The Perks of Being a Heartbreaker

by 5678Life

Isabelle Lightwood and Jace Wayland are the two most infamous heartbreakers in their senior class-but it hasn't always been that way. Now in their final year, a bet is on the table that is sure to change everything. Will their motivation to win help them see their faults or just make everything a total disaster? Uncover their past and discover their future, this is their year. AU

10. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays - Prt3

I REFUSE TO SINK (and so does this story)

Would it be cheesy if I said I missed you guys? Too bad, because it's true! It's been over FOUR MONTHS since I last updated, and I've been sitting on this chapter ever since I uploaded the last one! I've done a lot of reading, a little drafting, (a lot of homework), and a lot of dancing, but I was determined to get this chapter up over break and I am determined to never make y'all wait THAT LONG AGAIN. I AM SO SORRY. But here we are with another monster chapter (15,000 words) and hopefully it's sort of good-ish. Took me over 12 hours to polish, but I wasn't going to give up. Not now. Not ever.

Let's review because we need it:

It's been a long week. Jace had to deal with the anniversary of his parent's death on Monday, saying some not-so-nice things to Isabelle in the process and starting a fight that lasted until Wednesday. Isabelle and Jace only decided to make up afterSimon's one-on-one intervention with Isabelle-we saw Her open up in a way that she never has before, admitting to Simon about her prolonged struggle that she wants to get out of. Luckily, both Simon and Jace swear to have her back and are hoping to see Izzy out of this messy rut! All the while, we can't forget, a bet is still on! It's what instigated everything, and Jace is on the verge of losing if he doesn't (grow a pair) and step his game up by Friday which, thankfully, we see today(...12 weeks later...)

We see some massive changes today y'all, past, present, and future. Now we see how people's decisions affected themselves and others as the story progresses and the year goes on. Still lots of twists to come-don't let it catch you by surprise... :)

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Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays

(Part 3 - Friday)

JACE

Mayrse was crying when I came downstairs.

Which was scary, because as long as I've known her I've never seen her cry, not once. She didn't shed a tear when Alec left. There wasn't a drop on Max's first day of school. Not even a twinkle when her best friends died in a plane crash…But there she was, fighting to hold it together at 6 a.m., and not even trying to hide it as I came thrashing down the steps, like always.

It wasn't like I was expecting anything out of the ordinary. My noisy arrival was usually met with the clattering of pans, or the steady dripping of coffee in a pot, or…something. But this morning the air felt still as I shuffled in. And there was Mayrse. Alone and crying like she was bearing bad news, which was enough to shoot ice into anyone's veins.

I haven't felt this afraid since the 8th grade.

She was silent. Eerily silent, and again that stillness threatened to take my knees out from under me. It was enough to suffocate me all together. But this was Mayrse we were talking about, and I could think of a thousand reasons why she, of all people, needed to contain her emotions at all costs. She's the strongest person I know—the strongest person anybody knows. Crying like this was never an option for her. All the people that trust her with their fears—every person that cries on her shoulder is demanding her strength.

The minute I heard her, or rather, the minute I didn't hear her, was the moment I realized that it was less about her, and more about the people she loved. That is, since Max was sleeping soundly in the next room over. If I haven't seen this side of her until today I'm guessing she's trying to keep him out of it, too. He won't be witnessing this any time soon—hopefully not at all.

Right now I'm wishing for that same ignorance.

She helplessly gnawed on her cheek as the tears came streaming down her red face. Whatever was left of the damp napkin in her hand was reduced to flakes, like snow. They fell into a dusty white pile on the counter with every nervous shift of her hand. She didn't try to clean it. With her shoulders hunched and her lips pressed to white and restless fingers, she made no attempt to move. She was statue still, and she was staring at the overstuffed purple lunchbox that she hasn't touched since Isabelle was twelve.

And she felt like she had to pack it today. And right now she's crying about it.

I didn't move for a moment. I was too stunned, too shocked to be of any help. My mind worked in half time, my body even slower. Instead I stood there, watching her from the base of the steps, but her eyes didn't shift once. It took a while before she acknowledged me, which was only after I'd managed to set my stuff down and put a hand on her shoulder. She'd flinched.

But then she'd flipped around and hugged me, burying her face in my jacket, her arms locked onto me with an iron grip.

And for once I didn't know what to say. What could I say? "I'm sorry?" "It's not your fault?" "She'll be alright?" I sighed internally. "She doesn't need therapy again because her almost boyfriend is trying to help her?" I shook my head. Who am I kidding? Mayrse knows. She'd call bullshit on anything I'd say and take matters into her own hands like last time.

Of course, it wasn't a terrible idea—it worked well enough before. But Isabelle would hate it, and it would kill her to see Mayrse like this.

It would hurt her more than it hurts me, and that's saying something.

I let my arms relax around her, cursing, dreading this moment because the roles were so dramatically reversed. It was never supposed to be this way. Not for me, not for Isabelle, not for anybody…

I squeezed her tighter, blocking it all out. "You have to be strong, Mayrse." I muttered. "For her, you have to."

"I know," She shuddered. "I know—I just—she's—" She let me go, her hands fluttering to her face, her chest. It was snowing all around us and she'd barely noticed.

"Jace, she looks so…."

Her eyes watered.

I nodded.

She shivered, falling into her defeated position on the counter. Head in hands, napkin shredding. Her words were breathy and rippling. "Jace, what am I doing wrong?"

I opened my mouth to reply something comforting, anything comforting, but a series of sounds ensued that sent us scattering like mice. A loud blast of music before it was quickly cut off, the click of a light, the slam of a door. By the time her million bags jingled to a stop and her combat boots came clunking on the hardwood, I was opening the fridge and Mayrse was pouring a cup of coffee. Business as usual.

Emotions subdued without a second thought.

She tossed her bags and they landed with a thud—I swear the dancers carry rocks in there—and with a full, somehow well-rested smile she cooed, "Good morning, guys!" Sauntering into the kitchen with a bounce that she'd repressed last week—with a bounce she'd repressed yesterday—she took us both by surprise.

Her voice was so familiar and warm, like the oldIsabelle that we haven't seen in what feels like a lifetime…My heart ached.

How many times had I wished for that Isabelle back?

Yet, even now as she reached to mess up my hair—just like she used to—or set out to give Mayrse a hug—just like she used to—how many times had I accepted that 14-year-old Isabelle didn't exist anymore? She's too far gone. She's grown up too much. And I can't say I wish it didn't happen, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss the…serenity. She was never that sassy, never that bitter—she was the sweetest thing I knew...

But that was years ago. This week—this entire year was a completely different ride. A completely different Isabelle. Just yesterday she'd woken up early and surprisingly angry—something that we'd gotten used to as of late—but this time it was different. Worse. And she hasn't been that pissed off since…well…

A certain blond boy broke her heart sophomore year. That's when she was forced to grow up.

Her music was loud and screaming—full of a carefully thought out hate that she believed only she could hear. There was a slam, a clunk, a thud, all louder than usual.
A second of muted bliss before the door crashed closed and the anticipated peal of the alarm kicked everyone into gear. By time I'd made it out of bed, still wiping the sleep out of my eyes, I saw her shoot off in Alec's car.

I never got to see what she planned on eating. I'd hoped to beat Mayrse to the punch—I wanted to help her before someone else had to—but Isabelle was already on her radar. It was too late for her. I know that now.

But after what I saw between her and Simon on Wednesday, I wasn't even sure if Mayrse could faze her. She'll have that change of heart soon, right? Nobody else will have to help her. She's got this. Doesn't she?

Well, that's what I'd hoped. In reality it seemed like a delusion.

Thursday evening she'd come home dead. Not literally, but nearly, I'm sure, seeing as that purple lunchbox was still in the pantry when I left for school. Not that she couldn't have taken another one, or bought something once she got downtown, but I'm only kidding myself. She wasn't going to eat much if she didn't have rehearsal—it's been that way for months.

I stayed awake waiting for her. As if I could do something, though I knew I couldn't. Once her door was closed for good, and her music had dulled to a buzzing hum, and it seemed like she was okay and everything was okay, I'd finally closed my eyes. As I fell asleep, all I could think of was Simon's last attempt.

It was all for nothing. That change of heart was a long way off.

So this morning I woke up angry, and sad, and I loathed today even if I was supposed to be excited about me and Clary and this dumb ass bet. How could I? My sister can't keep down what little she eats anymore, my adoptive mother is crying on the counter, my real mother is nonexistent…that's how I feel. Nobody ever seems to ask, but I don't really care to tell.

But hell. I've never been so happy to be wrong in my life. Isabelle looked radiant, and she looked ravenous, and for once she looked like she was doing something about it.

She paused awkwardly in the center of the kitchen, looking lost like a child alone in a mall, pulling on her fingertips as her eyes darted around. Stalling, she checked her shoes, checked the time, checked Mayrse whose head was still down as she'd moved to sweep up the snow, finally.

From my spot at the fridge I watched Izzy glide off toward the pantry, stopping just outside, rocking on her heels. She looked absolutely petrified, utterly apprehensive—for good reason, of course. But brighter than that, something that Mayrse and I were praying to see, dying to see was that determination in her expression. It was there—even if her eyes, her lips, her entire body seemed to scream "I'm so scared."

She's not holding herself back anymore.

Our pantry was long and winding, and it got smaller and darker the further you went. Robert was still gone who knows where, and nobody else really knows how to fix the last strip of lights. Either nobody knows how, or nobody cares, which was fine if you didn't mind hitting your head once the ceiling dropped about a foot. By that point you were forced to crouch unless you're below four feet tall—and only Max qualified under those conditions.

And judging by the clunk, Isabelle had forgotten all about that.

"Shiiii—"

"Language, Izzy."

"Shoot."

Much better.

"Ow." She mumbled, emerging from the pantry and rubbing an invisible mark on her forehead. "Ow. Ow. Didn't see that coming, just—Mom?"

Mayrse looked up from the paper she wasn't actually reading, eyes wide. "Yes, Isabelle?" She was already moving towards her daughter, her face overcome with relief and streaked with astonishment. Isabelle didn't notice. "Do you need something?"

"Yeah, um," She was nervous. Her hands were winding again and her gaze was focused on the floor. "Do we have anything? For breakfast, I mean?"

Mayrse was beaming, and Isabelle seemed to grimace as her mother showered her with that odd sort of affection. It was the love that generates that almost guilty feeling. The one you get when, out of the blue, your mother says "I love you," and you feel like you've been put on the spot. Or when you get smothered by her kisses on the first day of school and you don't know how to react. You feel like maybe you don't deserve it, or it's just too awkward to return the favor, but for some reason parents realize that you're not really expected to return it right then and there.

Mayrse was the best at that—her affection was everlasting—and she continued to beam for the next ten minutes, despite the fact that Isabelle was probably the pickiest eater I've ever known. She shot down everything Mayrse suggested, cereal was too sugary, breakfast sandwich had too many calories, omelets made her sick, you name it.

Yet, she insisted she had to eat this morning. Real food, no more protein bars, and that was enough for us to put up with it.

"I'm tired of being hungry." She'd said.

And Mayrse just nodded, still tearing up, still smiling.

I on the other hand just threw the box of frozen waffles at her. So maybe it wasn't Isabelle's definition of a decent wake up call, but her reaction gave me a good laugh and she knew it. Her eyes were the size of saucers now, and her fingers clutched the box like a lifeline. A good chunk of her hair had, miraculously, ended up in her mouth and her cheeks were beginning to flush.

Caught off guard was an understatement. But it was a decent catch. I'll give her that.

"They taste good." I said simply, tearing one the waffles in half and trying not to make a face as the steam burned my fingers. "They taste fine and they keep you full, but read the label since I know you're into that crap."

My noise, once again, was met with silence, and now that silence was paired with stares. Mayrse's sad eyes were offset by a weary smile. Isabelle's glance was more like a glare. Max had woken up some time ago and walked in; he was staring at me while he stole one of the three waffles that sat steaming on my plate. I pretended like I didn't notice and let him have it. He ran off giggling, victorious.

And not five minutes later Mayrse was chasing after him, demanding he sit down and eat his waffle on a plate. I'd finished the remainder of my breakfast—and for once it looked like Isabelle would, too. She guarded the toaster, watching with a sort of smirk as Max gave us all a hard time. He seemed to have fun spewing useless information that he'd picked up during class, or maybe he'd read in some thick book that 10 year olds really shouldn't be interested in. But regardless of this morning's…dramatic events, everyone took a moment to notice Isabelle as she left for the car. Mayrse stopped mid-grounding, Max stopped mid-fact, I stopped mid-laugh.

She'd called goodbye, left the door open for me.

And she'd taken the lunchbox graciously. Without a fuss.

XXX

She ate slowly as I drove, but she was eating all the same.

And I had no idea what it meant. It didn't matter how much I saw with my own eyes, this entire morning seemed like some surreal dream.

Was it finally over? Is this the end? Is this even real?

It was too early to tell. When you've watched somebody fall that deep in their own hole you got desperate. Any gain is a massive gain—even if it was all in your head….

Hopefully it wasn't another false alarm—like last year, like this year. I've watched these months go by. I've seen her slip in and out of herself more that I would care to admit. But I wasn't done watching her, not yet. I wasn't done protecting her the way any brother should and would—

God, I just wish it wasn't from herself.

Plain waffles, two of them, and an old bottle of water. The latter sat twisted and deformed in the cup holder next to her while she picked and tore at the first. She regarded both with little interest, but still, she didn't stop.

But I couldn't quite tell if it was because she wanted to, or because she felt my stare at every red light.

My eyes flitted away from her as the light flashed green, and hers flicked to mine as we peeled off. I tried not to notice, or, you know, turn to stone.

Don't look her in the eye.

"So, Izzy," I said to the windshield. To be perfectly clear, I was staring at the road—or maybe it was just my reflection….

I focused on the road. "How was…um…"

Shit. I was never good at small talk. Most of the time my conversations were along the lines of, "Hi I'm Jace Wayland. Let's have sex." Somehow all the girls bought it. I never really spoke for the rest of the night or did much of anything—if you know what I mean….

Isabelle has, and always will be a different story entirely. "How was…crap." Fuck. I actually had no clue how to make this un-awkward. Watch, I was going to say something really—

"Oh! Senior Showcase! Yeah, how was that for you?"

Stupid.

I was going to say something really stupid.

Brilliant job, Jace.

There was a pause before she answered, and I knew it was because she was glaring at me. It was a terrible, irrelevant, explosive question. We both knew it.

Talk about awkward—Senior Showcase is the on-earth equivalent to hell. Talking about it to anybody,especially a senior dancer should be a federal offence. It was a great way to get called out, cussed out, and beat down. The entire school knew that.

"Are you really asking me about Senior Showcase, Jace?" She grumbled, words clipped.

Don't look her in the eye.

"Yes?" My shoulders shrugged. I tried to play it cool.

Silence.

"What, was it really that bad?" Yes, dumbass! "Do dancers not talk about it or something?" Of course they don't, idiot! AndI'm pretty sure my voice just cracked. "It really not that big a deal…" No big deal? Are you insane?! I think I was, and I was probably sweating bullets, too.

Isabelle didn't seem to notice. But she was staring, or rather, scowling straight ahead. "Oh, it's a huge deal." She defended. "We talk, we write papers, we cry. Dance Showcase isn't some joke you just show up to. We train for that." I watched her eyebrow rise as she folded her arms across her chest, the waffles sliding across her lap as I made a wide turn. She didn't care about it at all and looked out the window instead, away from me.

"It was fine."

"Fine? That's it?" I feigned disappointment, pulse spiking. "It went on for a week at school and all you can say is fine?"

"Well gee, Jace. Maybe if you had asked me in November when it actually happened then I'd remember all the juicy details!" She stuffed a piece of waffle in her mouth, huffing and grouching as her jaw clenched.

I'd officially entered the danger zone, and there wasn't going to be an easy way out…

Forward, march.

"So how were the dance master classes with the colleges?"

"Fine."

"And the big audition at the end?"

"Brutal."

"And the solo you had to perform?"

She let out a sigh of frustration. "Were you even there for my performance that night? Or the night after when we performed the pieces in the fall show?"

"Of course I was."

So salty.

"And don't you, you know, live with me?"

"Obviously."

So much sodium.

"Then how come you don't already know the answers to these dumb ass questions?"

"Okay, ten minutes ago you were dishing out hugs and now the claws are out." She ripped another chunk of breakfast into her mouth. "What's up with you?"

She didn't hesitate to answer. "Well, you'd think after you've finished all you applications, and scheduled all your auditions, and written all your papers, and pulled out enough hair that people would stop asking you about Senior Showcase." She crossed her arms again, and if she were standing she would've sat in her hip. Sass levels were high. "I guess I was wrong."

"Look, Isabelle," She glowered down at her lap at the sound of my voice. "Are you going to check-in with me or not? So what if it was weeks ago, surely you have something left to say about something don't you? Jesus, you never want to talk to me about any—!"

"Fine! Jace. Fine." She shouted, hands shooting to her temples as if I was the cause of her sudden, imaginary headache. "The master classes were long, and hard. Longest two days of my life."

Ah ha! An opening in the clouds, damn near. "Why is that?" I pressed, loosening my grip on the wheel. No wonder my fingers were aching.

Her attitude seemed to dissipate as she spoke. "Why were they long? Are you crazy? I was dancing from 9 to 4 without a break! Well, there was lunch but—anyways—" She puffed. "I had splits on nearly every toe and I was so sore I couldn't figure out how to walk. My tights almost ripped. I ran out of Epsom salt…" She was putting her claws away, and she waved her hands around to animate the story. "Some of the classes were really fun and then others were just like—what the hell, you know? Like, going from Afro-Modern to Ballet? Worst decision of my life. I don't know why I signed up for those classes back to back. But then again, I ended the day with improv, so that was nice, right?"

I nodded. I had no idea. I wasn't even sure she was speaking English.

"I mean, NYU's classes were fun. They were the best hands down. Their Cunningham class was to die for and—get this—the teacher that came to recruit for the school knew my name by the end of the week!" She was on the verge of squealing. "And then on Friday after the audition we had she told me that they want me to audition for their program! They say I'm a shoe-in, Jace. A shoe-in!"

"A shoe-in, huh?"

"Yes!"

"And again, what was the audition like?"

"Nerve-wracking. Terrifying!" She giggled.

She giggled? Isabelle was confusing the crap out of me today…

"We were in the theatre for half the day dancing onstage," she went on. "All the recruiters were in the audience, and if the dance teachers weren't teaching class then they were watching us, too. It was like we were fish in the aquarium or something. Even the junior dancers were there, taking notes based off of us—God, it was awful." She stopped to take a breath and snag a sip from the water bottle, though she made a face after realizing that the water may or may not be around three months old. Or may or may not be water…

On another note, he waffle was shrinking, and if I knew if I made her keep talking it would be gone in a heartbeat.

But I didn't have to make her do anything—she continued her story on her own accord. "I was near the back for ballet barre until they switched the lines around. And it was nice having Ms. Kimball teach—all the seniors love her and knew her style so the class wasn't too overwhelming. Ballet was good, I did alright in Jazz. I nearly passed out because—"

My face blanched.

"Because I thought I was going to forget the jazz combination. Can you believe that?"

My heart started beating again.

"I mean, I knew the damn combo by heart. I'd only worked on it twice a day for three weeks and had to listen to Cat yell at the seniors every jazz class. And I'm still recovering from marley-burn after sliding all over the floor in modern. My toe might be broken, and this bruise still hasn't gone away…"

No big deal, right?

Apparently not, she was beaming just like Mayrse. "But it was all worth it because—!"

I filled in the blank. "NYU?"

"YES. Jace, I can't explain. I'm so—excited!"

That time she actually squealed.

"You know, I never pegged you as the 'excited for college' type."

She relaxed back into her seat. "Well, I was freshman and sophomore year. Then everything went to shit junior year…" She trailed off and took another bite. "But, I'm not sure what happened, really. One second Simon was talking about Columbia, and next thing I know I'm thinking about New York, too."

There was a sudden lift in her voice at the mention of Simon's name. So subtle, although she was completely oblivious. Completely dazed.

"Oh yeah. How'srat boy been lately?" I egged. "Ratish? Geeky? Significantly inferior to my drop dead gorgeous good looks and undeniable charm?"

"Fuck you, Jace." She pegged me once in the arm. "He's been fine, I guess. You see him about as much as I do, don't you?"

"I mean, sort of." I pondered. "He's in my music classes. And we have Calculus BC together, and Government, and English…"

"He's literally in all of your classes, isn't he?"

"No. Not Chemistry, no, that's all you!" I grinned. "Yeah, I bet you two have tons of fun hooking up before every project you have to do at home, huh?"

"Jace!"

"Kidding. Mostly." I glanced at her again. "Aren't you two, like, sleeping together yet?"

"Jace, we're just friends!"

"Just friends?" I swerved into another lane. "You sure about that? Because he's checking you out all the time. Like he's really into—are you blushing?"

"No!"

She was totally blushing.

"Isabelle! You know better!" I scolded. "There are only two kinds of people that blush at the mention of a boy! Twelve-year-old girls," I swerved again, watching her scramble to keep her center. "And chicks that don't have enough sex."

"JACE."

"When's the last time you—?"

"JACE WAYLAND WE ARE NOT HAVING THIS CONVERSATION."

"Long time?"

"Ugh!" She shrieked. "Does it really matter?"

"Long time."

"Three months is not a long time!"

"Yes it is."

"Oh really?" The claws were back. "And you've slept with how many people since school started?"

"Psh." I scoffed. "I've slept with like…"

"Hmm?" She nagged. "C'mon, Jace. This used to be your field! All you could talk about every single weekend!"

"Wait a minute."

Crap.

"Didn't I…?"

"No, you didn't."

"How do you know what—who—I did and didn't do?"

"I know because on the first day of school we made a bet that clearly said, 'Clary Fray only. No sex.'" She popped the rest of the waffle into her mouth, feeling triumphant I'm sure. "Together by Christmas Break, remember?"

"I haven't forgotten."

"Good." She fell into her seat, hands placed comfortably behind her head.

I grinned. "But you have."

"Wait. What?"

Now it was my turn to wear the crown. "Clary Fray only, yes. Couple by Christmas, yes. No sex, no. You said, and I quote, 'try not to sleep with her,' which is completely different than no sex at all, if I'm correct. And I usually am. So suck on that."

Her eyes were menacing. If looks really could kill I'd be dead a thousand times over, or turned to stone, or both. But true to my hotshot idiocy, I kept talking anyways. "You said cheating equals automatic forfeit once we're together, paper by the last day of school," I smirked. "You have to remember I was the one that said no sex in your bet with Simon. You can't sleep with him or you lose that iPod."

She sighed and slid further into her seat, hands falling defeated to her sides, the empty napkin fluttering to the floor. "I guess I know what I want for Christmas."

"Sex?"

"And this bet in writing." She nodded. "With signatures. And an official witness."

We looked at each other.

"Max." We said in unison, and then fell out laughing just as the city came into view.

"You know," I muttered again after a moment of silence. A wide curve took us over the entire city before dipping to ground level. "You can come to the reading tonight. If you want to, I mean." She was shedding her jacket as I cranked the heat higher, but she still looked apprehensive. "Half price coffee?" I pressed. "That's hard to pass up—and you have friends in Writing Club don't you?"

"Yeah, I do." She said wearily, rolling up the sleeves of her sweatshirt. "But I think I'll just head home after school today, I'm not really up for hanging around downtown tonight."

"Okay, if you say so." I sighed, looking down at her with a sad smile, and glanced once at her wrists, checking.

I almost crashed the car.

"You—You're not wearing a bracelet today." I blurted, completely astonished.

Completely stupid.

I couldn't seem to keep my mouth shut at all. Here I go again.

If there were two things Izzy didn't want to talk about today it was probably that 1) she was eating again, and 2) she wasn't trying to cover her scars anymore. She'd probably kept quiet in an attempt to keep her life from being some melodramatic soap opera, no thanks to me. But my job isn't over—we've been over this. She's not out of the dark yet, and even if I'm not the one that can help her I wasn't going to give up on her. Not again—not ever.

If her show this morning didn't knock the wind out of me, what I'm looking at right now did. I guarantee it.

Is this it? Was it really over? Was this real?

It was still too early to tell, but her scars were disappearing just as fast as her breakfast. This couldn't be some false alarm to mess with our heads. This was an effort on her part, it had to be.

"Oh, um." Isabelle stared at her hands and let them flop into her lap. Fingers curled, a wrist turned upward slightly. I was expecting...

But that wasn't what I saw. I'd been checking almost every day, sometimes discreetly, sometimes bluntly, and I still couldn't pinpoint when she'd decided to stop, if she'd decided. It was a notion I couldn't accept until I looked right at it.

I'm looking right at it. But it was too easy, and too hard to believe.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, brushing her hair off her shoulder and searching out her window again. "I guess I'm not. Wearing it. I guess..."

"Is there a reason?" I said quietly.

There was a small smile, but it didn't touch her eyes as she started to knot her fingers together. "I figured if I stopped wearing them you'd stop looking for what's underneath." She shrugged and kept her sleeves rolled up. "It worked for the most part."

My voice was quiet, dying. "I see. That's good, I think…"

We both seemed to notice how our chatter was replaced by silence. The hilarity was ruined, and it wasn't coming back.

She spoke first, but I had to strain to hear.

"…What happens then this is all over, Jace." Isabelle whispered. Her eyes fixed straight ahead.

"Wh-what?" I stammered.

"What happens when I'm better, I mean." Now she looked to me. "What happens when I start eating and stop…?"

She couldn't say it any more than I could.

But she shook it off. "What happens when this bet is over? Do we go back to hating each other, teasing each other like grade-schoolers? We get distant and stop talking again, right?" Her breathing sped up as I merged off the highway, the lights in the underground tunnel flashing around us. Every time Izzy's face lit up it was twisted into some deeper, more heartbreaking emotion. "I don't want it to be like last year, Jace." Her words were hushed and airy. "I'm terrified that one day I'm going to royally screw up and I'll be right back where I started. I didn't think it was possible until right before the Collab show. It was happening and I couldn't stop it—and now everybody's on my ass and I'm just trying to make it better on my own." There was a nervous, sarcastic laugh, and my grip on the wheel tightened. "I don't even know if this is real, Jace!" That made two of us. "I don't know if this is me, or you, or Simon, or Mayrse I don't know. But I'm getting better, aren't I?" It sounded like a plea. "I'm eating again and I don't feel sick! I'm not…I haven't…" She jammed her sleeves down and winced into the sunlight as we emerged from the underground. Her thin fingers were spread pale white and wide as she blocked the sun from her face, muttering that "it's got to be worth something. It has to."

She looked to me now, waiting for answer, her black eyes now brown in the daylight. Yet, even after I'd brought up every unspeakable topic in this 50 minute car ride, in 50 seconds I couldn't find the right words to save my life. Her brow furrowed, her face dropped. She checked, for the third time, the bag at her feet. Fingering through her folders and digging through her clothes, zipping it with a quick snap and slipping her jacket on. Her hand was on the handle, and the minute I put the car in park I knew she would bolt.

So I caught I sleeve before she could, and tightened my grip before she could shake me off.

"Izzy, wait."

"I opened up to you and you didn't say anything. You judged me, my own brother."

"Isabelle, that's not how it is."

"Go ahead. Put it in the bet, I don't care." She tried to shake me off again. Her voice was thick. "Gain 10 pounds by Spring Break and stop cutting for good. Yeah I get it, Jace. I'm trying."

"And you don't think I see that?" I snapped. She was still struggling to escape, but I willed my voice to calm down. "Isabelle, I know you. You've fought this thing twice and that's no easy fucking ride. I know that. But I'm trying to back you up as best as I can, I'm not screwing you over again. Please believe me on that."

A pause.

"You're the last person I should trust."

"I know that, too."

I said that slowly and let her go. She didn't bolt, no, but her eyes were hurt and apprehensive. She had her body pressed to the door, far away from me, but she was listening to what I had to say.

I started to gather my things, reaching over my seat and dragging my bag over the median, sighing as I dropped my key into my pocket. "I don't want to force you into anything anymore." I fingered through my hair, grinning slightly. "The bet is still on, and I'm not gonna betting on this one, but I know you can do it." I reached to unlock the car, refusing to break eye contact with her as she started to relax. "Just make sure that whatever you do, you do it because you want to." I smiled. "That way it's impossible to fail."

I stepped out of the car and onto the gravelly parking lot, waiting for her to get her bearings, get her bags, and get out. But she seemed stunned, moving like molasses as she slung those giant ass bags over her shoulder and dragged herself out of the car. The wind fanned her hair across her face as the cold instantly reddened her cheeks. She huffed and clenched the straps at her shoulder, the other hand gripping the napkin between her fingers as she turned on her heel, starting off towards school without me.

I locked the car and followed behind her, putting a distance between us but not letting her out of my sight.

I didn't dare to say one more word. For all I knew the look I'd receive would turn me to stone.

XXX

ISABELLE

I tried to hold it in. I really did.

But at some point I realized that I couldn't help myself.

I thought I could get through one round without twisting and squirming like an overexcited eight year old, but my body was determined to prove me wrong—much to my dismay. And I don't need reminding, I know I've done this a million times before, but the longer this went on the more I realized how much I was lacking. My body needed this session terribly. It was almost sad how different it felt, embarrassing even. Every shift and stillness was wildly new, wildly familiar. But unfortunately for me, when new feelings arose new sounds ensued.

And all of them were against my will.

A moan broke free from my previously wound lips—a loud one that, somehow, seemed to alleviate this all-consuming sensation. This warm, vibrating pain that hurt so damn good that I wanted it to continue and end all at once….

My fingers curled harder into his back.

"Harder. Further—more." I breathed, my words coming out quick and choppy, as if I could only speak in gasps. The sigh that followed was more like a shudder, and I watched, with pleasure, as he gave me more. His breath came out in a steady exhale, his face shifting with effort as he leaned into me and pressed his hands harder into my skin.

I crunched my toes. I squeezed my eyes shut. I bit my lip, pounded the floor—anything to keep myself from arching into him or worse: screaming.

Not at school. Absolutely not.

But I was inching closer to that point.

"By the angel!" I cried, and my insides continued to howl and writhe. "I'm so—ugh! Just—!"

His face was unreadable, but his drive and his passion were evident in his strength. Now his chest was flush with mine….

"Simon, keep going, you're so good at this!"

"OOOOKAY, NOPE!" He croaked. "I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE." And just like that he broke away, hauling ass across the tiny dance studio.

Fully clothed, might I add.

This was all PG-13 and far less kinky in context. I promise.

My aching hands clunked to the floor, but the rest of my body was glued in place.

"Simon!" I whined. No response—as expected. I didn't have to look to know he was already sulking in a corner.

Sighing, hurting, I glanced up at my right leg, which was stuck—thanks to Simon's help—by my right ear. My big toe touched the expanse of floor above my head. Both of my legs were rod-straight as if I were doing the splits on the ceiling. My sweatpants—that were completely on my body—slowly grazed the side of my cheek as I willed my long-ass leg to meet the other long-ass leg on the floor, and my entire body ached as I rested there. Nice, and warm, and loose on one side the way Simon left me.

As I let my muscles relax into the floor, one side responding more willingly than the other, I realized how desperately needed him to stretch the other leg—no matter how sexual it seemed to your average non-dancer. It's necessity, I don't know how else to explain it. Sure the positions are brutal, sure at first the pain is excruciating, and if I could go the rest of my life without stretching to be flexible I would. But the action is innate—branded in a dancer's DNA—and our motive is plain as day: The more you do it the better it feels, and it looks pretty damnimpressive onstage. Not gonna lie.

But I'm starting to think the boy in the corner doesn't understand the logic.

Either that, or my suggestion of partner stretching turned him on. But I'm hoping for my sake, and especially his, that it's the former.

Though, if it were the latter it would be funny as hell.

"Simon." I warned again, peeling my back off the polished floor and heading towards his hunched figure. I walked with a sort of limp on my right side. "You said you wanted to help me, didn't you?"

He shoved his hands into his pockets. "I said I wanted to eat lunch with you not—that!" He sneered at the wall.

"What?" I smirked, still approaching him. "I can't help it if you're good at stretching me before my dance classes!"

"Yes you can. Just be less flexible next time." He scoffed with extra sass. "Maybe then the experience won't be as exciting for either of us."

Exciting?

So maybe it was the other reason….

I was dying laughing on the inside.

"Oh, please!" I sock-slid the rest of the distance, stopping smoothly behind him, although he still didn't turn. "I've already explained the physics of stretching to you once," I was poking a pattern onto his back and watching him squirm. "You have to do the other side now, too."

"I don't have to do anything."

"Please?" I pouted. "You have no idea what this feels like! I'm uneven."

No comment.

My bottom lip jutted out, arms folding almost automatically. He was being so stubborn, and for what?

No, I take that back, I knew exactly what. Getting the chance to be up-close and personal with the Isabelle Lightwood would be a dream—any guy could tell you that. And yeah, boys will be boys—most of them begging to be with me no matter how busy, or skinny, or bitchy I was. So maybe it was a little wrong to seduce your friend into such a…compromising position. But according to every guy that's ever heard my name, it's what I do best.

According to me, it's what I did best.

And besides, it's only a little wrong, isn't it?

It was just like dress up, just like acting. Smoldering at him as I drew in closer, tapping into this…inner sex goddess everyone swears I am. Teasing him without any effort at all—making circles on his neck, drawing a finger up his arm. His body tensed immediately and his breath caught mid-inhale, goose bumps appearing every place my hands passed by.

I had him wrapped.

"You know you want to…." I cooed, my lips just barely grazing his ear. "Just one more round…?"

He wasn't facing me, but his beet red face was reflected across a thousand mirrors.

And three minutes later my left foot was over my head. All thanks to Simon.

And maybe just a little thanks to me.

"Okay, I'm good now." I announced after losing feeling in my left leg.

Simon looked as if he just made bail. "Thank God," He exhaled, darting to his lunchbox like a kid to recess.

I followed with much less vigor, taking the time to roll through my splits and sneak a peek at Simon's blushing face. It was absolutely adorable. "You know, Simon," I pondered, hovering over to a spot across from him. "Most guys would love to say they've been in that position. They'd jump at the chance the second I asked." He wasn't looking at me. His orange was more interesting, but I continued as I sat down on the floor. "It's funny. You're reactions make me think you've never done…that before."

"No, I'm not having this conversation." He muttered.

"Oh, but you should."

"Oh, but I'm not." He replied. "Don't use any of that AP Psychology on me, it won't work."

"But seducing you did."

"You weren't seducing me, I was being nice."

"Nah, you were melting in my hands—a little blushing beauty!" I beamed. "Don't deny it Simon. You know lying to yourself is bad for you."

"I'm not lying to myself! All I'm saying is—"

A pause then, like a needle coming off a record. His eyes shot up towards mine as his voice stopped mid-sentence. Mouth agape and completely frozen—he was staring at me, and I was gawking at him.

"…What?" I worried, suddenly self-conscious.

His response was quite cryptic, and even though I tried to locate the source of this sudden shock the only thing I could really do was make sure my friend didn'thave a heart attack. That's exactly what it looked like. He was barely breathing, his eyes bulging as his features clenched, then softened, then clenched again.

Yet he was still staring intently at me with this sort of…relief.

"Oh my God." He breathed, finally, his face coated with an outlandish astonishment.

"Simon…?" My confusion was now laced with alarm.

"Oh my God. Isabelle!"

"Oh my God. Simon, make words!" I was on the verge of shaking his shoulder like they did in movies."I can't tell if it's me, or you, or—anything, just spit it out—!"

But not even I could finish my sentence now. Simon closed the distance with probably the roughest, sloppiest, tightest hug I'd ever been given.

It was more for him than it was for me, seeing as my wrists were pinned painfully between his chest and mine. His hands were just fine and were, suddenly invigorated with the strength of the divine. He squished me to him, forcing his chin protectively over my shoulder as his cheek stayed pressed to mine. His eyes were closed and my hands whined in protest, but it was probably one of the most comforting hugs I've ever received, and I couldn't figure out why.

And I didn't realize what he'd been staring at before, what made him freeze as if he'd seen an angel, until he pulled away. By then I saw it plain as day—all over his shirt.

"Oh. Shit. Simon, my lunch is all on your shirt—here—" I dived for my lunchbox, tossing out its contents haphazardly. Surely if two sandwiches, a full bag of popcorn, and what seemed like an entire pineapple made it in there one napkin should've too. "God, I'm sorry, I'll get it off I—!"

"Izzy, stop it's okay!"

"No it's not!" I was still digging. By the Angel, Mayrse, where is it? "That's one of your favorite shirts, isn't it?" I looked up, exasperated. "The Avengers are covered in cream cheese now and—"

"Izzy, stop it. Stop that." His hands latched onto my little arms, immobilizing them as I was forced to endure his stare. "Isabelle, I don't care about the shirt. Alright?"

We took a breath, and I nodded reluctantly, instantly embarrassed as a shuddering exhale pressed my gaze to the floor.

"I care about you more than this over washed t-shirt, you know that. And if I had to guess, this little outburst has less to do with the shirt," he paused to lift up my chin. "And more to do with, oh, I don't know." He shrugged. "This absolutely massive amount of food you brought to school."

His tone wasn't accusing, he didn't even sound shocked, he sounded happy—genuinely thrilled with my sudden change of heart. I wasn't even sure what this meant.

He was glowing, and I was still confused, even if it wasmy call.

Do it for yourself, Jace said.

I just hope that's the case. Was this choice all on my own, or was it because of fear—because of expectance? Mayrse, Jace, Simon, hell, probably the entire dance cluster's been watching me like a hawk. I could feel them wondering as I walked by, their stares of regret and surprise plainly asking if I was going to fight this thing again, or continue fighting myself.

They think I don't notice. I know somebodystill thinks I'm crazy, or selfish, or overdramatic. But they didn't really realize how long I tried—how hard I tried.

Not until now at least. Eat a bagel and rejoice.

I wiggled my arms out of his grip and started to repack my lunchbox. Simon immediately jumped in to help.

"When did you start eating again?" He whispered, as if the question couldn't actually be asked aloud. And I never wanted it to be asked, not really. Questions spawn discussions, I've discovered. For some reason discussions involving me always end up again, it's anotherconfrontation from anotherboy in my life—the same as this morning, and the time before that, and before that….

But I can't blame them anymore. I'm used to it by now. I got used to Jace's bracelet checks, didn't I? I took them quietly. I never brought it up. But I knew that silence wasn't an option now. My friend was expecting an answer and I had to give it to him.

"This morning." I mumbled. Sweeping my hair to my other shoulder and flicking my eyes away from him, I sighed again. "I decided that it would end this morning."

I tried to avoid his gaze, but in the studio I couldn't avoid those thousand mirrors. Simon's reflection was so sadly happy that it made me want to kiss him and cry at the same time. I could only imagine, throwing my arms around him, his lips meeting mine as his hands circled around me. Sliding into his lap and latching into him, refusing to let go…

Snap out of it, Izzy.

I shook my head slightly, dismissing the thought as some starry-eyed fantasy, and falling back into this less exciting reality. I kept expecting him to say something, anything, but even after what felt like hours he was still silent, still surprisingly happy. So I filled the spaces in for him.

"You know, it's almost laughable." I confessed. "I tried not to make a big deal out of the whole thing. I mean, I know you're 'proud of me' and whatnot but I don't want the parade. No fireworks. I wanted normalcy, that's all." I shrugged roughly and laughed. "I wanted to get breakfast and go to school like any other kid would do, but no. I make a huge scene walking into the pantry and argue with my mom for ten minutes. Jace treated me like a twelve year old the entire morning, and now I look like I have OCD." I zipped up the rest of my uneaten lunch and looked to him with sorry, sarcastic eyes. "Isn't that just brilliant, Simon?"

He sighed and stroked my cheek, his fingers that were still so familiarly warm and calloused left trails of sparks in its path. His small smile was showing in his bright eyes. "Of course it's brilliant, Isabelle. Fireworks aside this is amazing. I know it. You know it." The small smile grew large, like a fire, and he was glowing again. "I'd shout it to the world but then you'd never speak to me again. Isabelle, you have to know that this is fantastic!"

His happiness exploded into elation—it was so overwhelming that I felt the need to hold him tight, calm him down. But there was no hope in that, and the soft fingers that stroked my cheek mere seconds ago came alive with excitement and latched onto my shoulders, shaking me once violently as I was surrounded with his peals of laughter. "I know this sounds cheesy as hell, Izzy." He went on. "But we have to celebrate tonight, we just have to."

"What?" I sputtered, caught off guard and flattered. "I thought we said no fireworks!"

"No, you said no fireworks." He flopped onto his back and pulled me down with him. "I think that you deserve them, don't you?"

I was impressed by his gesture, but I was drained. When weekends a year ago held promises of parties and flings, the only thing I wanted now was sleep.

Another thing I wanted was to stay right where I fell: directly next to Simon's face.

I started to inch away. "Oh, that's so sweet, Simon. It is." I sighed.

"But what?" He questioned, moving closer to me with his eyebrow raised. "You're about to kill my vibe, Izzy. Don't do it—!"

"I'm glad that you're happy for me—"

"You're doing it!"

"But I really think that—"

"You'll regret it Izzy!"

"Simon, I just need some rest—"

"And I think that you just need a shot of—"

"Vodka?"

"I wish—wait. No!"

"Vodka."

"Caffeine."

"Or Vodka."

"Or," He pressed on. He wasn't letting up. "Or. I can buy you that chai tea you used to love so much." He tempted.

Now that caught my attention.

He saw my interest and was reeling me in. "Give me one reason why this sounds like a bad idea, Isabelle."

I could only think of one.

"Today's Friday, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"And you don't have rehearsal tonight?"

"No, your point?"

"Well, since it's the end of the week and my brother is rehearsal free, too, that means after school I'm riding home with Jaaaacc—shit."

"Your plans change?" His face lit up.

"Yeah." I huffed, and I heard Simon whisper an enthusiastic "yes!" as I scooted away from him.

He caught my arm and pulled me back, still lying next to me.

"Jace has this thing tonight with—um."

"With Clary?" He propped his head up on his elbow, surprisingly unaffected.

"Yeah," I did the same. "Does that piss you off? Seeing them around all the time?"

"No, not really." He shrugged lightly. "They're kind of hard to miss. They're the talk of the school, Ben B's 'most perfect couple,' and Jonsey and Alex won't shut up about them…." He glanced up at the ceiling. "We had our thing and moved on." Now he glanced at me. "And now I'm over it."

"Are you really, though?" I whispered, just like he did to me, staring at him intensely and trying my absolute damndest to read between the lines—searching for the truth in his eyes.

It was harder than it looked.

He shrugged again and nodded, not fully meeting my eyes. "More or less."

"Is that good enough?"

He was quick to answer. "Only because I have you."

My breath caught in my throat, my heart nearly stopped, but he didn't even flinch as he said it, and he didn't blink as he said it again. "You make me forget, and you make me remember, and I can see past the pretty face and into the real you, and to me you're not missing a step." He put a hand on my hip and pulled me tight to him, and this time I didn't try to move. "You're my best friend and you scare the crap out of me, but you're such a badass that I can't get enough of it." He put his forehead to mine. "So please just let me buy you coffee, and dinner, and take you home tonight—and I mean that in the most PG way possible—because you deserve it."

"So…" I breathed, drawing my hand up to his. "Did you just ask me out on a date?"

"What?" He flashed me a crooked smile. "Friends can't just casually take friends out to dinner?"

"Look at the way you're holding me!"

"What? Friends can't just casually embrace on the floor?"

"Are you friend-zoning me?"

"What? Friends can't just—?"

"No!"

"But best friends can."

"Wait. What?"

"Best friends can do all of the above!"

"No they—"

"Yes they can!"

And he pulled me tighter to him for a split second, placing a kiss on my forehead before I could even register what was happening. He broke away from me as quickly as the first time, but there was a sense of longing still resonating between us. That tiny ache that comes from separation, like waking up from a really nice dream….

"Meet me in the sculpture yard." He said, scooping up his bag and reaching to help me to my feet.

Goosebumps appeared everywhere his hands passed.

Luckily for me, he left before my glowing pink face could be seen on those thousand mirrors. And even though this lunch was spent alone with him—completely unsupervised in a tiny dance studio with no windows—nothing happened. No action.

As I swept up my bags and started off towards my ballet class, I realized that three months was a really long time.

And that unfortunately, Jace was right about almost everything.

XXX

He curled his arm around my shoulders, a protective hand encasing my arm, and with my bags safely in his car and ready for our late-night ride home I melted into Simon's embrace. As we tromped our way to Pei-Wei, our white breaths intermingled as we spoke. Simon insisted at the stoplight that I wear his beanie to keep my head warm. I insisted under the overpass that he zip up his jacket. Both of us insisted the whole way that we stay as close as possible. Body heat was the best way to keep warm after all—though that one was left unsaid.

Golden brown pine needles dusted the long, tree-lined sidewalk. Falling like snowflakes and piling up like leaves, they skirted around our feet on the last stretch to the restaurant. The entire length I had to resist the urge to jump from stone pillar to stone pillar, the large ones spaced in between the towering trees, knowing from freshman experience that the leap was larger than it looked and took more energy than I was willing to give. Besides—I could hear the sass in my head—Simon would be freezing if I left his side. This is all for him, not for me. I said yes to make him happy.

At least, that's what I had to tell myself. It's what I wanted to believe.

I refused to admit to this fear, this apprehension in my head. It was like walking into a warzone—I could never let my guard down no matter how comfortable and safe I felt. Relationships are a ruse.

They're all for fun, aren't they? All insubstantial, ethereal surface-feelings, right? It's just a cute little crush. Right?

I hoped so, because after last year I'd convinced myself that "true love" was an urban legend—some myth in a story that I'd forgotten the words to. But it's been ages since a boy has wanted anything this…chaste with me.

Forget chastity, it's been ages since a boy has held me like this, or dated me like this, or treated like I wasn't a trophy to some game…

But this isn't love, is it? It doesn't exist—I'd gotten used to that fact a long time ago. Lust, I'd discovered, was tangible. Love, on the other hand, was not. And you can get close to that myth; I did once a while back. But that was history. Old, unpleasant history that I really didn't want to bring up if I didn't have to.

But unfortunately, it looked like I had to.

Simon had an agenda that was far different from my own. It was full of chance discussions and oddball questions that he spat out in order to "get to know me better"—a highly personal Q and A that seemed unavoidable. But I'd gotten away with being mysterious for this long. It looked like my grace period of secrecy came to a close the minute I'd said yes to this date—the minute I'd let him be my friend and bawled my eyes out in front of him.

I guess this was the price I had to pay. And let's just say I haven't paid up in a long time.

Echoing my doubts, he'd blurted so innocently, "What was your last relationship like?" as we turned the corner, leaving pine needles and pillars behind us.

I also left my peace of mind. I wanted to roll my eyes and throw up at the thought of my last relationship—and this stupid question—but I fought the urge to grimace as he went on, and I tried to be as pleasant as possible.

It was a challenge.

"What was he like?" He bleated. "Was he a complete asshole, or just your average amount of cocky? I mean, he had to be better than that douche at the party, right?" He was oddly into his question and was completely oblivious to the scowl on my face. As he shook his head his glasses wiggled down his face, and he shoved them up as he went on. "That was unforgivable, Izzy. Completely heartbreaking and dirty—"

"Can we not get into that right now?" I muttered, my words tumbling over each other as I fixed my eyes straight ahead. The longer this conversation went on the antsier I got. "I know it's the past and all, and they say to let that crap go and bury the hatchet. But there are some things that I want to forget. Some things I'd rather not talk about—"

"No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He murmured, cheeks slipping to a deeper red. He glanced at his surroundings rather than meeting my eyes. "That was random and impolite and over the line. Forget I said anything. I'll stop bombarding you with questions; I'm totally not into that anyways..."

His words fell as his lips fluttered closed, and is grip loosened for a short second before tightening once again. He pursed his mouth shut and held me closer as he decided not to let go. Our steps seemed to echo across Uptown Dallas, the streets and crosswalks nearly deserted even on a Friday afternoon.

We felt alone, and I instantly felt terrible.

I was kicking myself on the inside for bringing this up, but an upset Simon, though quiet, was the hardest to ignore. He never meant wrong, I knew that.

So when I said, "It really shouldn't be a big deal." I meant it as a chastisement for myself, not him. I breathed the words, extra sounds whizzing out of my mouth when my fists clenched slightly, and my lips caught between my teeth. "It's me, I'm sorry." I replied with an exhale. I took a deep breath before continuing, reluctantly. "I know I'm not an easy book to read. And there's no reason you shouldn't get an answer, just—" I hated this part of the story. "My last so-called 'boyfriend' left a lot to be desired…but he was my boyfriend regardless. Granted," My voice dropped into sarcasm. "We constantly saw other people, he was terrible at talking about his feelings, and the breakup wasn't really a breakup…but we held hands and bought each other gifts and stuff. You can think what you want, but that was the only thing that made him…different than everybody else."

In plain English: He was a charismatic, unsympathetic asshole—and no. I'm not talking about Jace this time, thank God.

But he did buy me this really nice ring…

I pawned it after we broke up.

"In my mind it was nice, you know?" I went on with a brighter attitude this time. "We went on dates, we went to parties—believe it or not we dated for like, four months. And before you say that isn't a long time, I'm telling you it was. It was the longest consecutive time I ever saw a guy—" I stopped myself, shoulders slumping. "And now I sound like an entry in the record books. Great." I grinned in annoyance, but felt Simon laugh as we approached the restaurant. The guilt I initially felt started to melt away.

"So you didn't only see him while you were dating?" Simon glanced at me as he shoved a hand into his pocket.

"Of course not." I breezed. "I slept with like, two other guys while we were dating. He hooked up with, I think, maybe three or four girls?" I waved it off. "I can't remember. Not important anymore, anyways."

"How does that work?"

I shrugged. "What you don't know can't hurt. You just don't talk about it, I guess."

"Like…." He searched for the word, reaching to stroke his chin. "Like…like cheating?"

I nodded slightly. He was right…more or less. Cheating was only cheating if you were exclusive—and until this year I didn't even know the meaning of the word. Back then it was just main guys and side guys. You had your favorites and your newbies and everyone in between…All this to say, no, me and my last boyfriend were not exclusive. But according to about 75% of the high school population, that didn't even make us a couple.

Simon was astounded by the idea. "You just put up with that? Four different girls in four months?" He gawked as he held the door open, and we hushed our voices as the door signaled our arrival. Waiting for a moment until all three adults in the room scrutinized us teenagers for "invading their space." The longer you went to school in the city, the more you got used to adults treating you like children. It was unavoidable.

Although, after that moment was up Simon kept talking as he put in his order. "You weren't self-conscious?" He hissed to me. "You didn't worry about it at all?"

"I was. I did." I slipped out of his grip, and he caught my hand instead. "But I saw him every day—had him almost every weekend. There was no time to be worried, really."

"Wait." His eyes went wide. "He went to Ben B.?"

"Yeah. In music."

"For what?"

"Piano."

"Figures."

I raised an eyebrow.

"What year was he?"

"Graduated last year." He laced his fingers between mine. "You probably know him, Simon. Think."

"Oh…let me guess," He said as he slid into the booth. "Dark eyes. Pale blond."

"Kind of gorgeous?"

"Really pretentious."

"Really hot?"

"A total dick?"

"Yeah, well I know a lot about dicks. Wait no. That came out wrong."

"But Sebastian? For four months, really?"

I feigned innocence. "I was sold, Simon. What can I say?"

"You can say 'ew.'"

"More like 'yum.'" I muttered under my breath.

"You say something?"

"No," I looked away. "I think you're hearing things."

His eyes narrowed, but he brushed it off, the thought evaporating as his steaming food was dropped in front of him. "But why?" He asked in between bites. He looked starving. "If you admit that he's a total douche then why bother?"

"For starters he was really good in bed." I dropped my voice low as I scooped up a tiny spoonful of rice. Adults also didn't like when teenagers talked about sex, especially when they weren't getting any. "He was cute, and charming. He cared a little bit, but not much else mattered to me at that point." I glanced at my bowl, and then at Simon who was staring at me. My eyes flicked back down. "It's different now, I'm glad. I probably wouldn't be able to handle him this year."

The laughed that followed was high pitched and fake—some sort of silence filling, involuntary reaction. We both could tell.

But Simon, being the gentleman he was, pretended not to notice. "Well, let bygones be bygones." He smirked. "That's what people always say whenever they talk about ex's, I think…"

"I'll drink to that."

The old lady next to us gasped.

We rolled our eyes.

"Okay, it's my turn now, Simon. You're not getting out of it this time." I teased.

"Not getting out of what?" He was preoccupied with his chopsticks and his mouth was completely full.

My eyes narrowed. "Talking about all the times you and Clary hooked-up."

I swear, I thought he was going to choke.

I tried not to laugh as he fought for his breath, but his face was redder than a tomato. Somehow after all of that he'd manage to fix his face into a frown, lip poking out and arms crossed. "I don't want to—"

"Too bad." I cut off his whining and he slumped in his seat.

"How long did you two date?"

"The entire summer."

"Did you get her gifts?"

"Yes, I did."

"Did you guys kiss?"

"Of course we—"

"Did you shower her in love?"

"What the h—"

"Did you guys have—"

"Shut up." He clipped.

"Well,"

"Shut up!"

"Did you or did you not bang—!"

"Shhhhhh!" He hushed, eyes darting around the almost empty restaurant, nodding slightly. "You got an answer now hush, Izzy!" He gnawed on his lip, and I didn't have the heart to point out that his face was reddening again.

I don't know why he was getting so worked up. My questions weren't that loud, were they?

I dropped my voice lower anyway, I felt like a gossip queen. "How'd it end? Was it messy? Who dumped who?"

He wiggled his shoulders like he was preparing for a fight, taking his time to finish his last bite of noodles before glancing at my half-eaten bowl of plain brown rice. I'd set my fork down a while back, sliding my dish to the center and waiting for the table to be cleared, but we didn't need to talk about that right now.

He sighed and snuggled into the corner of the booth, getting comfortable and matching my body language as his eyes began to droop. This was going to be a long story, I could tell.

"It was the last week of summer," He began lazily. "Clary made this huge deal of planning this date-thing in a field not too far from our neighborhood. It used to be our place when we were younger, and we didn't have to drive to get there, thank God, because she'd managed to sneak wine coolers out of her Mom's house and made a huge scene by cracking the first one, and the next, and—well, you catch my drift. I laughed every time she cringed into me because a bee flew by, she threatened to throw my glasses in the nearby stream, playful stuff, you know?" His voice dropped an octave as we went on.

"We watched it get dark, sort of curled up in the grass as the sun set. It was getting late and we were stumbling our way home. Her mom was out of town for some art thing. My mom was getting Rebecca settled in with school, so she was gone for two days. Again, thank God, because we were a complete mess." He sighed. "But I walked her to her door, and she looked at me once and just started bawling. I had no idea what was up. Clary Fray doesn't just spontaneously burst into tears—I thought she was just a sad drunk—and it really wasn't all that bad until she started talking. That's when it all went to shit."

He tore his eyes away from mine, his gaze fluttering around until it settled on something in the distance. He folded his hands behind his head, trying to act nonchalant. He didn't realize his eyes were turning green. "She threw her arms around me," He continued, "Sobbing into my shoulder about how she 'missed when we were friends.' I remember her words were slurred and they muffled in my shirt when she spoke. She told me—and I'm surprised I remember this at all, honestly—'When it's like this it's not the same—it feels wrong. We feel wrong.' She pulled away from me and shook her head, and the tears were still pouring down her face, but she kept talking. 'I can't do it…' She'd whispered. 'I can't deal with us anymore.'"

His eyes rounded back to mine, and he sniffed as he sat upright again. "I think I stood there for maybe ten minutes before I realized she'd already gone back inside. And then trying to find my way home in the dead of night and completely hammered was a trip, too." Simon scratched the nape of his neck as his eyes closed. "I tried to forget it, we both did. We tried to be friends again. But I pushed too hard, said some things I regret, and that was the end of that…"

Simon smiled once and hopped out of the booth, reaching for my hand to pull me to my feet. Fingers lacing between mine immediately, he guided us out the door and back into the cold. "So, basically," He said this brightly. "Clary kicked my heart in the ass."

"And you two haven't spoken…?"

"Not since school started." He shrugged. "It was awkward on the first day, of course. She completely ignored me, didn't want to sit with us anymore, found a new group of friends. She seemed fine and I felt like I was drowning!" He laughed, and it was that same fake laugh that slipped out of my mouth earlier. "I'm not saying that she changed," He said slowly, his words were muted. "Just that we did. Our relationship did. And I don't think I could ever rekindle it, so…"

He wrapped his arm around me again. For a moment we fell into silence.

"Is this where I say sorry?" I mumbled.

"No, it isn't. Don't worry about that. This," He grinned, "Is when we go get hopped up on half-price caffeine, sit on a couch, and listen to high-schoolers read their poetry."

I grimaced at the mention of high-schoolers, even if I did see them every day. And yeah, sure, the kids at my school were different—to say the very least—but I didn't want to hang around a swarm of agnsty teenagers for too long tonight. I was kind of being a hypocrite.

We both sighed at the idea.

"Or we could just get coffee and leave." I suggested.

"Yeah, I like that idea better," Simon hugged me closer, chuckling. "I always knew you were brilliant."

"What can I say?"

"How about," He wondered aloud. "'This is the best not-actual-date-date I've ever been on in my life, period.'"

I smirked back at him. "Okay, now you're pushing it."

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"I really don't think I am."

"You are."

"Well then," Simon cooed, suddenly smooth and charismatic. His eyes flashed as he stopped dead in his tracks. "I'll just have to find a way to prove you wrong."

His hand slipped quietly off my shoulder, trailing along my back, fingers drifting over my jaw before they found a gentle hold on my chin. Softly twisting his body towards mine, his other hand snaked around my hipbone, eager to snatch away the distance between us. Simon's eyes were blazing, and I was hyperaware, registering the heat that surrounded me, standing out fiery hot when the cold wind surged around us. Gasping slightly when my pulse spiked as he began to lean in, eyes dropping shut when he guided me closer…

Too fast, yet so agonizingly slow.

Our lips touched, and in that moment everything shifted, everything changed. Suddenly we couldn't get enough of each other, but there was no lust. His stance didn't turn. My body didn't move. Our lips did all the work in one simple kiss. One instance somehow stretched into a blissful eternity. Our empty, twinkling surroundings evaporating until it was just us. Until it was just our lips and that one kiss that I wanted to last forever.

I didn't want them, but I got them regardless.

Fireworks.

Fireworks, and fire, and passion matched with a fluttering sweetness, a comfortable softness. For once there was chastity—and for some reason that was more fulfilling than any raunchy endeavor I'd ever gotten tangled into.

Those beautiful feelings resonated even as he pulled away, a muted disbelief settling over us like snowfall. And even as we regained feeling and life into our limbs, setting off towards our destination—

Fireworks were still bursting in the back of my head.

XXX

JACE

Clary was holding my hand again.

Except now our fingers weren't the only things intertwined.

She leaned lazily into my shoulder, our arms flung haphazardly across our bodies. Her tiny frame was half on my lap, half on the worn leather loveseat that sat in the middle of the coffee shop. Our seat. Our spot, since no one dared take up the space of the couple "forged in the crucible of writing" as Mr. David had so eloquently bellowed the minute Clary and I stepped into the place.

She'd tossed her legs across mine, feet dangling and tapping in midair as they threatened to knock over the—precariously placed—coffee cup on the end table. But Clary, being as absentmindedly focused as she was, only made sure that her hair wasn't in my face or that she wasn't completely sitting on my lap. Somehow she was convinced that 100 pounds was enough to get my legs amputated, or that throwing her hair into a sloppy bun was the best option no matter how much she shifted and squirmed. Her one-track mind was adorable, but steadfast. I didn't try to tell her otherwise.

I moved the cup to the center of the table, away from its impending doom.

"So, how was your day?" I asked, brushing a stray curl behind her ear.

"You asked me that question already."

"How's your winter art project coming along?"

"It's coming." She puffed, irritated. "Don't ask."

Her eyes connected with mine, and they danced away again.

"Got any plans for break?"

"Not yet." She grunted.

"You are just like Isabelle." I murmured, too low for her to hear.

She didn't even notice.

It was 6:00. By now the darkness had fallen over Dallas and the shop was packed with students. Most on their phones, few listening to the freshman, Eric, I think his name was, wail about his 'nefarious loins' or something. I tried to hardest to block it out and zone in on the task at hand, but Clary was more distracted and antsy than I'd ever seen her. Every 30 seconds she clicked her phone on and off, harrumphing when the status never changed and her inbox stayed empty. She'd start on a sketch then abandon it. Sip on a coffee and let it get cold. Yeah she was in my arms, but after all this time I've never felt farther away from her than I did tonight.

And tonight was the worst night for that to happen.

"Hey," I called to her, waving a hand in front of her face, trying to bring her focus back as it drifted. "Clary, did something happen?"

"What?" She drawled, floating back to me, completely dazed.

"You're a million miles away," I dipped my voice low and had to fight to hold eye contact with her. "You keep checking your phone and have barely said a word all night. Something's got to be going on."

I watched her face slip, her features receding into an upset scowl as a groan echoed from her throat. "If I tell you would you pretend to care?"

"I wouldn't have to pretend."

"Will you promise not to say anything snarky?"

"Well—"

"My mom called an hour ago," Clary cut me off. "She called me the minute I got here—she knew I had this thing tonight but couldn't wait until I got home."

"You think she did it on purpose?"

"Yes!" Clary whined, then changed her decision. "No?" Her face fell. "I don't know. All I know is that I'm pissed off—"

Not good.

"At her."

Better.

Clary slumped into me, her hand falling out of mine as she reached to push through her tied up hair. "My dad called her. Said he wanted to see me over break to 'catch up' and stuff. Apparently he went on and on about how he 'misses his little girl.' And my mother—she's so naïve and actually believed what he said! What can't she see it's such bullshit? He's messing with our heads again and I'm sick of his crap."

Clary was fuming. I moved my hand to her back, attempting to offer solace. She didn't respond to my touch, and didn't look at me as I spoke.

"I take it you don't want to see him."

"No!" She wailed, eyes rolling, face flushing red. "I chose my mom for a reason. But she's not helping much now either so…I'm screwed." Her bun bounced as she shook her head in disbelief. "I can't believe her."

Clary's eyes started to water, not in sadness but in frustration as her lips scrunched into a pouting grimace. All the while her hands were knotting into fists, her red cheeks glowing. I knew now that Clary's dad was…far from a nice guy. Fairly wealthy on his own—fairly scandalous with someone else. Clary didn't talk about him much except to say how much of an asshat he was. After he left, she and her mom and were on their own—it's been that way ever since—so it was pretty odd that he wanted back in. I just didn't realize how disastrous it really was, and how pissy it made Clary…

It had to be better than nothing, right?

"Maybe he's making amends." I tried. "You know, make up with you and your mom? Get back in with your family?"

Clary was staring daggers at me.

"No?"

"Not a chance." She groaned again, hands sliding down her face. "He hasn't spoken to us in two years! Just picked up and left for some other woman—why all of a sudden does he want to see me now?"

"You know, I could always come with you when you meet him." I offered. "It might suck less if I'm there."

"And say what?" Clary laughed sarcastically, green eyes hovering over me. "Hi Dad, haven't seen you in a while. Meet the biggest player in school! We've been casually making out for the past week and he may or may not try to sleep with me soon."

"Okay, ouch. Not true." I squeezed her side and she squeaked, earning me a small smile. "You can say something a teensy bit better, can't you?"

She crossed her arms and smirked. "Enlighten me, Wayland."

"You can say, 'Hi Dad, it's been a while and that sucks, but meet my gorgeous boyfriend Jace!" I started. "He makes straight A's, plays multiple instruments, and will not get me knocked up in the near future. How about dinner tonight? On me! And—'"

"No." She broke in, head bobbing in disagreement. "I am not paying for dinner. Ever. Don't even think about it, Jace!" I watched her smirk grow wider as she jabbed my arm. "And you do not make straight A's and play multiple instruments. That's a lie."

"That's the truth, Clary." I taunted. "You just never asked if I played the violin and viola and piano, or bothered to look at my grades." I ran a hand through my hair while the other slid around her waist. "Second year in NHS, and I did help you with Calculus that one time—you haven't forgotten, right?"

"No," She scoffed as she tried to keep her cool. "B-But there's another thing—"

"The boyfriend part?"

"Yeah, we're not actually—"

"We should change that."

Her green eyes popped wide open, the irises shining bright like jewels as a silent gasp formed on her lips. I felt her hands fall to my chest, the fingers instantly digging into my shirt and grazing the skin underneath. The words that she uttered after were firm, but her mouth was pulling into a smile. Her face was coloring, features relaxing as her body realized the meaning behind my words before her mind seemed to—her face was defying her.

She would say yes before she knew it.

"Never ever in a million—!"

I inched forward and kissed her quickly, finally. Her hands flying to my hair, like magnets. Her chest rising as I caught her off guard. The kiss was powerful and electric—jolting us both as we pressed ourselves closer and tumbled—

I felt Mr. David throw us a sideways glance.

"Years…" Clary breathed against my lips.

"Never in a million years what?" I teased. "Say it, I dare you."

"Never in a million years will I get tired of kissing you, Wayland. You're too good at it..."

Her words fell out as she kissed me again…and again. Both of my hands wrapping around her waist as her arms locked around my neck. They were subtle, sweet kisses—even though no one but the single adult in the room ventured as much as a peek at us. The rest were probably expecting much more PDA than what was actually happening—but probably feeling hella uncomfortable regardless.

I didn't care. We didn't care. I was kissing my girlfriend for God sakes, finally!

I had her. Finally…

I held Clary just like that—locked and tangled in a fit of giggles for what felt like a lifetime. Completely happy to only have her.

All these years and it finally happened—things finally felt right—and I didn't have to deny it anymore. I didn't have to hide from her anymore…

We went in for another kiss just as a cool breeze blew through the shop. The hair stood up on our skin, a quick shiver rippling through the both of us as the blistering cold tore at the warmth. A pair of steps creaked on the old hardwood—I felt another set of stares

I could've sworn I heard Isabelle's voice.

And instantly the door slammed shut.

XXX

ISABELLE

Clary and Jace were never shy about kissing.

Ever.

My voice cut off mid-sentence as I tried to stifle my surprise, praying to whatever God or angel was out there that they would stop before Simon could—

Stare directly at them with his eyes wide open.

His jaw and fists clenched simultaneously, turning on his heel just as the draft caught the door, slamming it closed with a reverberating bang. He glided to the counter ordering, quite tersely, "Macchiato for me and a small chai. To-go please, we won't be here long."

This was not good.

"Simon!" I whispered, drifting over to him and trying not to make a scene. "Hard to miss? Talk of the school?" I snagged my cup, already steaming, while he slid his money to the cashier. "This shouldn't be some huge deal, right? It's just Clace."

"Yeah. Right." He clipped, swiping his coffee off the counter. "But let's get out of here. It's pretty crowded—and this isn't really our scene." He was making up all kinds of excuses. "I don't see Jonsey and Alex, so there's no point in us staying. And it's getting late, we should go."

The clock read 7:15.

He waited behind me, pouting as I surveyed the room for an open spot. A small stage took up most of the space, the furniture that used to occupy the area was now pushed into a semi-circle around the speaker. The place was packed with kids from school, most I knew, a few I'd never seen before. They were standing, leaning, propped up on tables and couches. It was almost suffocating. The only spot left was on a loveseat next to—

Clary and Jace.

Nuh-uh. Not happening.

Jace finally pulled away from Clary, turning his head lazily in our direction, meeting my eyes for a short second and smiling at me. Glancing once at Clary and then again at me, the confidence that seeped from his eyes was enough to tell me that the bet was still on.

As he fell back into his embrace, making lovey-dovey-googly eyes with his new girlfriend, it was enough to make me barf.

I caught Simon's hand.

"Let's bail."

"On it."

And in a split second we were back in the December air just as quickly as we left it. The sound of Jace's muted laugh ringing clearly in our ears even after the door had swung shut.

We vowed to block it from our memories.

Our noses went numb as we started back to Simon's car, our cold fingers slowly thawing out, and sporting burnt tongues from drinking coffee too fast. Threats were thrown and comments were made as our feet began to ache—why we didn't drive seemed to be the question of the night—considering this would be our third time tromping the city streets like kids without a license. Although, it was fun to get smart with each other, and since it was nearly impossible to be this close in a moving car we were glad to put it behind us.

We forgot all about the ache the minute we started laughing. We forgot about Jace, we forgot about ex's—all the drama seemed miles away by time we crossed out of Uptown and caught sight Reunion Tower's light display. A giant snowflake shone over all of Dallas, and a virtual snowfall seemed to rain down—just for us.

At least, it felt that way as we stumbled back to the Arts District, careless and high on life—drunk off each other, hopped up on caffeine—you name it. We were elated.

He held my hand the entire way home.

It was a loud, energetic ride filled with shouts, giggles, curse words, and sighs. He let his music blast with the windows down, screaming about some concert that was coming up and struggling to keep me awake.

I told everything that I wanted to say tonight, goddamn.

Hair windblown, ears ringing, I didn't protest when he reached to hug me tight on the steps of my front door. His arms around me, still strong and gentle, were the only things that kept me warm right then. His seemingly infinite heat fusing into my body the longer we stood in the cold, the Christmas lights shining around both of us as we fought to prolong the moment.

He didn't try to make a move—didn't have to prove me wrong about anything...It was quiet and sweet—there was no Jace to look out for. No family to pick fun at me. The bet hasn't crossed my mind since the sun set, and just for the record—

I whispered it into his ear as he pulled away, my words generating a smile that made my pulse flip-flop and probably stayed plastered on his face as he drove his way home.

It was a smile that was hard to forget, and it was on my mind until I fell asleep.

What can I say?

That was the best not-actual-date-date I've ever been on in my life.

Period.

---

:')

I find it very funny and very heartwarming-I've stuck with this story for a year and a half (and there are only 9 chapters up *sigh*) But I appreciate every minute I spend writing, every second you spend reading, and every word you write reviewing! Your feedback means the world to me and it's what keeps me writing whenever things get crazy!

This story hits home in a lot of ways-hopefully it does for you, too-and I'll see you guys in the future. I promise.