Hey, guys! For the first Monday in weeks, I actually remembered to update without needing a reminder at 10pm. Anyway, thanks to IWriteNaked for beta'ing, as always. You're awesome. :) Also, thanks to DeathCabForMari, spikeyhairgood, and LuckyAsLockhart, bc friendship. And, last but not least, thanks to all of you for reading/reviewing/following/favoriting this story!

I hope you like this chapter.

*Important AN at the bottom*

And all at once the crowd begins to sing
Sometimes
We'd never know what's wrong without the pain
Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same

"All At Once" - The Fray

In the few weeks that I've been a high school student, I've realized a lot of things.

The first is that people believe in new beginnings. Not everyone, but most people do. In the time that I've spent with Maia, both in and out of class, I've come to realize that she's changed a lot. Maybe I never really knew her, but I can tell from the fact that she actually speaks to me that she's a different person. Which is nice. And good. Yup.

The second thing is that people don't really do labels anymore, thankfully. I'm no longer known as the emo girl (which was a ridiculous label to start with, but whatever). I'm just Clary. People come to me for help during Ceramics I, because I've proven to be good at it, and everyone's pretty friendly in and out of class, which is nice.

Thirdly, it's hard. It's hard to walk around the hallways without picturing Jace walking here, without reminding myself of how badly I fucked up. I know that it shouldn't affect me this much, especially since I only knew him for less than two months, but there is an emptiness in my chest and a pain in the back of my throat. I miss him. I miss who we were, who we could've been. I look at these hallways and I think of him and about us, and then it gets hard to keep walking.

It's hard to forget, too. Once I start thinking about him, every little detail reminds me of him. Sometimes a song will come on and I'll remember us listening to it, the two of us in our own little world, and then I can't listen to the song without my chest hurting. It's ridiculous, I know, but these are feelings I can't get rid of. I don't know how I'm still feeling this way after five months, but I do.

Because I'm ridiculous.

And guilty.

The crazy thing is that I still remember his phone number. I memorized it from the amount of times I typed it onto my phone. I'm really bad at saving people's phone numbers; I always think that I'll remember the person. And, with him, I did. I learned his phone number, and it's etched into my brain forever. I can't undo it. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, when I let myself really think about him, my hands will itch for my phone. I want to call him so badly, to explain everything and start anew, but I can't. It's not fair.

And he doesn't want to talk to me anyway.

Sometimes I feel too guilty to go about my everyday tasks. I fall asleep a lot in Econ, and I get too lazy to do my homework, so I'm scraping by with mediocre grades. I wish I could stay home and sleep, but nope. I have to go to school every day.

By the way, high school is pretty damn difficult.

"So," Isabelle says, "we're going over to Maia's house today, right?"

"And then to the movies." I nod.

"Simon's not going, though."

I snap my head up. "Why?"

We're supposed to be working on an Algebra I worksheet, but we can multitask. I think.

"I just sort of figured we'd get some girl time, you know?" She doesn't meet my eyes, choosing to focus on the math problem she's working on. "I love spending time with Simon, but I wanna hang out with just the two of you."

"Was this Maia's idea?"

Isabelle sighs. "No. I mean, she agreed, but it was mine."

"It just doesn't seem like you. You like spending time with Simon."

"Yeah, but it's all I've been doing lately."

I know that I'm getting defensive, but still. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No!" she whisper-shouts. "But I also wanna hang out with you two. Is that a crime now?"

"No," I say, slightly guilty at my overreaction. "I'm just not used to it, that's all."

"But you're still coming over?"

I smile as I work on the twelfth problem. "Of course."

Maia's "house" is actually a penthouse, and it is gorgeous.

I knew that she was from a family with a lot of money, but it didn't quite register as I got to know her at the very beginning of the semester. However, now that I can see her penthouse, I want to die. She's clearly got a lot of money, and her family very obviously loves to flaunt it.

"My parents are at work," she says, opening the door to her bedroom. "They don't come home until pretty late, so yeah."

I set down my two bags (my book bag and the one containing my clothing) on the floor. Her bedroom is huge. I mean, mine's, like, a third of hers. It has carpeted floors and a wonderful view of the city, and it's painted in soft colors. She has a lot of posters and paintings up, which is nice, and her desk is neat and orderly. It seems really nice. I think this is the kind of organized room my mom wants me to have.

"Wow," Isabelle says. "Your bedroom is huge. And you have your own bathroom!"

"I have to share mine with my idiot brother," I tell Maia.

"I'm an only child now, so."

"Now?" The words stumble out of my mouth without a warning. I know what she meant, and yet I still said it. I feel like an absolute idiot.

"My brother died about two years ago," Maia says.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Her voice is cold, hard. "He deserved everything that happened to him."

There is an awkward silence after that. I want to ask her what she means, but I also don't wanna get into that, so I just nod and look around.

"Are we watching any movies tonight?" Isabelle asks lightly.

"I have a bunch to choose from in my dad's study, and we also have Netflix."

When we make it inside the study, I have to hold in a gasp, because oh. My. God. Inside is the biggest movie collection I've ever seen. There are easily over a thousand movies in there, organized in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. They're beautiful. So, so beautiful. How will I ever scan all of these? Oh my God.

"Do you have John Tucker Must Die?"

Maia scoffs. "It's only one of my favorites."

The three of us decide to watch John Tucker Must Die and The Princess Bride, but we're also playing board games. Thank God. I love board games, but Isabelle hates them. Maia hates them, too, but she said she'll make it fun.

I don't know what she means until the clock strikes seven and she locks us inside her room. She takes out her stack of board games and three bottles of alcohol.

Huh.

Okay.

Okay.

My mom is going to murder me.

"I don't even drink," Maia comments.

"You're right," Izzy says. "I brought those."

"You did what?"

"Relax, Clary." Isabelle opens one of the bottles and begins drinking. You can tell by the way that her face scrunches up that it is actually burning her throat, but she doesn't let it show. She just lets out a sigh and closes the bottle. "Let's start. Are we playing Monopoly?"

"Are you kidding? No," Maia says, shaking her head. "We're all gonna get alcohol poisoning if we do that."

I never thought I'd say this, but Maia is the voice of reason. "Yeah, Iz. Come on."

"Okay, okay. Parcheesi, then." She takes out the game and places it in the middle. "Okay, so we're taking a shot every time someone gets captured, and then another one every time someone makes it into their home."

"Oh God," I mutter. I've never had more than a few sips of alcohol, so this is going to be...well, I don't even wanna know. "Okay. Let's do this."

When I take my first shot, the alcohol feels as if it's burning my throat. I actually can't take it entirely. I end up taking it in sips. It makes my stomach warm, and I already feel as if I might puke. This is not good. This is totally, entirely, 100% not good. Oh my God. I'm gonna be sick. But I have to keep playing. Of course.

It doesn't really get better after my first shot. I still feel like shit after the fourth one, and I want to beg Isabelle to stop. I drink a lot of water in between shots and eat some apples, hoping that it'll help me not get drunk. Because I don't want to get drunk. I don't get the hype. I feel weird. By the time we end the game, I feel tired. So sleepy.

But I'm still conscious, so that's something.

"Hey," Maia says, but it comes out slurred. "Whatever happened between you and Jace, anyway?"

The question is enough to sober me up more. I drink some more water, enjoying the feeling of it and the relief it brings to my burning throat. "I don't wanna talk about that."

"Come on," Isabelle urges, "just tell her."

"Fine." I don't really need that much convincing, anyway. Too tired to put up a fight. "We were friends, and then he told me he liked me, but it was at a bad time. I mean, my mom's this controlling, manipulative bitch, so I had to stop talking to him. But I liked him." I sigh, feeling the tears burning in the back of my eyes. "I liked him more than I've ever liked a boy in my life. And then I told him that I never did like him, and I stopped talking to him."

"Why did you tell him that?" Maia frowns, evidently confused.

I close my eyes and struggle to open them. "Because I couldn't talk to him. Ever. It was the only way I could think of getting him to not talk to me."

"And it worked?"

"Yeah," I reply. I wish it hadn't, though. I want to say it out loud, but I can't. The words are lodged in my throat. I don't know why it's so difficult to say; I'm already pouring my heart out. Before I can speak, though, Isabelle takes the lead.

"She called him once," she blurts out. "Simon and I were there, and Jace was mad. Or hurt. He was sad, I think."

"That's sad," Maia says. "Jordan was his friend, you know? And Jordan says that Jace is a great guy, and that he misses him."

"I miss him too," I tell them, trying hard not to cry. "I want to call him. Can I call him?"

"No," Isabelle says, shaking her head rapidly. "He said not to call him."

"But if I could just explain—"

"Explain what? It happened for a reason, Clary," Isabelle tells me.

There are so many things I would explain, but I can't think of any of them right now. God. Even now, before all the actual damage, I know that drinking as much as I did was not a good idea. I'm only fourteen. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. I'm only fourteen. Why am I getting drunk with Isabelle? My mom always makes me feel guilty about doing things behind her back, and here I am, drinking.

"Yeah. It happened because I was a coward, but I can't let her walk all over me like that. It was the hardest choice I've ever had to make. God," I say, "she's such a bitch."

"Oh God." Isabelle giggles. "You're so drunk."

"I'm not drunk! It's the truth!"

"Shhh!" Maia whisper-shouts, but her face is red from laughing. "We'll wake up my parents."

"It's nine," Isabelle reminds her.

"The movie!" Maia gets up unsteadily. "I'll go get it. Do you guys want me to make popcorn?"

We end up watching the movie with a bowl of half-burnt popcorn in Maia's lap. She sits in the middle, and we take sips of water and pieces of popcorn as we watch John Tucker Must Die. It's an awesome movie, really. An awesome, awesome movie.

But I'm too tired to stick around for the end.

So this chapter was a bit complicated for me, because I was torn between thinking that they were too young to be drinking alcohol and, of course, knowing that many, many teenagers start drinking at this age, if not earlier. Though I think fourteen is too young to get drunk, it's a thing that happens. I think that the setting is important; for example, growing up in a small, conservative town won't influence you in the same way as living in a big city. I've lived in both, and I can say that, in the city, fourteen-year-olds going out to parties and getting drunk was totally no big deal. In fact, when my sister was twelve, she saw the very same thing. Although I think it's rare, there are many factors to consider: they live in a city, they're all dealing with their own shit + growing up, they want to be rebellious, they feel, in some unconscious level, the desire to see what all the talk about alcohol is about, and, most importantly, because it's worth repeating, they're all dealing with their own shit. Especially Clary. When you hear that alcohol is going to help you and that it's a good way to forget, you're not always gonna quickly turn it away, especially when you don't know better. I know that fourteen is a young age to be getting drunk and whatnot, but it's something that happens, so I decided to go ahead and keep this chapter.

Anyway, I hope that explains some of the reasoning behind this chapter. They're young and reckless and they're gonna make stupid choices for a little while, but we all grow up differently, and we all go through different experiences, and we cope in different ways.

Let me know what you thought of this chapter!