soon after, which left her with nothing to do but fall into a deep sleep. Dreaming of none other than the boy that had sparked her interest. Unable to control her conscience while she slumbered.

A/N: So some, if not most of you are probably wondering why the story has changed. Over the past few months I've been experiencing a writer's block. This has prevented me from continuing most of my stories. As I tried to write the next chapter of The Seven, I wasn't able to think of anything, so changing the story was my only solution. It's with this new plot that I was able to come up with a few chapters.

The original concept of the story has remained the same, with just some changes in the setting and the character's age, and I added a few as well, such as Maureen, Maia, Jordan, Max. Yes, he's alive in this story. A freshman.

Please let me know what you think of this change in the reviews!