On Tuesday, October twenty-third, Simon opened his door to find Clary standing there, grinning and holding a small package wrapped in what looked like the newspaper comics. "What's that?"
"Hello to you, too," she laughed. "I brought you a birthday present."
Soon they were safely in Simon's room, out of earshot of Rebecca, who was drawing in the kitchen. Clary plopped down on the bed and shoved the square package into his hands. "Open it."
"Thanks," Simon said, but he didn't tear the wrapping just yet. "But you didn't have to—my birthday's not till tomorrow. And Clary, I'm not... you know... aging anymore." It felt strange to say the words, even though he knew they were true.
Clary laughed, but Simon thought he caught a flash of some other emotion in her green eyes, just for a split second—confusion? Regret? He pretended he hadn't seen. "I'll take the CD, though," he said quickly, making an effort to keep his voice light.
"You know me too well, my friend," said Clary, smiling at him. That smile. Somehow shy and assured and hopeful all at the same time. Simon knew that there would always be some part of him that would never give up on his first love.
"Yeah, and there's also the fact that you've gotten me a CD every year since we were eleven." He slipped a finger under the wrapping and pulled. Sure enough, a square of plastic with an indie-art cover tumbled out, landing on the comforter.
"Vampire Weekend," Simon read aloud. "Appropriate."
"I really like them. It's like Stepping Razor meets Arcade Fire." Clary gave him a too-brief hug. "I hope you like it."
"I love it," he said truthfully. He would love anything she gave him, but she didn't need to know that. Anything to make her smile. "What do you want to do today? 'Star Wars' or 'Pokemon'?"
"Hang on," she told him. "First I wanted to talk to you about something." Her tone made Simon look up, his eyes wide with concern.
"You're using your parental voice," he said, a layer of offhandedness thinly masking the worry in his voice. "What's up?"
"Don't look at me like that; nothing's wrong," she said immediately, which, of course, only made him stare harder at her. "I was only thinking..." Her forehead wrinkled in thought. "You really ought to tell your mom and Rebecca about the whole handicapped thing."
After a moment, Simon let out a burst of relieved laughter. "The whole handicapped thing? Are you referring to the paleness, the immortality, or the bottles of chicken blood currently hidden in the back of the fridge?"
She hit his arm softly. "It's not funny!" she said indignantly. "You're turning seventeen tomorrow. How long do you think you can go before your family starts to wonder what's going on?"
"I figured I'd solve that problem when I came to it." He caught sight of her face and sighed. "Look, Clary, I know I've got to tell them. But what can I say? Rebecca might believe me, I guess. She just finished reading the Twilight books."
Clary made a face.
"But anyway, my mom will think— she's noticed that I'm not eating. I've just barely convinced her that I'm not dying of some rare sun allergy. I don't really want to drop another bomb right now. She has a lot on her plate at the moment."
"She'd believe you if you showed her," Clary said earnestly. "Show her how fast you can run. Show her your temperature. Or your fangs."
Simon raised his eyebrows.
"Okay, maybe not the fangs," she amended. "But she's going to have to know someday, Simon. Just remember that."
"I will," Simon promised. "When it's the right time. But that's not today, and I can spare her the details of my handicap a bit longer." He put his arm around her, and she leaned into his shoulder and sighed. Touching like this was normal, platonic, okay. He couldn't let her go completely, not until he had to.
"I'll take care of it," he whispered into her ear, her flaming hair soft against his cheek. "Don't worry about me."
"Easier said than done," Clary grumbled, her eyes closed.
"So," he said after several minutes of companionable silence, "shall we rejoin Anakin, Luke, and Leia?"
Clary opened her eyes and looked up at him, a slightly wicked smile playing around her lips. "Actually," she replied, "I'm dragging you to the Institute."
"What? Wh-why?"
She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the door. "Because the Shadowhunters want to wish you a happy birthday."
