Third installation of the School of the Skilled. I don't own these characters (Cassandra Clare does) or this storyline (candycop99 does). Please give it a review if you have the time.

Jace

Sebastian pulled me down the hallway by the scruff of my neck. It hurt like hell, but I didn't really care. I had just seen one of the most beautiful girls in the school – in her underwear, no less. She was toned, skinny, and shapely. She could use a little sun (nothing California's summers couldn't fix), but that made her all the more attractive. She looked like a snow queen. And she could defend herself, too. I knew why Sebastian called her 'firecracker' now, at least.
I remembered how she blushed when she heard me tell her she looked good, but my thought was interrupted by Sebastian: "What the absolute hell, Jace? She's my little sister, and you look at her like she's something to eat! She isn't some girl in a club!" He shook my neck harder, and I winced. For a computer genius, Sebastian kept his strength up like a wrestler.
Don't blame me! You wouldn't want to face an angry, pissed off, over-protective brother when you were caught staring at his hot little sister … half-naked. He finally stopped, and let go of my neck and hair. He grabbed the front of my shirt. "If I ever see you looking at my sister that way, I will make sure you hear from me. And if any of you," he said, looking around at our group of friends menacingly, "hurt her, or even try to take advantage of her, I will hunt you down and kill you after she does."
Sebastian dropped his fist from my shirt. "Just this once, I'll let it slide. But don't expect me to be so kind next time. Hell, there had better not be a next time."
Wait – that was nice? He ripped half of my hair out! I mean, I'd still be as attractive as I am now, but my scalp was on fire. I grumbled in assent and headed to my next class. As I strode along, I noticed someone standing in what students called the forbidden corridor. I stopped, and called, "Dude! You're not meant to be down there! Do you want a detention?" I drew nearer, and realised that it was not, in fact, a 'dude', but rather a fiery redhead – fully clothed, mind.
"Clary? What are you doing here?" I saw that her hand rested on the handle of one of the many doors. Her eyes were unfocused when she turned around, and she stared vacantly at me before shaking her head.
"I got lost. This school is massive."
"Right, but this isn't where you need to be getting lost. This is a hallway no students are allowed down. I don't know why."
"Jace," she said quietly, and I shivered to hear her say my name. "There's this thing called personal space. Do you know about it? Because you're in mine."
I stepped back from where I saw I stood. Our bodies were nearly touching, emphasising our difference in height. She barely reached my shoulder. "Sorry," I muttered. The bell rang sharply, interrupting the silence. "Do you need help finding your class?" She nodded. "Let me see your schedule."
She took out the thin piece of paper, dragging her eyes over it. One of her long locks of red hair fell from her ear, and I fought the urge to push it back. I took the paper from her, and mentally compared it to my own. A moment of happy realisation: we had all of our classes together. Yes, I thought.
"Yes about what?" Clary asked. Had I said that out loud?
"We have all of our classes together. I see your stalking skills are up to date, are you sure that's not what you're in for?"
"You wish," she smirked. "Come on, we're going to be late."
Our teacher looked up from the register and scowled. I pointed at Clary, and said she got lost. He broke into a smile and pointed her towards the seat next to mine.

Clary

Great, just great! I had every one of my classes with him! If only he hadn't stopped me from opening that door … anyone who knows me knows that a curious Clary, is a determined Clary. And that's never good. When I was nine years old, I wanted to know how babies were made – that didn't end well.
My next lesson was an art class. Thank God! Fighting isn't my only skill. One of my other talents is drawing. I inherited that from my mother, some of whose paintings hang on the walls of famous art galleries. I sank into my seat once in the art studio, and pulled out my sketchbook. My hand danced over the page, tracing out lines and shading in spaces in a quick ballet of graphite. When I draw, I tend to concentrate too hard. When Sebastian and I still lived in New York, he was trying to make me listen to a story while I was drawing. He had tried many things – poking me with a pencil, screaming in my ear, getting close to my face. Nothing was working until he took me by the waist, and dragged me away from the paper. I remember having looked up innocently, and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."
I felt my sketchpad being ripped away from me. "What the–?"
I may have said it too loud, for a few pairs of disapproving eyes were laid on me. I looked up at the culprit – Jace.
"This is really good, Clary," he said. I had drawn a sketch of a doorknob, outlining every detail. I snatched the book out of his hand.
"You do know that you're not meant to take things from people without their permission, right?"
"I did try," he started, "I even poked you with a pencil! But you weren't doing anything." I was about to defend myself when the professor walked in. Jace sat down next to me to avoid trouble.
"All right, today you're going to do a portrait of the person next to you. Let's not be boring, though," she continued, "you have to add a mystical feature to the drawing. Make it anything you want: snakes for hair, vampire teeth, anything! Your partner can, of course, request you draw them in a specific way. You have to obey, but be creative."
Jace turned towards me. "I'm rubbish at art."
"I'll paint you first, then," I said with a smile. "What do you want?"
He looked thoughtful for a moment, before saying, "I want you to paint me shirtless. You can add whatever feature you want." I looked on in horror as Jace tugged at his shirt. I quickly raised my hand.
"Am I allowed to do that?" I beseeched of the professor. She laughed, and nodded.
I turned back to a shirtless Jace, on whom every girl's eyes were trained. Even some of the boys looked on, some with jealousy, and some with closeted admiration. I rolled my eyes as he struck a pose that enhanced his muscle. "Draw away," he said.
A few lines, a few shades, were all I needed to start me off. I allowed myself to be lost in my drawing. Colours merged, pencils scratched at the paper, and a portrait rose into being. Once I was finished, I drew out of my trance and observed my work. On the paper, sat Jace with his arms crossed. I had drawn him exactly, with the added feature of an angel's wings. They were spread behind him, making it look like he might be about to take flight. The only thing I could find wrong with the painting was that it didn't have the quality that made it Jace. Though he truly looked like a god on paper, he didn't look like himself. I set my pencil aside.
My subject noticed that I had finished, and asked for the drawing. I nodded without realising. He stared wide-eyed at what I had just drawn. "If you thought I was an angel, you just have said," he said quietly, though without the sarcasm. "Professor," he called without taking his eyes off the paper, "look at this." I stood in front of the easel, shielding my work from any prying eyes. "No," I said, "it's not good."
Jace pulled me away from the easel and crushed me against his still shirt-free chest. I knocked my fists against him, trying to break free, but his arms around me were surprisingly strong. I could have floored him if I had wanted to, yet I stayed where I was.
The teacher still hadn't said anything. A small group of people had gathered, and all were looking at my painting. "You wouldn't mind if I framed this, would you, Clary?" said the professor. I looked up and said, "no, of course not." Jace patted my back as if to commend me. His hand lingered, and slid downwards. Before he could reach his target, I slapped him in the shoulder. He released me, thank God.
There wasn't enough time left in the lesson for Jace to draw me. It was, mercifully, the end of the day. I escaped the classroom, looking to avoid the golden boy, but he followed me out. "Well, Clary," he said, "I was starting to worry that I'd lost my touch! But I knew you liked me."
"I don't like you," I mocked.
"Why did you paint me as an angel, then?"
"Angel wings contrast well with your natural colours. You have the typical golden eyes, hair, and complexion that most angels are depicted as having. Along with the blue background I gave it, the painting was a mixture of colours and less a focus on subject."
"And the symbol on my chest?" I had forgotten having drawn that. I had dropped a bit of black paint on the pectoral area, and wished to correct it. Instead of blurring it out, I enhanced it to create a diamond-shape with two prongs elongating its sides.
"It was a cover-up."
"Yeah, I'm just going to go with, 'you like me'." I rolled my eyes and began to walk up the stairs. Sebastian stopped me, appearing out of nowhere.
"How was your first day, firecracker? Start any riots?"
I was about to reply, when Jace said haughtily, "Clary totally likes me," and laughed.
"Got a crush?" Seb smiled. I shook my head, but he continued to tease me. The only way I could think of to make him shut up was to turn his attention off me, and onto someone else. So I gathered up my things and prepared to run.
"Seb, Jace took off his shirt in front of me today. He also tried to cop a feel at me in art. I think he might be trying to get me into bed!" I blurted out, and sprinted up the flight of stairs. Almost immediately, a hoarse yell erupted.
"You what?"
I ran all of the way to my dorm, unlocked the door with my fob, and went into my room. Oh, God, what a day that had been. I fell asleep. At least tomorrow was Saturday; I didn't have to suffer another day of classes.

"Clary!" Isabelle shouted in my ear.
I groaned. "Go away."
"Oh, good, you're awake. I've been trying to get you up for ages! Now, come on, Sleeping Beauty, we're going to a club."
"Isabelle, leave me alone. I don't like clubs. I like pillows and blankets and sleep." I pulled the covers back over my head, only to feel them torn away from me.
"CLARY, IF YOU DON'T GET THAT ASS OUT OF BED, SO HELP ME GOD, I WILL POUR WATER OVER YOU!" I cracked an eye open, and shut it again. She was bluffing. Of course she was bluffing. No one ever goes through on threats like that. I rolled over and slept on. I had almost fallen asleep again, when I felt ice cold water hit my body. I sat up in bed, roaring.
"WHAT THE HELL?" I scrabbled up from my bed, ready to deliver a solid kick to whoever had woken me. Isabelle stood over the bed, a blue bucket in hand, laughing. "WHAT WAS THAT FOR?" I screeched.
"You weren't getting up," she said innocently.
"Well, I'm awake now. Happy?"
"Yes, actually."
I huffed in annoyance and began to pull the sheets off the bed to dry them off. "A club, huh?" my voice was muffled by the sopping pile of linens in my arms.
"Yep," Isabelle said, taking some of the covers from me. "It's new, it has a cool name, and I know the bouncer. I was thinking…" From there on in I only caught a few words, including 'new dress', 'boys', and 'dancing'.
We hung the sheets over a makeshift hanging line across the living room. Isabelle disappeared for a second, and then returned, holding a very skimpy dress. It was a strapless, black number with black lace from the waist down. There was a black belt tied where the lace began. It looked tight fitting, and very, very short.
"Izzy," I cried, "you'll look like a hooker with that on!" Now it was her turn to kill me with a stare.
"Good thing it's for you, then. I designed it." I was taken aback. That was a square of cloth, not a dress!
"Please? I'll pay you back, I promise! Please…" she dragged out the 'e'. I rolled my eyes and looked away. "…eeeeeeeeee…" she continued. No, I told myself. "…eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…" Absolutely not.
"…EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE..."
"FINE!" I shouted. "Now shut up!"
She jumped up and down excitedly. "Brilliant! Right, go and take a shower. It's seven right now, and we're out for nine. Oh, God, we need to hurry. Go!" I put my hands up and scurried away into my bathroom.
The bathroom was full of steam when I was finished, and I stepped out of the shower smelling of apples. Wrapped up in a towel, I walked into my room to see Isabelle sitting on the bed. She smiled and dragged me into her room.
I was pushed into a chair in front of a dressing table. Loaded onto its small surface were a veritable army of accessories, makeup, and jewellery. Not having been in Isabelle's room before now, I had a look around. Her walls had been painted hot pink and black. Though her room had the same layout as mine, she managed to make it look as trendy as she was. It was hugely messy, but it fit. Her cupboard overflowed with beautiful clothes.
Isabelle took out a hairdryer and began to tame the monstrosity of hair on my head. It took her far too long to untangle all of the knots, and she was murder on the hairbrush. My scalp felt raw and bruised. She pulled out a curling iron and plugged it in. My hair was curled gently around my face.
"Right, what are we doing with your hair?" she said to herself, before tying it back in an artful plait. She then applied black makeup on my face, making my eyes stand out against my pale skin. I was all angles now; she finished off with bloody lipstick. Isabelle handed me white-to-black fake nails, which I snapped on.
I wasn't allowed to see what I looked like, because we were rushing. A set of ridiculous underwear, the dress, and red, six inch stilettos were thrust into my arms. I looked at the thong and push-up bra in horror, and the suicidal shoes.
"I knew it! I knew you were trying to kill me!" I moaned.
"Stop complaining, and put them on," she said, and turned to do her own makeup.
I headed into my own bathroom, the mirror still fogged with condensation. Once I had slid on the dress, which fit perfectly, I tied a simple gold chain around my neck. I decided to save the shoes for later (I didn't want to die before even having walked out of the school). Back in Isabelle's room, where she was straightening her hair, I went. She turned around and grinned.
"God, I'm brilliant," she said. "Turn around, let me zip it up."
"These heels are going to be impossible," I said, to which she only laughed.
"Try them on anyway." I complied. I rose by half a foot, which I found satisfying, but I could hardly walk. It took me some practice, but I could teeter around without falling over. I turned around to see Isabelle in a plum wrap dress and grey suede knee-boots. She looked incredible.
"Look at yourself," she said absently, topping up her mascara.
There was a stranger in the mirror. Her eyes were highlighted by the sharp eyeliner, making them all the more green. The red lipstick gave her a touch of sexiness, and her hair, pulled back as it was, complimented it. The braid looped over her shoulder and down to her chest, where the dress started. It was, indeed, short. Though it fitted perfectly over her curves, it did not make her look like a hooker, as I had previously thought. The heels made her legs look longer, and taller.
"Who is she?" I mumbled.
"You, babe," Isabelle laughed. I shot her a look and pushed my phone, my fob, and the tube of lipstick down my bra. Where else would I put them? Any bag I usually took with me got miserably lost.
Isabelle's phone beeped, and she looked down, typing furiously. "Aline and the others are going to meet us at the club, OK?" I nodded. "Let's go."
We walked out of our room with our heads held high. We passed by the common room to 'showcase our utterly god-like appearance', according to my roommate. There were appreciative glances and the odd whistle. We were about to move along, when Sebastian caught us. Jace followed him to where we were. He was looking at us, smiling. I felt my stomach squirm nervously.
"Where are you going, dressed like that?" growled my brother.
"Pandemonium," Isabelle answered smoothly.
"You're taking her out? In that disgrace of a dress?"
"Manners, sir," she said. "It's not like we were going to a brothel. We're going dancing. See you later." We turned to go, but Sebastian stopped us again.
"Wait, you're not going anywhere but the club, right?"
"We might go out for a late dinner after," I said. "Dancing is exercise, you know."
"You've got your phone?"
"Yes," I replied, ready for a plethora of similar questions.
"You'll stay together?"
"Yep."
"You'll not go home with anyone?"
"Obviously not."
"You'll be careful?"
"Dammit, Sebastian, just let them go," Jace joked. "They'll be fine. Clary can defend herself." I nodded.
"Have fun, then," he said.
We almost ran through the school, and out into the car park. Isabelle's car was a sleek red convertible. We climbed inside, and whooped with excitement.

Jace

Football practice is hell any day, but even more so when the coach has us run five laps of the pitch for kicks. I had my evening planned out: shower, Chinese takeout, a movie, and bed. Just before returning to my room, Sebastian and I stopped by the common room.
All the girls in our year were there, flirting back and forth with our group of friends. Everyone but Maia, Kaeley, Aline, Isabelle, and Clary. Just as I noticed her absence, she and her roommate sauntered past the doorway.
I couldn't help it. I had to look. It was like she was trying to make me lose my mind. She wore a short dress that hugged her figure, and sky-high heels that raised her to my nose. The amount of skin she showed was unbearable. She walked by with a swing in her hips, chatting merrily with Isabelle.
Sebastian's head whipped around, and he dragged me up to them. He began a running questionnaire of her plans for the night. They were heading for a new club in the city. I hadn't been, but I had heard that it was good. I zoned out, focusing on Clary. I wasn't being perverted, no – she was just beautiful to look at.
As soon as they left, Sebastian pulled me towards our dormitory. Jordan and Jonathan, two of our best friends, followed us. "Seb, what are you doing?" asked the former warily.
"We," Sebastian responded, "are going to Pandemonium. Get changed and come back down here afterwards. I want to make sure my sister stays safe."
"Dude, just let her be," Jonathan tried. Sebastian rounded on him.
"You think she'll be left alone tonight? Looking like that? You think anyone is going to ignore that? She's going to be bothered, I know it. I want to know that she's safe, and so we're going to look out for her. If any of you decide to make a move on her," he looked pointedly at me, "you can stay here."
I sighed, resigned. So much for Chinese.