Summer Term

Summary: "...He's supposedly the hottie professor of the summer." "Ew, Izzy." "Don't tell me you wouldn't bang a hot professor."

Disclaimer: The Mortal Instruments and all its associated characters, places and events all belong to Cassandra Clare and the copyright holders. This is a non-profit fan work and no copyright infringement is intended.

Acknowledgement: 1. Thank you to the bestest beta out there. She's my favorite. *heart* Thanks for making my words pretty! 2. Also, thank rippingbutterflywings always supporting me. You never cease to amaze me with your stubbornness (one of my favorite things about you ;)) and awesomeness.

A/N: Thank you everyone for liking this story. I'm so happy that you guys are enjoying it. Although I have not been able to answer all your reviews, I love and cherish each one. So, thank you for that. Also, I have finally come up with an updating schedule. I'll be updating once a month (twice if I'm not too busy).

Chapter Three: Expulsion

Oh, God, he wanted to see her. Alone. Clary had never been asked to meet with a teacher alone. Her heart jumped to her throat and she swallowed hard to try to rid the nauseousness that had started in the pit of her stomach. She sat frozen in her chair, not able to comprehend what he'd just told her to do.

Her sweaty hands shook as she grabbed her belongings and followed Mr. Herondale, receiving odd looks from her classmates as she passed them. She didn't blame them. Clary was as clueless as they were. The same question ran through her mind. Was she in trouble? She hoped it wasn't because of the spat she had with him yesterday.

Her legs felt like jello when she stared at Mr. Herondale's back as he was leaving the room, going up the stairs, and into his office. The door stood ajar, but she stopped just shy of the room, wondering if he would invite her in. But after standing there for more than a couple awkward moments, and clearly no indication from Mr. Herondale for her to enter, Clary stepped over the threshold. She found him facing away from her, holding a stack of papers. She walked over to him and contemplated whether or not she should speak up. Just as she was about to, he turned toward her and nodded at the chair in front of him. Clary obliged.

He dropped the stack of papers on the table and leaned against the wall behind him, his arms crossed over his chest. Clary nervously picked at a piece of thread hanging from her skirt and looked anywhere but at him. She noticed his office was uncluttered. There were no pictures on his desk and everything that was there was neatly arranged. She remembered how he mentioned to the class that he wasn't comfortable sharing information about himself to anyone. Clary could relate easily to that. Although she had told Sebastian some things, he still wasn't aware of many events that had happened in her life regarding her father. She only let him in because he always used to complain that she wouldn't share any part of her life with him. Little did he know, the less he was aware of, the better it was for him. Valentine wasn't a fan of her boyfriend anyway—and vice-versa—so it wasn't hard for Clary to keep Seb away.

"I got a call from a Mr. Morgenstern today."

Clary's head snapped up at that. Mr. Morgenstern? Mr. Morgenstern, as in her father? Why would her father call her teacher? Questions swirled in her head, but all that spilled from her mouth was a small, "Oh."

"Oh?" Mr. Herondale asked incredulously, his voice hardening as he continued. "That's all you have to say?"

She ignored his question. "What did he say?" Clary pulled on the thread a little harder.

"He asked me to speak to you about your behavior regarding this class."

Clary's mouth fell open. She felt as though she had been punched in the gut and all the air had been sucked out of her. Her father couldn't talk to her about her so-called "behavior"? Instead he spoke with her teacher about it?

"This isn't preschool anymore where I'm supposed to help teach you how to act. Your parents should be aware of what to do with their own kid, and you should be old enough to act appropriately on your own," he said bitterly.

Clary's eyes stung. She clenched her fists, hoping the nails digging into her skin would stop the flood of tears threatening to flow. If he only knew everything that was going on. She wanted to tell him that her father would never do this if her mom were still alive, but the words stuck in her mouth and she sincerely doubted he cared.

Instead, she bit her bottom lip and focused on the odd geometric pattern in the carpet. Each shape was colored in red, black, and white, and her eyes trailed the colors over and over again. Red. Black. White. Red. Black. White. Red. Black. White.

Mr. Herondale walked around the table and whirled Clary's chair so she faced him. He crouched down, and Clary noticed his grip on the chair was strong, his knuckles turning white.

He leaned into her, and his hand rose to cup her chin, gently lifting it up. Clary slowly met his gaze, gold burning into green. Her lips parted and his eyes dropped to her mouth.

Clary's breathing sped. She unthinkingly moved in closer to him, their faces mere centimeters apart. His minty-fresh breath fanned across her face, and then he suddenly jerked back as if she'd burned him. Several emotions crossed his face: confusion, anger, and something else Clary couldn't pinpoint.

"I—" he said, running his hand through his golden locks. Clary had an urge to reach out and touch his soft-looking curls, but he was already up and was backing away.

"Ja-Mr. Herondale." Clary corrected herself and got up as well, pushing the chair away from her. "I'm sorry about my dad calling you."

But he wasn't looking at her. He stared out the window, and it seemed like he was somewhere else, somewhere far, far away. His voice was flat when he finally spoke. "I don't particularly enjoy receiving calls from bastards like him."

A gasp fell from Clary's lips. She stalked over to him and pulled on his arm as hard as she could. He didn't move an inch. "What the hell did you call my father?"

Mr. Herondale looked down at her, his expression unreadable. "A bastard."

Anger coursed through Clary's veins. He had no right to call her father that. No one did. Maybe except for her, but certainly not her friends, and most definitely not her teacher who seemed to think too highly of himself. Without thinking, she watched as her hand cracked across her teacher's cheek, causing him to rock back on his heels. She covered her mouth in realization and backed away, completely mortified.

Clary didn't have the nerve to look at him before she fled his office. She ran down the stairs, tears threatening to pour down her cheeks. She turned a corner and stopped, pressing herself hard against the wall and slid down until she was sitting on the ground, her face buried in her hands.

She was going to get suspended, or worse, expelled. Clary couldn't stop the tears as her body wracked with fear. The same words kept replaying through her head: expulsion, expulsion, expulsion. God, her father was going to kill her. She was going to prove him right by not doing anything correct in her life.

"Ginge?"

Clary lifted her head to find Simon standing in front of her. He looked concerned, his brows knitted together. Simon sat down beside her as she bit her lip to stop herself from crying in front of him.

"What's wrong?"

She shook her head.

"C'mon. Tell me if I need to kick his ass for hurting my friend."

Without meaning to, Clary's mouth curled into a small smile.

"Does that mean he does need his bony ass kicked?"

Clary trained her eyes at a spot on the wall in front of her. "I think I might get expelled," she finally said, no longer trying to avoid the obvious. If she was going to get kicked out of school, then everyone might as well know about it.

He gaped at her. "You're kidding."

"Do you think I would joke around about tha—"

"Clary?"

Both Simon and Clary glanced up at the voice. Isabelle. She wore a simple blue dress, her dark hair pulled into an elaborate chignon. Her eyes looked at Clary, then to Simon, and back.

"What's going on?" Isabelle asked her slowly, as if she were talking to a child, and took a seat in front of her.

The words tumbled out of Clary's mouth. "I might be in huge trouble."

"What happened?"

Clary watched Izzy's dark eyes widen as she continued to explain everything (except the part where she had an almost intimate moment with her teacher) to them. She noticed Simon kept quiet, listening intently, whereas Isabelle gasped every now and then at appropriate times. Clary couldn't stop herself from tearing up when she told them about slapping Mr. Herondale, and how she had run out before he could respond. She couldn't even remember his expression afterward. All she'd cared about was leaving his office as quickly as possible.

Once Clary finished, she sighed and waited for her friends to yell at her, or to tell her that she had made a huge mistake. Instead, Isabelle pulled her into a tight hug, and Simon tried to console her by explaining that she wouldn't get expelled.

"But I slapped my teacher," she interjected.

Simon shrugged. "I personally thought he was an asshole anyway. He deserved it."

"Yeah," Isabelle added, "And Herondale shouldn't have called your father a bastard. Even though he is one." She grinned.

Clary cracked a smile. "Thanks, guys."

"No problem," Simon said, and helped Clary stand. "Though," he added carefully, "I do think you should go back and apologize."

She looked at Simon, and then Izzy. "Should I?"

Her best friend nodded. "I don't think it'll hurt."

"Okay..." she said somewhat uncertainly.

"Do you want us to go with you?"

Clary shook her head. "I should do this alone. But," she paused to grin at them, "enjoy your date."

"Will you be okay?" Isabelle asked.

"If anything happens, I'll let you know."

Clary hoped it wouldn't come to that. But knowing her luck lately, she just might need her friends' help.

Clary stood outside Mr. Herondale's office, her breathing almost to the point of hyperventilation. Her fists were clenched tightly, and she could feel her nails digging sharply into her skin. She wasn't sure what was going to happen. She wasn't even sure what she was supposed to say. That she was sorry, maybe? Beg him not to tell her father about the whole incident? Unfortunately, Mr. Herondale didn't seem like the type to listen to her. That was clear when he didn't stop calling her dad a bastard.

The door to his office was closed. Just as she raised her hand to twist the doorknob, she heard a couple voices speaking at the same time. She leaned in closer, trying to listen to the muffled conversation, but she couldn't make out the words. Clary guessed he could be in a meeting with someone, or maybe even a student.

Just as she was about to turn around, her phone vibrated in her hand. She glanced at the screen and it said, "New Mail." Clary opened up the email and scanned through it.

Clarissa,

I am in a meeting, but I expect to see you home when I return. I have a few things to speak with you about.

Valentine

Her heart sank. Not because he wanted to see her or because her father called her "Clarissa" instead of "Clary", but because he refused to refer to himself as her father anymore, whether it be in an email or in person. He only cared about how she made him look in front of people. It was as if she were his prized possession, only she was failing to make him proud.

Clary maneuvered her way through the hallways and headed out to go home. There was no wind as the sun beat down above her. She looked up to feel the warmth on her face, letting it soak into her skin. Clary loved how the heat made her feel like she was back in California, back where everything in her life was simple. That she didn't need Valentine to give her a parent's love. There were days, months even, when Clary yearned to just be in her father's embrace. To be told that what she wanted to do, what she wanted to be, was all right. The only person, besides her friends and her mom, who'd ever done that for her was Sebastian. To him, Clary was perfect. He believed she was. But her boyfriend wasn't enough.

It wasn't his fault though, he didn't know what she was going through. Then again, he didn't ask either, and Clary didn't tell.

A tear trailed down her cheek and she raised her hand to wipe it away. She wanted her mom. She needed her help and guidance.

Her phone buzzed again, but Clary was done with talking to people today. She wanted to get the "talk" over with Valentine, and then she wanted to curl up in her bed and cry herself to sleep.

She went to pull her bag in front of her but felt nothing. Her bag was missing. Clary's heart raced as she turned around and started walking quickly back the way she had come. Then she stopped short in her tracks as realization dawned on her. She replayed the scene in her head when she was in Mr. Herondale's room. She remembered dropping her bag next to the chair, and, skipping over the gory details of when she hit him, she'd fled. Without her bag. God. Dammit.

She fumed. It was all his damn fault. He shouldn't have blamed her "parents" or shouldn't have called her father names. Granted, Clary was usually good at keeping her temper down, but maybe it was the fight that had happened with Valentine recently. Or maybe it had to do with her teacher, who kept her on edge for some reason. It could be both of them. Both of them trying to be the death of her. Clearly she was being melodramatic and she knew it, but Clary needed her bag back. It had everything in it. Her math book. Her notebook. Pencils. Although she knew she'd have writing utensils at home, she liked using her favorite mechanical pencil. Then there were her headphones, and most importantly, the keys to her house. Absolutely great.

Clary pulled her phone out and was about to text Isabelle, when she remembered Isabelle and Simon were on a date. Instead of sending her a panic text about how she was locked outside her house, she asked her how it was going with them. Once she was done, she decided she needed a break from the world for a little bit. And she knew just where to go.

Academy Records & CDs, the sign above her read. She peered through the window and found a myriad of people in there. Without waiting another moment, she pulled on the door and it swung open. Clary stepped over the threshold and found herself sifting through the crowd easily and heading toward the back of the store.

There were rows and rows of shelves, stacked with more CDs than Clary could count. Each one was organized under a genre, and Clary directed herself toward "pop". She wanted to start with something happy that she could dance to when (or if) she ever went home today. She stopped in front of an artist named Ariana Grande. She pulled the CD out and noticed the title "Yours Truly". She'd heard of Ariana, but she hadn't listened to her music. Clary was willing to give her a try.

She moved along and picked out "Friends with Benefits" from the TV show One Tree Hill. Ever since she'd found out that the show had launched music for the world to hear and purchase, she'd wanted to buy it. Clary had also heard about a song named "I'll be the Wings that Keep Your Heart in the Clouds", and turned a corner to search for a CD for that. She recalled how one of her friends back in California always gushed about it being her favorite song, and how Clary should listen to it. She supposed it was time to heed her friend's advice.

She squirmed past people, murmuring, "Excuse me" every so often. But she'd forgotten about how no one in New York said that. Isabelle was right: both of them were California girls, but even though that was true, she believed part of her heart always belonged to New York, to her mother.

She glanced down the aisle and froze. A familiar blond male was flipping through a couple CDs that he held. Clary debated whether or not she should make a run for it. On one hand, Clary knew she couldn't avoid him forever, since she would encounter him in class the next day anyway, but on the other, running away from the problem didn't seem like a bad idea.

Clary sighed and decided to bite the bullet. She took as small of steps as she could—which wasn't hard for her considering her strides weren't long to begin with. But somehow, he looked up at her, his tawny eyes locking into her emerald ones. Clary swallowed and walked over to where he stood. Her gaze fell to his hands, where he gripped the music, and noticed how long and slender they were, as if they were a pianist's hands.

He cleared his throat, causing Clary to glance up at him. She had to tilt her head back to see his face.

"What are you doing here?" she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Mr. Herondale cocked his head to the side, and Clary elicited a small gasp when she saw the faint outline of her fingers on his cheek. "Buying porn. You too?"

Clary's own cheeks pooled with blood. "No." But her voice came out shakier than she'd expected.

He smirked, as if he knew what his words were doing to her.

"I'm sorry," said Clary. She might as well get the embarrassment and expulsion over with.

He'd turned toward the shelf, pulling out a stack of random CDs. Clary noticed he chose albums by Mayday Parade, Paramore, Backstreet Boys, and NSYNC. She smiled at the last two, happy to see some people still enjoyed the 90s music.

"For checking me out in class? Don't worry, I'm used to it."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't. BB—I mean the blonde girl that sits in the front of the class—does. But," she paused, "I really am. I shouldn't have slapped you."

He shrugged and slid an album back onto the shelf. "I would have been mad too."

"Well, regardless, I'm still sorry for how I reacted, Mr. Herondale."

He ran a hand through his hair. "You don't have to call me that outside of class."

"What do I call you then?"

"You can call me Jace."

She nodded and held her breath as she asked her next question. "Am I expelled?"

He quirked a brow. "Why would you be?"

She bit her bottom lip and dropped her eyes to the ground. "Because I hit you." Not just 30 minutes ago...

Jace chuckled. Clary glanced up in surprise, wondering what the hell she said that made him laugh.

"No, you're not expelled."

She blinked. "Are you sure? I thought it was ille—"

He raised his hand to cover her mouth. "It'll be our little secret."

Clary stood motionless as she realized Mr. Heronda—Jace's hand was on her lips. Wherever he touched her, heat bubbled beneath her skin. Clary watched as Jace slowly registered what he was doing and he dropped his hand quickly. She grasped her CDs tightly to her chest, trying to slow her breathing. Clary had to keep reminding herself that she wasn't single and that she wasn't allowed bubbly heat feelings about her teacher.

"What do you have there?" Jace nodded at the stack in her hands.

"Um..." She tried to hide her music collection behind her. It wasn't that she had a bad taste in music, but Clary mainly listened to pop, and most people didn't enjoy that.

His arms brushed against hers as he reached behind her to grab the albums. Bubbly heat, all over again. She fought back a shiver. Her fingers loosened their grip as she unwillingly let them go. He went through each of them and chuckled. "Ariana Grande?"

Clary snatched the CD from him. "She's great," she said defensively.

Jace lifted his free hand in surrender, then continued to look through her collection. He showed Justin Bieber's disk to her and raised his eyebrows.

"What, you don't have any guilty pleasures?"

He grinned at her. "Only one."

Clary stepped closer to him, their bodies centimeters apart. She could smell the cologne he wore, and the fragrance was so good, so delicious. It was unlike anything she'd ever smelled. She didn't know what it was, but she wanted to spritz it all over herself.

"Britney Spears?"

Jace rolled his eyes. "I don't have that bad of taste."

"Ed Sheeran? One Direction?" she asked, hoping it was any of them.

"I don't think you're going to guess it," he finally said, after Clary had named several boy bands.

Clary frowned. "Is it a girl? Is she old?"

"No?"

"You're confusing me."

Jace's mouth turned up in a sexy smirk. "Good."

She threw her hands up. "I give up."

He flashed her a smile. "Those weren't half bad guesses. I hope you do better on your exams though."

Clary blinked in surprise. "Of course I will."

He ignored her comment. "I'll be looking forward to your sketches."

Before Clary had the chance to volley back a reply, he pulled out his phone and spoke. "I have to get going."

"Oh." Clary had forgotten momentarily where they were. "Me too."

"See you in class, Clary," he said as he passed her.

"Jace?"

He twisted his body halfway to face her. "Yeah?"

She chewed on her lip.

"Do you..." she trailed off, her nerves getting to her.

Jace turned fully toward her, his arms crossed over his chest. Clary hadn't realized what he was wearing until now. She finally allowed herself to look at him. He'd changed from his khaki shorts to basketball ones, which hung low on his hips, with a threadbare gray t-shirt clinging tightly to him and accentuating the lean chest underneath. She could see the outline of his biceps and momentarily longed to run her hand over his arm. In his hair. On his body. Everywhere.

"Are you alright?" Jace asked, walking back to her. Concern crossed his face.

"What? Oh—" Clary shook her head, and she was almost certain her face resembled a ripe tomato. She fervently hoped it wouldn't come to his attention. She blushed more in his presence than any other person she'd been with, even her own boyfriend, to her surprise. "I was wondering," she continued, "if you had my bag. I think I left it in your office." Her words were rushed and she had never felt more mortified in her life. What was wrong with her, getting all tongue-tied in front of this guy. She had a boyfriend, for Heaven's sake. She wasn't supposed to feel this way about anyone else, especially her teacher. Clary knew it wasn't just lust that she was feeling for him; it was something more, and that scared her.

"Yeah, I do. It's at my apartment."

"Oh."

They stood there in awkward silence. Clary had no idea how to ask him about getting it back.

"You can come and pick it up," he finally said.

"Right now?" Her heart fluttered.

"Now's as good as any."

Hope you liked. xoxo

*Check out the cover picture ddpjclaf made for this story. The link is on my profile (since FFn won't let me adjust the image size on here). It's awesome!