Chapter 4

Here I am, on stage. Yes, me, Clary Fray is on stage; it's what I do. I'm an entertainer. Pffttt. Yeah right. Someone would have to be downright stupid to believe that I entertain people. But I am really about to be on stage right now as an artist, not the kind that paints or draws, at least not right now, but one who performs poetry-like stories to an audience.

I had decided to help out one of my friends, Mitch Lanes, a brilliant entertainer who seems to really speak to people with his dramas. I am currently watching the show from behind the curtain as I wait for my cue, which at the moment has Mitch, Carl, and Tony underneath a tight, shiny, stretchy sheet. Carl and Tony are, well, what you would call "Little People", and they also are Mitch's assistants.

I'll be completely honest right now and admit that the sketch we are doing is a bit weird, but know it will impact some of the audience. I will also admit that I am not fully giving all of my effort on this sketch; I am too busy thinking about whether or not Jace will actually show tonight.

Why should I care anyway, though, right? I have been the center of his jokes before. Up until the tenth grade, I was the only thing he could make fun of, but luckily something must have come along and I became an invisible part of society. Not that I am complaining, I like when people leave me alone. But why is he wasting his time on me? Doesn't he have a girlfriend? Oh God, I have got to stop this shit right now. He is not even worth thinking about.

"Boom!" the sheet they were all tangled up in exploded and Mitch carried on with the show as I saw the 'Golden God' himself, sitting in the front row. I decide to pay no attention to him. If I act like I never saw him, maybe he'll get the hint that I am not really interested in being his little toy. I look behind the crimson curtains, despite what I just told myself that I should not do, to see his facial expression, and it is hilarious. His face is screwed up into something that seems to be a mix of confusion and being terrified. His facial expressions get even funnier as Mitch pulls himself out of the sheet, wearing nothing but a white cloth-like diaper, and Carl and Tony come out with purple unitards on. I am finding it incredibly hard not to laugh at him right now.

"My soul is an island! My car is a Ford" Tony shouts to the crowd jumping backwards to let Carl say his line.

"I want to be Like Mike" Carl states with his hands on his hips. I watch as Jace looks around, probably trying to see if anyone else is finding it as weird as he is, while the performers start chanting and dancing around a lit old garbage can in the center of the stage. The flames get bigger, then the performers all drop to the ground, feigning their deaths. As Jace sits up, ready to clap, I make sure my chopsticks that are holding my bun up are in tight enough and make my way on stage with a pure white sheet, covering them with it.

"Be silent. Be still" I say.

"Be silent. Be still" Mitch, Carl, and Tony say in unison.

"Be silent. Be still" we chant together.

Then it's over and the audience claps loudly as we hold hands and take our bows.

"Thank you. Thank you all very much for coming" Mitch says. "Oh, before you leave, Clary has just informed me that we have a new member in our group tonight! Is there a Jace Herondale in the house? Come on, don't be shy!"

I go down the steps hurriedly towards him. If this doesn't scare him off, I don't know what will.

"Look, you don't have to go if you're not interested" I say when I reach him.

"What do I do?" he asks me.

"Something interesting. Something that is a little bit personal" I suggest.

"Art is love people, art is love" Mitch says as he starts to clap his hands for Jace to get on the stage. Jace looks up at me, breathing deeply through his nose, shaking his head.

"Welcome, friend. Come on" Mitch says while gesturing his hands for Jace to get on stage. The audience has started clapping as well. Jace stands up, exhaling slowly through his mouth with his eyes closed, and goes to the stage.

"Um, hey. How's it goin?" he asks the crowd while I ask the barkeep for a water bottle. The crowd is quiet, waiting on whatever it is he is going to do. I look to the back wall for the clock with the little duck on it, look at the time, then turn back around to notice Jace looking at the clock as well. His eyes narrowed.

"Ducks" he states and my eyebrows shot up.

" Ducks

Ducks are horrid

Ducks are morbid

Ducks, I wish their existence ceased

Ducks are disgusting little beasts

Ducks give you no good luck

They suck, so who gives a fuck

About Ducks?"

I was in absolute shock. My jaw was near the ground, my eyes as big as saucers; I was sure I of that.

"I can't believe I just did that!" Jace yells when we walked out the back door of Java Jones.

"Yeah, well, I'd be lying if I didn't say I was pretty surprised myself" I tell him, trying to keep up with his long strides on the sidewalk.

"So," he started with a big goofy grin on his face, "tell me the truth. How bad did I suck?" he asks me.

"Nah, you were good" I am not sure why I am reassuring him, but I am.

"Yeah right! Come on, the stuff you did with the paint and the garbage? That was really good!" he states, though I know he is lying right through his teeth. "All I did was rhyme words with 'duck'."

"Alright, a little bit" I say. "A lot. You sucked a lot, boy you really blew" I say, and he laughs a rich laugh. "Feel better now?" I ask.

"Haha, I don't care. Ah, man! I mean, I've given speeches and stuff for school, but being up there on that stage and not knowing what to do, it's just-"

"Kind of a rush isn't it?"

"Yeah" he says blowing out a breath as we reach a crosswalk that we can't cross yet due to the traffic.

"So, ducks?" I ask, since he clearly has some unresolved issues with them.

"Bad experiences. Don't ask" he tells me, so I decide to let it go for now.

As we stand on the street corner, I see him looking at my side profile.

"What?" I ask.

"Do you always wear your hair up like that?" he asks.

"Yeah, why?"

"No reason" he tells me. "You ever wear it down?"

"No, not unless it's like a special occasion. It gets in the way. It also tends to get in my paints" I inform him while his hand is snaking its way behind my head and pulls out my chopsticks.

"I like it down. Brings out your eyes, which are really," he twirls one of my curls behind my ear, "beautiful" he says with a soft smirk.

"Oh, God. Please!"

"What?" he asks with true confusion.

'You're eyes are really beautiful?' You really brought out the big guns with that one, didn't you? Wow. I can't believe this is-"

"Clary I was just-"

"No. I knew this was a mistake. I had an instinct and I should have followed it. This is my fault" I say turning away from him.

"Wait, what?" he mutters to himself. "Clary, I don't get it!"

I turn around harshly. "You want to know about art, Jace Herondale? When the class president and star ball player of the school starts playing with my hair and talking about my eyes on darkened, grungy street corners there' s a word for it." He continues to look at me with wild confusion, as if I have done a completely unthinkable thing. "There was an entire movement about it in the '20's," I continue, "it's called Surreal."

"Clary, wait. Can't we just ta-"

"Just go. I'll catch a ride with Mitch!" I yell over my shoulder as I walk back to Java Jones.

"Underwear guy?" Jace asks, those being the final words I hear from him that night.

so yeah. I know it has been forever. I am incredibly sorry. Thank you guys for sticking with me even though I have truly sucked at updating with this story. Lemme know what you guys thought about this chapter! and don't forget to follow me on instagram claceinstruments

xoxo