I didn't have another shift with Clary for the remaining stretch of break. Our schedules were distributed at the beginning of each month, yet December marked the first rearrangement Luke had ever sent out, one in which my name was no longer side-ended by Clary's. Considering her replacement was Genevieve, a trivial, bad-mouthing, extremely flirtatious sophomore in college who couldn't find a boy to bother who was her own age, I wasn't necessarily jumping for joy. At least, not after I had to spend five hours of my every day in the presence of a shoe-in to one day appear on Bridezillas. Enigma girl maybe a thorn in my side, but she didn't run her nails-on-a-chalkboard voice constantly.
Ergo, I hadn't seen her once since that day Isabelle came in with her little brother. Isabelle hadn't left with me for pizza unscathed either, confirming my earlier suspicions that Clary's father had stared me down with the strength of a thousand burning suns.
"He's her father," Isabelle had remarked, sounding sorely unsettled. "How he could he have a problem with a guy that's still in high school? Did you see the way he looked at you? It was move-quality tension; the ultimate nonverbal battle between a middle-aged CEO and an adolescent, wannabe-Brad Pitt."
Foremost to begging his sister for two slices of pizza instead of just one, Max had settled for a much less complex yet equally accurate account: "Matt's dad is one scary dude. I'm glad mine doesn't look like him."
Better yet, Isabelle had called Clary's house a total of five times — in the requested time-window — and not one of them had gone through until the second to last day of winter break. Apparently, Clary's father had answered. In the words of Isabelle, he gave her "major creep-vibes. Like, major" and she almost hesitated allowing the man to have her address. Matt was dropped off by Mr. Morgenstern without the company of Clary, talked briefly with Isabelle and Alec's mom, and was off. I didn't know anything past that point, just that when he later returned for his son, it wasn't until the next day even though a sleepover hadn't been arranged, and that Mrs. Lightwood wasn't able to get ahold of him prior to his return.
It was just what I wanted, though, right? To have Clary out of my life and hair — but then my wish came true fast enough to give me whiplash, and even if she wasn't ever around physically anymore, my mind was plagued with her every waking moment. I couldn't get this notion out of my head that something was very wrong where her father was concerned. Even Alec, who had been home when Mr. Morgenstern came to pick Matt up, said that Clary's dad either had a "superiority complex," "just tasted the most gnarly food beforehand," or a "seriously enlarged amygdala." He was in psychology and was always spurting out random vocabulary, but he sounded right on either way, so long as 'amygdala' was synonymous to asshole-ness.
Before I knew it, with soccer weighing heavily on my shoulders, tryouts looming just a week into the future, and last night's party gifting me a top-notch hangover, and little Miss Engima taking up the small, remaining portion of my thoughts, I was back at school as unprepared as I had been my first day. Jordan was quick to bombard me with his supposed "epic conquest" at the party. He had drunk way more than me, and I couldn't possibly understand how he could still be so...Jordan and loud when surely he had a hangover as well. But that was him down to a T. Obnoxious despite all odds.
Alec, thankfully, phosphorylated our group, taking the volume down a couple much-appreciated pegs. Then, along with him, came the rest of the soccer team. It was purely natural and I fell back into the old routine of things, depressingly nostalgic of much simpler times when I had more than four hours of sleep to go off of.
Then, I saw her for the first time in nearly two weeks. As always, her head was down, arms curled around her torso to perhaps make her appear smaller than she was — or to insulate heat. I couldn't tell you. Hair thrown back into a failing ponytail, combined with clothes alarmingly loose despite the presumed form-fitted uniform, and a mute complexion all added up to her disgruntled, fragile appearance. She looked ill. Much worse since I last saw her.
This time I didn't care if people stared, I purposefully removed myself from my group of friends and strided down the hallway to intercept her path. I didn't know exactly what I intended to do, especially considering she didn't make my top-five list of favorite people, but mystery won out over our mutual disliking towards one another.
"Clary," I said, startling her out of her own little world. She stopped in her tracks, but her initial surprise was dull in comparison to my own as I took in the shadows under her eyes and gauntness of her face. I felt enormous standing next to her. She just looked so frail and weak — surely her backpack was making it impossible to stay upright. "I haven't seen you since the start of break," I said, quick to hide my, dare I say it, concerned shock. "What happened to all of our shifts together?"
She cleared her throat, but even then her voice came out scratchy. "The times didn't work with my schedule," she said. "Besides, I thought you'd appreciate getting away from me. We weren't exactly the best combination."
I wondered in vain how she ever managed to convince Luke. The last I heard of her conversation with him, he'd been unrelenting to grant her a different coworker. If I had any bet, it'd be that her father came in personally to situate matters. For whatever reason, that man hated me.
"Oh, believe me, I know," I said. I admit that I was unecessarily bitter, and if she weren't so sad-looking I would've outright rolled my eyes. "You can barely stand to be around me, and vice versa. But — "
"So, why are you bothering to talk to me about it then?" As the words left her mouth, she was already making her move past me. I heldfast, the deadened quality to her voice making me incredibly guilty. I didn't know why, but I felt as if I had to be careful with her, like if I said the wrong thing I'd never see her again.
"That's not what I meant," I told her, sidestepping her escape briskly. "Look, I realize things could've gone better while we were still working together. But, Clary, come on, now we suddenly have no shifts at all with each other? I heard you talking to Luke the other day, and I want to know why you requested a different coworker."
She looked up and pressed her lips. "It's for the best, Jace. I know you'd much rather not have to spend five hours of your day with me when all I've been to you is disagreeable. Like you said before, I'm below people like you, right?"
I internally cursed myself. "No, Clary. I was completely out of line when I said those things. It was in the heat of the moment."
She shook her head ever so slightly, raising both pointed shoulders before dropping them with a tired yet exasperated breath. "I wasn't looking for an apology or to make you feel bad — why should you have to feel guilty over a girl you don't even like? Please, Jace, don't be sorry. About anything. I appreciate that you tried to be kind to me when I wasn't, and that you once gave me a ride. You're a good guy, okay? Nothing like Jordan despite what I said to you before. I don't know you and it was wrong for me to act like I did. But, face it, I'm not your kind of people. We're not friends, and now, you won't have to waste your time on me."
Clary was genuine and for some reason that hurt so much. Like a reeled-back fist to my stomach, one that left me winded and my lungs to rub raw at my chest. I didn't know what I wanted, but it certainly wasn't for her — the already-bigger person between the two of us — to be the bigger person. Her sincerity amounted to my own self-loathing.
Clary's green eyes suddenly flickered to my left before averting back to my face. "I need to get to my locker before class," she said quietly. Her head lowered as if on cue, then she was making a silent retreat past my speechless, partially-opened mouth.
Two hands clapped my shoulders as Clary's progress down the hallway forced me to turn around to stare after her. I jumped, and Jordan's obnoxious, loud laughter filled my ears along with all of the unlucky peoples' around us. "What the hell was that all about?" he said. "I thought your relationship was strictly work-based. All the crap I said about you being in love with her, you know I was just being a shithead. But, eh? Are you two sneaking around the bleachers at lunch?" He made an explicit kissy face, fluttering his eyes closed and holding his hands out in front of him as if an invisible girl were there. When he looked back at me, irises bright, he was smiling enough for two people. "So, what? Are you in love with her? I saw the way you nearly sprinted across the hallway just to get in a few seconds alone with her — plan a hot date for later? Has she put out yet? Any good — "
"Piss off, Jordan," I said. I was really not in the mood to put up with him. I stalked back towards my locker, purposefully knocking my shoulder with his. Saved by the bell, I retrieved my binder for first period and left a trail of baffled, gaping soccer players in my wake.
I've been playing soccer since before the forth grade. For the most part, having only heard how good Jordan and Alec were aside from some occasional makeshift games in either of our backyards, I was unsurprised that they were good. But I was better. It's not like it was my mission in life to prove my abilities on the field, but, hey, more often than not I was left home alone. My job and school only took up so much time, and then, my saving grace, soccer; I'd juggle the ball a million times between my knees, go out even when it was raining to master sidesteps and reeling moves, do sprints just for the hell of it. I lived for it, and it was the one thing my dad took time out of his job to watch me do. He was my number one supporter — just, not when it came to anything else.
Sure, he'd blow a gasket if I ever got a grade below a B, but our brief conversations weren't oriented around school or 'how I was feeling,' just soccer: "Is the team going to be any good this year?"; "I take it you're starting. Center? If they put anyone else in that position then maybe I shouldn't have transferred back over here, especially not if they have the same coach I had when I was in that school. Man always had his 'favorites' even if they were no good," and, "A game's on, son. Come into the living room with the pizza. I want to show you some pointers."
Soccer, I guess, was just something we could bond over.
The last day of tryouts gave everyone a clear indicator where they stood in the coach's eye — who, by the way, wasn't the same coach back in my dad's high school days, rather his son. We were all divided up into three different groups at the very beginning. While there weren't any lables, it wasn't hard to put two and two together; the best of the best, most athletic and coordinated, and varsity-quality players were separated from the rest and placed on an entirely different field, leaving the remainders, consisiting of those who have never in their lives touched a soccer ball or who "just weren't there yet," to make up the freshman and junior-varsity teams.
I knew how these things worked, and the jersey order-form I was given at the end of the session could attest to my impending future of soccer in Brooklyn. I felt confident that I'd be mid-center field — you know, the guy who stands the closest to the circle at the start of the game for kick-off — because that was the position I'd been put in for trial games once all of the gruelling drills were out of the way. Jordan and Alec had also been given order-forms, but they hadn't been the least bit worried about it because even as freshmen they'd played varsity.
The official teams wouldn't be posted until next week, but the head coach and his many dad-turned-assistants gave everyone with a lasting chance handshakes and claps on the backs as we all filed off of the field. I was pretty sure I'd have a red handprint on my shoulder to look forward to later finding in the shower.
"The starting line up, boys," Jordan said loudly, making sure even the players who weren't likely to be on varsity could hear. "Me, of course, as your shining sweeper. Lightwood as your right wing, and Jace over here as your new — and certainly improved — mid-fielder. No offence, Tyler, but you sucked it up last year and probably cost us the big win at the end of the season."
Tyler, the former mid-fielder, stalked off to the front of the pack, grumbling curses under his breath as he feld past Jordan, knocking his shoulder against his as he did. He hadn't been great during tryouts, and I ended up with a few good kicks to my shins towards the meat of the trials because he realized who out of the two of us would be taking the first-string spot, but Tyler wasn't at all bad.
"Not cool, Jordan," I told him. "Just shut up about it."
Jordan scoffed, keeping his voice loud and clear to carry over to a fuming Tyler. "Oh, come on. I'm just telling everyone what they already know. Isn't that right, Tyler? And all of you freshmen players, feel free to come to me for any pointers. You may suck now, but you won't make complete fools of yourselves at any of your games. But no one from the school bothers to watch anyways. They only care about us varsity guys."
I rolled my eyes and cut away from his strides to walk next to Alec. "He's a complete ass," I said. All of the boys Jordan directly-indirectly reffered to were now walking with their heads down, in less than high spirits. Though, there were some who wanted to suck up to him for reasons beyond me, gathered around his big-head and filling it with praise.
"Oh, a total dipshit," Alec agreed. He didn't sound bothered, just exhausted, as if he were all too used to his friend's behavior. "Making varsity as a freshman lit the fire. Even if you miss a game of ours, he'll fill you in with all of his game-deciding moves and scores. He just loves to talk about himself."
"And he wonders why your little sister doesn't find him attractive," I snorted.
Alec laughed breezily. "Isabelle is at least smart. Jordan always goes for younger classmen because he thinks he has a shot if the pool is naïve and whatnot — or, as he puts it, "starstruck by his influential figure" — but she hates him."
We fell into a comfortable silence, until Alec tapped my shoulder, making me look up. "That's Clary's dad, isn't it?" he said.
Sure enough, walking into the school through the front doors was Mr. Morgenstern. Wearing his suit and adjusting his tie as he disappeared beyond the brick wall, I was more than curious as to why he was here in the late hours after the school day. Parent-teacher conferences weren't until next month, and Clary was a prime-A student. I wouldn't put it past him that he was making flaws to find in her where there weren't any, or making a big deal over a project she got an ninety-nine-point-nine-nine-percent on.
"Sure is," I said, my eyes lingering on the school building.
"I don't know Clary," Alec started, looking unsettled, "but I have a bad feeling about her dad. He made a good impression on my mom at first when he dropped off Matt — at least that's what she told me. But he just ditched his own kid at our house. How do you tell your little brother's friend that he's going to have to stay here for the night because his dad is awol? And when he did come back, not that it's completely out of the ordinary, he had a bunch of scratches on his face. Like he got mauled by a cat."
"Maybe Clary's so secretive because her family harbors lions in their den," I mused aloud.
Alec stared at me sideways. "Did you get to know her much at work? Isabelle told me you have a thing for her."
I stopped in my tracks, gaping. "Your sister said that? She came in once while Clary and I were both working. Just one time. How could she possibly get that from our painfully awkward standing around and avoiding each others eye contact? Clary literally hates me — "
He held up his hands in surrender. "I only come bearing the message."
I scoffed. "Your sister is something else."
"Maybe, but she's also observant and never lies," he said, chuckling softly. His knowing look made me feel all too uncomfortable because, honestly, I didn't know how I felt towards Clary anymore. I just knew I wanted to help her.
I departed from the group after I had showered on the condition that I'd meat them — being Jordan and Alec — later for dinner. It was getting dark and not any warmer outside, but the snow had started to lighten up, leaving only the cold to remind us all of the insane winter we'd just barely survived. Walking around the empty halls after school hours wasn't commended, but I hoped that if I turned a couple of the right corners I'd run into Mr. Morgenstern.
Or, he'd find me.
"Mr. Herondale, is it?"
His deep, low voice mad my blood run thin. I froze, unsettled by the fact that he stood behind me, like a predator able to pounce on his unsuspecting prey at any moment. Turning around swiftly, I plastered a charming smile onto my face, feinging surprise to see him. "Mr. Morgenstern," I acknowledged.
True to his word, Alec had been right about the scratches. Three parallel lines ran from the apple of his cheek almost to the corner of his mouth, marring the right side of his face with mending scabs. His indifferent expression was more than familiar, dark eyes scrutinizing my post-soccer tryout attire consisting of sweats, a thrown-on shirt, and a head of wet hair. He didn't look like Clary in the least, from the squareness to his build and face, harsh lines adorning his forehead, as if he were always looking for something to use against someone else, driving himself to the brink of exhaustion, and premature-white hair. Clary was imperceptively delicate and doll-like; just so small with bright eyes and freckles.
"I saw you earlier," he said, "out on the field. You're good. Have you always played?"
The fact that he'd spotted me out of the other hundred boys or so, and watched enough to gain a leverage, after our only meeting once, wasn't something that sat well with me. In fact, his forced compliment went straight over my head. "Just since forth grade," I answered civilly, devoid of any thanks.
"I took you for a football player. My honest mistake."
"What are you doing here?" I blurted, in no mood for small talk. I just wanted him to tell me everything outright — why he had those scratches on his face, whether or not he even had a cat, and why the hell he stared me down through the front window of Happy Cones the last day I saw Clary during break.
"Surely a parent is allowed to check on how his daughter is keeping up with her school work, especially now considering her job."
Hardly. He probably has her schedule and grades memorized, and just wanted to request (cough, demand) she be taken out of all the classes she has with me.
I nodded anyways.
He released a throng of breath, flashing an eased smile. "Clary tells me you have a girlfriend now."
My eyes noticeably widened. Enigma girl, what are you telling your father? I internally scratched the back of my head for who on earth Clary could've possibly associated with being my girlfriend, even reaccounted every conversation I'd engaged in with her to think of any misleading impression I'd could've given. Coming up short, I just smiled, laughing breathily.
"She's very pretty. The dark haired girl with you at your job the other day. Her little brother had Matt over just the other day."
Isabelle.
Did Clary think Isabelle and I were in a relationship, or did she just tell that to her father? Why would she even be telling her father something like that about a boy she hardly had any interaction with? I ran with it, hoping it was the right thing to do. I didn't feel right, though. I didn't normally pretend I had a girlfriend just to appease another girl's father. Clary, we definitely need to talk.
"Yeah," I breathed.
"How long have you two been together for?"
"Three," I practically shouted. Backtracking and wracking my brain for words I didn't have, I realized that I wasn't making any sense. Three? Three what? "Three months. We've been going out for three months."
Mr. Morgenstern seemed oddly pleased at this. "I wouldn't argue otherwise. A soccer player as handsome as yourself, I'm sure a girlfriend fits the agenda."
He was just being nice now, something I didn't think I could handle any longer. Nodding, I pulled an apologetic smile, downcasting my eyes. "It was great talking to you, Mr. Morgenstern, but I told some friends of mine that I'd meet them later for a bite to eat. I'm sure they're all already at the restaurant."
"Go on, then," he smiled. "I have some things to attend to myself back home."
I got the impression it didn't involve wrestling with lions in his den, because now I was positive that he was the lion and that everyone else around him were the lambs.
Classes the next day were ordinary enough. At least the morning ones. After trig was let out, I was sat at a lunch table in the middle of the cafeteria, Alec on one side of me and the other unoccupied by Jordan, who hadn't been missing earlier in the day. It's not like I missed him all the much; there were plenty of other loudmouth soccer players just like him surrounding me. I didn't plan to act on anything, at least not when I didn't know how I would even go about confronting Clary about what was going on, but my eyes still saught her out only to come up short. She wasn't at her usual table, or anywhere to be seen. It was the first week back and she was already missing a day of school?
I guess my next class with her in chemistry would let me know for sure.
If she wasn't there, I had half a mind to go to her house after school — that is if her code was still the same to get in. I needed answers, and hopefully, when I next saw her, I would figure out how to get them. We were on good terms now, right? The uncertainty still hung in the air, though I had a pretty good idea that 'right' wasn't right. "We aren't friends," she'd told me,"and now you won't have to waste anymore time on me."
Clearing my mind of her, I smiled over at Alec and clapped him on the shoulder as I stood to get up. "Where are you going?" he said, eyes comically wide. "You can't leave me alone with these people."
I laughed, shaking my head. "Just for a walk. You're welcome to join."
He pulled an "eh" face, and I could tell that the idea of getting up without there being any reason to wasn't appealing to him. "I'm good here."
"Suit yourself."
Heading towards my locker, I at first thought my mind was playing tricks on me: Clary was hurriedly walking and then disappearing inside the girl's bathroom, but the flash of red was there and gone so fast, and, considering that she was always occupying some thought of mine or another, she could very well be on a different planet than the one I was on. But then I realized something: she wasn't walking out of her own leisure, rather running from someone.
My eyes travelled a ways to her left just as she disappeared inside the bathroom fully, and there stood Jordan.
His eyes were widened and a bewildered expression marred his usually apathetically-contorted face — and this is when he still hadn't noticed me. "Jordan?" I said, walking towards him, my brows furrowed.
Immediately straightening up, Jordan quickly managed a smile, obviously flustered. "Jace, hey man! I was just...grabbing something from my locker," he laughed, banging his hand gently on the random locker standing behind him.
The lunch bell carried throughout the expanse then, and he seemed relieved, happily striding towards me — and glancing back at the bathroom Clary disappeared into, only making him seem more unnerved — he clapped my shoulder empty-handed.
"What did you grab from your locker?" I stopped him, turning around to watch him stare down at his hands.
He laughed. "Nothing important," he said, then briskly became one with the crowd as the hall became inundated with convenient students without so much as nother wave in my direction. "See you on the field!"
See you, I thought.
As if my legs were willed to do so, I was carried towards the girl's bathroom. If it weren't for the strange look Principal Moore gave me as he witnessed what probably looked like a delinquent boy peeving on unsuspecting girls in their designated rest area, I would've outright put my ear against the door because I could swear that I heard someone crying. Clary crying.
Please review(:
I accidentally put "meat" instead of "meet" somewhere in here, and I'll fix it when I have the time. But, yeah, nothing is out of the ordinary: I've posted another update that is desperate need of being edited.
Hopefully you all enjoyed!
Until next time, peace.
