A/N: Hi! Thanks for reading this! I'm so excited to share this chapter with you, as it is the chapter in which Jace and Clary have their first interaction! It was a lot of fun to write, and I hope you enjoy it. Every thanks to my fabulous beta Gracie, who manages to add the wit that I find myself lacking at times, and keeps me from letting my characters get too OOC. I want to say thank you to everyone who has followed and favorited this story, especially in the short time since I have posted it. I am astounded and so grateful by the positive response that I have gotten on this. When I posted this, I honestly thought that no one was going to read it, so the amount of people that have amazes me. Sorry for that rambly A/N! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Cassandra Clare.

Isabelle and I are walking out of the school when I catch sight of Jace, standing in the shadow of a statue of the school's mascot, motioning me over to him. He looks like a drug dealer beckoning me from a dark alleyway. I sigh, tell Isabelle that I'll meet her at her car in five minutes, and walk over to him. He moves toward me, into the sunlight, causing the sun to make his blond hair practically glow. He approaches me, and I watch him, my eyes lusting over the way the sun casts a glowing halo around him, making him look like an avenging angel in his white t-shirt and black jeans. Oh, the irony. 'God, I'd like to draw him,' I think.

"Stop staring at me, Red," he says, patronizingly, ruffling my hair.

I slap his hand away, glaring at him. "Don't call me that," I snap.

He puts his hands up in an 'I surrender' position. "Hey, you came over to me."

I roll my eyes. "Because you wanted me to come over. Now, what do you want?"

He puts a finger over my mouth. "Hush, little bunny."

I jerk back. "What the hell, you asshole? Don't touch me!"

"Clarissa, you mustn't act so hostile towards me, especially where our dearest classmates can see us."

I groan. "Fine," I concede, with exaggerated irritation. "Whatever could I help you with?," I ask, my voice bittersweet, like dark chocolate.

"Ah, that's much better," he says, smiling at me condescendingly, which makes me tense up, even though I try not to show it. "Coach wants to see both of us in his office."

I look at him questioningly. "Why does your soccer coach want to see us?," I ask.

He shrugs. "Your guess is as good as mine. All he told me is that he wants to see the both of us in his office at three o'clock." He looks at his expensive-looking silver and gold watch. "And since it's two fifty-five now, we better get over there."

I sigh, and run my hand through my fiery locks, knocking the pencil that I had forgotten I had stuck behind my ear to the ground. I bend down to get it, and bang my head into Jace's. I yelp, and jerk back, accidentally knocking myself off balance. I stumble, wobbling a bit, before falling to the ground. I look up at Jace, and find him laughing at me. I press my lips into a line, and look down at my feet, that stupid pen lying next to them. I grab it and shove it into my tote bag, scrambling to get up off the ground as gracefully as possible. "Alright, let's go," I say, avoiding his overconfident gaze, as I head towards the front doors of the school. We speed walk through the school, attempting to not be late, since Mr. Adams, who also happens to be my government teacher, can be quite intimidating when he chooses to be. We arrive at his office just as the clock strikes three, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I seat myself in one of the two chairs in front of his desk.

"What can we help you with, Coach?," Jace asks him, leaning forward in his seat with his elbows resting on his knees.

"Well," Mr. Adams begins, smoothing out his thinning, gray hair. "It seems as if Jace has been having some trouble in my class." Jace stiffens up, and I see his eyes dart over to me, and then back to Coach, as if he doesn't want me hearing this.

"I don't see what this has to do with Clary," he tells Mr. Adams, his voice sharp.

Mr. Adams looks at Jace, his eyes grave. "Jace, you're a fantastic soccer player, one of the best on my team, but the school won't condone your academic behavior. Your teachers, the administrators, and I have decided that you can stay on the team if you get tutored in my class until you get your grade up."

"But why does it have to be Clary, Coach?," Jace protests.

Mr. Adams sighs, and leans back in his seat. "I did everything I could, Jace, but they wanted to not even let you play until your grade goes up. I barely managed to convince them to agree with this. Clary is a very bright student who I believe could benefit for being required to push herself more. Besides, it's not as if you two don't get along. I wouldn't think that it would be that much of a struggle for you two to spend time together, especially since you will only be focused on academic pursuits, or at least, I hope so." You have got to be kidding me.

I can practically see the wheels turning in Jace's brain, trying to think of anything that could get us out of it. "I'm not sure that I am going to have the time to tutor him," I tell him, feigning regret. "I'm really busy, and I don't know that I will have enough free time in my schedule to put in the amount of effort that would be expected for a project like this."

"I thought that you might say that Clary, but I really do think that having you apply yourself more will benefit you, so I have decided that this is going to be a grade for you."

"Just in this class?," I ask, thinking that my grade is good enough that I can fail this and keep a fairly good grade.

He shakes his head, attempting to appear apologetic, but I catch the self-pleased glint in his eyes. "It'll be a grade for all of your classes, Clary."

I groan and slide down in my seat, covering my face with my hands. "So I have to do it, don't I?," I ask, feeling dejected.

"I'm afraid so, unless you want your grades to severely suffer, which I know you don't."

"Okay," I agree, reluctantly. "I'll do it."

We walk out of his office into the eerily silent corridor. I can hear Mr. Adams humming what sounds like a victory tune. I glance at Jace and his gaze locks on mine, the awkwardness between us growing thicker and more potent with every second. We are both thinking the same thing, for the first, and probably the last time ever. This is going to suck.