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: As always, thanks to my favorite beta in the whole wide world: ddpjclaf. And thanks to rippingbutterflywings for always being there for this story/helping me with songs. I cannot thank either of you enough. *muah*
A/N: I am blown away by your guys' response! I'm so happy you guys are enjoying it. It warms my heart to know there are people out there enjoying the story of these two as much as I like writing it. So thank you. I love all the reviews you all write to me. They make me all warm and fuzzy inside. Anyway, enjoy!
Chapter Five: Confusion
After a very awkward car ride in which Clary had basically begged her father to tell her what he'd meant about Jace being the cause of her mother's death—and her father's refusal to even respond—she'd stormed into the house and did the one thing her father couldn't stand, slammed her door. Now, as she sat quietly on the couch, her legs curled up under her and her body covered in clean, dry clothes, she couldn't get her father's harsh, cruel words out of her head.
What had he meant when he blamed Jace for her mother's death? Was it true? Was Jace in some way responsible?
Clary didn't know what to believe. Her father or—
"You should be studying," said her father.
Clary didn't look up. She played with her fingers and trained her eyes on the flames in the fireplace as they grew and licked at each other.
"Clarissa," he spoke again.
She still didn't acknowledge him or respond.
"Clarissa," he said again, louder this time, and her name had an edge to it.
"What?" Clary said, finally.
"You are not responding to me."
"I don't need to. It's not like you made an effort to speak to me before."
His dark eyes flashed.
"Besides," Clary continued, "I don't trust you."
Her father took a seat next to her, making Clary cringe. She didn't want him to hit her. Not again. "Your teacher is responsible for your mother's death," he said slowly.
Clary crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to believe him. "And you are responsible for ruining many people's lives," she retorted.
His mouth pressed in a straight line and he flexed his fingers, spinning the ring on his fourth finger. She swallowed and shrank into the couch, her eyes never leaving his hands. Her cheek started to throb and she wanted to raise her hand to cover it, but she was afraid she'd draw attention to it, and she didn't want her father to look at it. Not now. Not ever.
Fortunately, her father wasn't watching her. "You are a child," he spat. "You won't understand."
Clary glanced down at her own hands idly. She was told her hands were small. Absently, she turned the right palm up and traced the small freckle on her wrist.
"You won't tell me what happened," Clary stated.
"Not until your adolescent brain learns to deal with situations like an adult."
Clary clenched her fist and tried to let go of the anger that was building up inside her. So her father didn't trust her enough to tell her what happened. She'd figure it out herself. If not from him, then from someone else: the source himself. It wasn't like she believed her father anyway, but she had wanted to hear his point of view on this situation. But if he didn't wish to speak to her any further regarding this topic, Clary wasn't about to push.
Clary untucked her legs and stood. "I'm going to my room," she said.
And she left him there, hopefully staring after her as she went.
When she entered her bedroom, she plopped on her bed and buried her face in her pillow. Tears streamed down her cheeks and onto the cushion. She finally let go. She cried about everything and anything that was going on in her life. She cried that she had to leave California and stay with her awful father. She cried that she'd left her boyfriend and that he didn't seem to want to come with her. She cried that her father had slapped her. She cried that there was a remote possibility that her teacher might be responsible for her mother's death. She cried and cried and cried. And it didn't seem like the tears were ever going to stop. Her entire body shook with sobs. Clary just wanted things to be how they were a few months ago. Happy with her friends and her boyfriend.
A sudden buzz sounded repeatedly and she raised her head to find her phone vibrating. She reached for it and flipped her cell over. The screen illuminated and said: 5 new iMessages from Isabelle Lightwood. Clary wiped her tears with the back of her hand and unlocked her phone. Almost all of the messages were about how wonderful and fun Simon was, and how he'd already asked her out on a second date. Clary sighed, throwing her phone down before extending her hand across her bed to pick up her notebook.
There was only one thing she knew that could take her mind off the chaos going on in her life. Drawing. She flipped to a new page and took a deep breath. Clary pressed the tip of the pencil to the sheet of paper and watched as her hand flew. Ringlets. Lots and lots of corkscrew curls framing the face. Clary shaded in the hair and then proceeded to fill in the face. It was more slender than Clary's own. Prominent cheekbones. Freckles scattered over her nose, just like Clary's. Full lips. Large eyes. Lashes. Clary pulled back and a gasp fell from her mouth. The image she was trying to draw of her mother looked almost identical to Clary. She blinked tears from her eyes and stared at the drops of water dribbled on the drawing. Clary hastily pulled the notebook away and set it down next to her.
She was about to leave her bed to go to the bathroom when she received another text. Clary grabbed her phone and pressed the home button to read the message. It was from Sebastian. Usually, when she saw that name, she'd feel butterflies in the pit of her stomach, but right now, she felt nothing. She numbly opened it up and read what it said.
Hey, babe. I want to come visit you.
She froze and almost dropped the device. She read over the words again: I want to come visit you. Clary didn't want him here. She didn't want him to see her messed up life. Sebastian was familiar with the fabricated life she'd told him about. Not how her family was a dysfunctional one. He only knew of Valentine's nature, but nothing else. Both Izzy and Clary had decided that he didn't need to know more. Izzy had mentioned that if Clary and Sebastian got more serious in the future, then Clary could open up to him. And Clary had agreed, wholeheartedly.
Biting her lip, she sent a message.
When?
His reply was automatic.
It's a surprise.
Clary rolled her eyes and didn't bother responding back. Instead, she scrolled to the top and pulled up Izzy's message.
Can we meet somewhere?
A few seconds later, her phone vibrated.
Sure. I'm at the gym.
I'll be there in 10.
By the time Clary left her house, it was later than she would have liked. The rain had, thankfully, ceased to pour and the sun was peeking through the clouds, creating a warm and buttery atmosphere. Nevertheless, Clary'd decided to pull on a warm hoodie, just in case Mother Nature decided to go bipolar on her.
Clary entered the gym, passing all the machines and weights as quickly as possible. A couple people glanced over at her and gave her pointed looks. She tried to ignore them the best she could. It wasn't like she was there to work out. She was there to talk to her best friend and sort out the mixed feelings stirring inside her.
She finally found Izzy upstairs, running around the track in dark capri leggings and a neon green sports bra. Clary smiled and waved, attracting attention to herself. Isabelle nodded and rounded a corner. She sprinted to Clary, stopping just shy of her.
"Hey," she panted, resting her hands on her knees.
Clary reached over to where Isabelle had set down her pink Nalgene bottle and handed it over.
"Thanks," Izzy said and squirted the water in her mouth.
Clary glanced out at the track and sighed. She was itching to get on there and run. She wanted to feel that rush flowing through her veins and filling her with a sense of satisfaction. And Clary hadn't gotten a chance to do that in so long. College and family problems had gotten in the way of what she loved to do.
Izzy must have caught Clary looking out at the track, because she cleared her throat and asked, "Want to race? Like old times?"
She looked down at her outfit and grimaced. "I don't think I'm in the right attire."
Isabelle rolled her eyes and tugged on Clary's hoodie. "Take that hideous shit off and let's go."
Clary noticed a glint of mischievousness in her best friend's gaze and proceeded to remove it. She was now in a cami and jeans. "Fine, don't complain when you lose."
Izzy laughed. "Yeah, yeah."
Both of the girls took their positions at the starting line. Clary and Isabelle alternated counting to three, and as soon as the last number was uttered, both of them shot forward. Isabelle easily gained distance, but Clary was right on her heels. She needed to remember to clear her head and only focus. Focus on getting ahead. Focus on running like she used to. Focus on her feet hitting the floor. So without giving her life another thought, Clary pushed off against the ground harder. She ran on the balls of her feet. She could see the finish line and the adrenaline was enveloping her in waves. Clary felt the air muss her hair, for the first time in many years, she was finally in charge.
Nevertheless, Isabelle kept her on her toes. Clary's muscles worked in ways they hadn't in such a long time, stretching and releasing and contracting. She was already starting to feel the soreness in her legs, but she was so close. So damn close. With one final push off the ground, she was in front of Isabelle, and in a matter of seconds, she crossed the line.
It was over.
Clary slowed her pace and took deep breaths. God, that was amazing. The adrenaline still pumped through her and she couldn't wait to run again. But when she looked to her side, she found Isabelle's annoyed dark eyes at her.
"What?" Clary asked innocently.
Isabelle placed her hands on her hips as they walked around the track for a cool-down. "I want a rematch."
"You know I'm ready any time of the day, Iz." She flipped her hair. "Anyway," she added, "I didn't come here to race, as much as I loved kicking your ass."
Izzy stopped short. "Is something wrong?"
Clary shrugged.
"Wait a second…" Isabelle stepped forward and turned Clary's cheek to one side. She elicited a gasp. "Is that—"
She moved away and watched her best friend's hand drop to her side. "T-this isn't what I wanted to talk about."
"Clary, what happened?" she asked slowly, as if speaking to a child.
Clary took a deep breath and exhaled. She could do this; she could tell Izzy. Isabelle was her best friend, after all. If she couldn't help her… who could? "My dad."
Izzy's dark eyes widened and without saying another word, she crushed Clary in a big hug. Clary sniffed and silently thanked God that at least she had Izzy in her life, if not anyone else.
"You know what would make you feel better?" Izzy asked as she pulled back. Her mouth lifted into a wicked grin.
Clary raised her brows in question.
"Teaching him a lesson."
She hesitated. The thought had crossed her mind, but she wasn't in the mood to face her father if she got in trouble. She wanted to get through the entire term without having a conversation with him.
As if Izzy understood her reluctance, she added, "I'll always be here to help if you need it, Clary."
"I know. It's just..." It's not as easy as it looks, she wanted to say, but the words were stuck. She didn't know what else to tell her when she didn't know whatshe was dealing with. A murderer. Or a lying father. Or both.
Clary knew what she needed to do ever since she left home. She needed to talk to Jace. She needed to talk to him as soon as possible.
When she looked back up at her best friend, she noticed Izzy had her brows furrowed. Clary cleared her throat and brightened her face, trying to forget about the bottled up emotions inside her. "Come on, let's go eat some ice-cream. I'm hungry after this work out."
Izzy looked unconvinced, but she played along. "You sound just like Simon."
The corners of Clary's mouth turned up. "How was your date?"
Isabelle raised her brows skeptically and looped her arm through Clary's. "I'll tell you what. We'll get ice-cream, but only if you fill me in on what's happening. Is that clear?" Her tone was threatening, but her eyes were soft.
Clary smiled. "Crystal."
The next day, Clary sat in her chair with her foot tapping impatiently against the dirty carpet in the classroom. Her eyes bored into her teacher's back as he wrote random numbers on the blackboard—okay, maybe they weren't random, but they looked confusing to her. For once, she wasn't paying attention. As soon as she'd stepped foot in the room, she was determined to do one and only one thing: speak with Jace. But she didn't know how that was going to happen because the moment she was inside with him, he refused to look at her. In fact, he seemed to be doing anything and everything to avoid her gaze.
It frustrated her, of course, but she knew she had to wait until class ended. So she waited. And waited. And ruefully glared at her nails. They were in much need of a manicure, and she was aware of the fact that if she asked Izzy to go out with her for a mini mani-pedi date, she'd go.
Breathing out slowly, Clary focused her attention back to the lecture and wrote down the notes dutifully. Within an hour, her page was filled with integrals, pluses, minuses, numbers, letters, flowers, and sketches of Jace on the margin. When she started on the seventh drawing of him, she let her pencil fall to the paper and dropped her head into her hands.
She felt a nudge against her side and almost yelped. Clary peeked through her fingers to see Simon grinning at her.
"What're you drawing?" he asked as if he didn't already know.
Clary rested her hands on her lap and rolled her eyes. "Don't act so naive."
That only made his smile bigger. "Got a crush on him, Ginge?"
She stuck her tongue out and made a disgusted face. But inside, she remembered the way Jace was with her when they were alone. How he looked when he wasn't her professor. What he said to her when no one was around.
"Good, 'cause that'd be gross."
Clary swallowed before answering. "Very," she managed to get out. She prayed her red cheeks wouldn't betray anything, because they shouldn't. She didn't like him. Not at all. She only thought of him as an attractive male. Was that a gross feeling to have? Attraction? Did he think she was attractive? Her stomach was taut with knots at the thought.
"Alright, everyone. Your first midterm is on Friday next week. Make sure to study. I might make it extra hard," Ja—Mr. Herondale warned, though his tone was playful.
A loud echo of groans reverberated throughout the room.
He chuckled and took a swig from his water. "Class dismissed. Don't forget to do your homework."
Clary bit the inside of her cheek from smiling. He looked so calm and serene when he spoke and taught the class. Clary wished she could be like that. She doubted she'd even be able to stand in front of the students and utter a hello.
"You coming?" Simon fidgeted with the straps of his backpack.
"Um," Clary looked to the front of the room where Jace stood, speaking with a student. "I need to ask him a question, but I'll be right out."
Simon nodded. "I'll be in the lobby."
Clary waited until the room only consisted of herself and her professor. She slung her bag over her shoulder and got up. She slowly walked over to him, making him glance up. He raised an eyebrow at her while he gathered his belongings.
"Did you need anything?" he asked as he bent to grab the pencil that had rolled off the table. He straightened up and Clary clenched her fists to stop the urge from reaching over to remove the blond curl hanging over his forehead.
He crossed his arms and looked at her expectantly. Clary took a deep breath before speaking.
"I wanted to ask about last night."
Jace's face twisted into something between hurt and rage. "I have a meeting to attend. If this conversation isn't related to the class, I suggest you leave."
Her cheeks flamed and anger coursed through her. "No. I deserve to know what happened."
He took steps toward her until they were mere centimeters apart. He narrowed his annoyed eyes at her, making Clary's stomach twist and knot in uncomfortable ways. "Go ask your bastard of a father, Clarissa."
His low voice and harsh comments caused Clary to flinch. "Don't call me that," she said shakily.
Jace pulled back and laughed humorlessly. "Isn't that your name, Clarissa?"
Clary swallowed back the vile words she wanted to spit at him. She didn't know why he was acting the way he was, but that didn't give him the permission to be rude to her. "Whatever, Mr. Herondale. Have a nice day."
She stepped around him to leave, but he wrapped his arm around her waist, and drew her back to where he stood. His touch sent small sparks of electricity through her entire body.
Clary dropped her gaze to his hand. The expanse of it stretched across her stomach. His fingers were long and slender; she knew that already, and the tingling sensations she got made her want to feel more. She wanted feel more of him.
And suddenly, the contact was lost. His arms were hanging at his sides and, if Clary wasn't mistaken, his cheeks pooled with blood. "Sorry," he muttered, but he raised his hand to tuck her curl behind her ear. Jace grazed his fingers along her cheek with a feather-light touch.
Her breathing hitched. "Jace…" she whispered, almost whimpering. His cool hand felt so good against her skin. It made the dull throbbing, which would come and go infrequently, vanish.
"Does it hurt?" He sounded pained, as if he were the one that was hurt.
"No," she lied breathlessly. Clary couldn't think straight. All she could focus on was how he was brushing his thumb against her skin. How gently he caressed her face. Clary would have never thought someone like him, someone with big, strong hands, was capable of being so tender.
Clary rested her hand on his shoulder to keep herself from swaying. She felt his muscles tighten under her touch. Jace slid his other arm around her waist, but instead of tugging her to him, he disentangled himself from her.
She blinked and almost stumbled back. The loss of contact confused her. She felt as if she'd broken her arms and legs and didn't know where to go, or how to support herself. Clary wanted the warmth again. She wanted the support. She needed it.
"Clary—" Jace started, but was cut off just as her phone rang. The song "Your Love's a Drug" resonated through the room, indicating it was Sebastian who was calling her.
"Sorry." Clary fished her phone out and turned around so that she was facing away from Jace.
"Hello?" she said, but she was still a little out of breath. She struggled to keep her voice calm.
"Hey, muffin."
A smile lit her face. "Hi," she replied softly.
"Where are you?"
Clary furrowed her brows. "School. Why?"
He chuckled. "Nothing. There will be a present waiting for you next week at home. I can't wait for you to see it."
"Well," said Clary, "It's not next week yet, and I'm not at home, so you'll have to wait. What is it?"
"You'll see. Anyway, I'm hungry. I'll call you in a bit. I love you, babe."
She smiled. "Love you too, Seb."
Sighing, she placed her cell back into her bag before heading back toward Jace. He was separating sheets of paper in his binder, his long and slender fingers flicking a couple pages every now and then. He rolled up the sleeves of his navy blue shirt to his elbows and ran his hand through his unruly hair.
"If you're done checking me out, I have work to do."
"I w-wasn't checking you out," she stuttered.
The corner of his mouth pulled into a smirk. "Nice try. But," he paused and grabbed the eraser behind Clary to remove the equations on the board, "I know girls like you."
Clary sucked in a breath. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Jace finished rubbing off the chalk and turned to face Clary. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Wasn't that your boyfriend on the phone?"
"Yeah..." Clary clasped her hands together to stop herself from shaking her professor. He wasn't making any sense and she was slowly running out of patience.
"Messes around with every male they set their eyes on," he said at last.
The words hit her like a tsunami wave, so hard and harsh. She exhaled slowly to keep her cool before responding. "You don't know anything." Clary stepped closer to him. "And Mr. Herondale?" She pressed her palms against his chest before curling her fingers around the collar of his shirt. "Forget I ever wanted to ask you anything."
Jace narrowed his golden eyes and opened his mouth to reply, but Clary was out of the room in a blur. She stormed down the hall and into the lobby, where Simon was waiting for her. He looked at her questioningly, his brown eyes wide with curiosity, but he didn't ask anything. Instead, he motioned for her to follow him, and within a couple minutes, Clary and Simon were on the train.
He tried to keep a conversation going, but she couldn't help thinking about what her teacher had said. Messes around with every male. She wasn't messing around. She loved her boyfriend. He was the best thing to ever happen to her. So what did Jace mean by that?
Once Clary and her friend were out of the subway, they headed toward her house. Part of her wanted to go back and demand what he wanted from her, but the other wanted to know what was going on between him and her father. Was he truly responsible for her mother's death like her father claimed he was? Even though she knew Jace was capable of being the alpha jerk of all time, he didn't seem like a murderer. As far as she could tell, anyway. But then again, what did she know? He was just as good at reading her as she was him. Clary didn't know much about him to begin with, but she intended to find out more. And getting in arguments with Jace certainly wouldn't help.
"Uh, Ginge?"
She looked up at the tinge of worry in his voice. "What?"
Simon pushed the bridge of his glasses up his nose and pointed in front of him. "What's going on there?"
Clary followed his finger and squinted. There were a couple cop cars, flashing their red, white, and blue lights. The cars were clustered together with a man in a suit throwing his arms in the air every few seconds. Along with the policemen, Clary saw more sparks of light: media. She was filled with confusion, and soon realized with a sinking feeling that it was her father who was in the middle of the mob. She knew her father was prone to attention when he started on new cases, but usually it was just the press. She wondered why inspectors were there this time.
Without noticing what she was doing, her feet carried her to the fiasco, with Simon right behind her.
When she reached her father, she stopped and glanced at the scene in unfolding in front of her. Her father, whose face was contorted with rage, held his phone out to a police officer. His white blond hair stood in different directions, most likely from pulling at it in frustration. Clary would have found this scenario hilarious if it weren't for her father, who looked up when she was near, and sent a murderous glare in her direction.
He stopped speaking to the inspector and pushed through the others until he reached Clary. She took a small step back, only to hit a wall—no, not a wall. Simon. Her head fell back to see him smiling encouragingly at her.
She focused back to her rage-filled father and crossed her arms over her chest—an action she was used to seeing Jace do. "Feeling a little low on esteem again, father?"
Anger flashed through his dark eyes, but it was quickly gone. "Clarissa, darling." He pulled her into an embrace. "I'm glad you're safe."
She pushed away from him and felt Simon tug her toward him. "Safe? What are you talking about?"
Her father grabbed her arm, dragging her away from Simon and the crowd. She bit her lip to stop herself from screaming—and considered causing a commotion for a split second—but he started speaking again.
"There was a burglar in our house. I believe it was your professor's father."
"How do you know it was Ja-Mr. Herondale's father? How do you know him?" she asked, half-listening. Her eyes darted to Simon, who was walking quickly toward them. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that he was making progress.
"I've told you, I won't explain anything until you've matured enough to understand."
"Fine. I didn't expect you to," she snapped, trying to wriggle herself free from his hold, but that only made him tighten his grip more.
"Listen to me, Clarissa. Do you want a repeat of last night?" he gritted.
Clary flinched. "N-no—"
"Hey Ginge, we gotta work on homework, remember?" Simon spoke as soon as he was near her.
She nodded and wrenched her arm away. Clary faced Simon and earned a grin from him. "Let's go."
"Don't turn away from me, daughter." Her father sneered from behind her.
"You've lost the right to call me that a long time ago," she spat back at him.
Clary grabbed onto Simon and elbowed her way through the horde. Once they made it inside, she led the way through the hallway. They passed pictures of her childhood, with both her mother and father, and some of the couple laughing happily. Clary wanted to pluck the frames off the walls and throw them on the floor, but she didn't want to scare Simon. Especially since Izzy would kill her if she drove away her potential boyfriend-to-be.
"So," Simon spoke once they were settled on her bed, "Want to tell me exactly what's going on with you?"
Clary, who lay on her bed with her hands rested on her stomach, sighed. "I don't think you want to know."
He pushed his glasses up again before turning to face her. "I think I should know what's going on in my friend's life."
The corner of her mouth turned up. "Which reminds me, I don't think you've told me if you like Isabelle."
His cheeks and the tip of his ears grew pink.
Clary slapped his arm playfully. "Don't act like a girl. Spill."
He rolled his eyes. "I don't resemble a girl. At all."
"Uh-huh. Tell that to your blush, silly boy."
At that, he only became redder. "You're changing the subject, Ginge. You know, you should be a lawyer. You're good at manipulating people."
Clary's breath caught and she looked away, the fun and humorous mood suddenly gone. She avoided looking at him and sat up. Clary heaved her bag onto her bed and removed her school belongings, placing them in front of her.
"Did I say something?" Simon asked, his face bewildered.
"No," she lied. "But didn't you want to work on math?"
Clary watched as realization dawned on his face. "Shit. Your dad's the manipulative dick Izzy keeps talking about, isn't he?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
He nodded in understanding. "If you need anything, I'm here for you."
She cracked a smile. "You better be here for my math test, too. I can't fail it."
And just like that, the tension was gone. The heaviness in the air vanished. And there wasn't anyone she wanted to hide from. Not her father. Not the media. It was just her and her friend with a bunch of textbooks and notebooks to keep them occupied. Just the kind of afternoon she liked. Nice. Sweet. And simple.
Clary was getting tired of running away from her father. Every single time he was in the same room as her, and attempted to converse with her, she'd excuse herself and head outside. For the past couple of days, she ate out or stayed with Izzy. She avoided her father at all costs. Thankfully she had both Isabelle and Simon. They'd invite her over if they were going on a date, but Clary tried to not interfere. She exerted herself with schoolwork, especially during the weekend, but even that she didn't want to think about. Her first exam was only a couple of days away, and she was lost. Clary knew she could go in and ask for help, but after their heated argument—and with her ending up pushing him—she didn't feel like facing him, or the consequences, which wasn't to say he hadn't made an effort to talk to her. Because he had. He'd called on her in class several times when she wasn't ready, and hinted at her that she should seek help from a tutor.
Well, fat chance. Clary couldn't care less about the course. She could care less about what her father thought of Jace. She could care less about Jace. Could care less about what he thought of her. At least that was what she kept telling herself. But she knew that was a lie.
Monday. It'd been a week since she joined this class. And yet she didn't feel any different about the subject of math. She still despised it and wished for it to die in the deepest pit of hell.
Sighing mournfully, she walked inside the classroom and headed toward her seat. She set her bag on the floor and sat down. Clary noticed a piece of paper on her desk and she glanced up to see if anyone had dropped it from an earlier class. But when her gaze was met with a knowing golden one, she knew it was from Jace.
Her heart beat quickly against her chest as she opened the note.
Meet me in my office after class.
-Mr. H
Her stomach fluttered with butterflies and she couldn't stop herself from grinning at the note. Clary wasn't sure if she was going insane, but she hadn't received a note from a boy—man—since high school. Not even Sebastian was into anything of the sort. It was a miracle if he ever sent her a good morning text before she woke up. Usually, Clary ended up sending him one instead. So as much as she wasn't sure what she felt about her professor, she was smiling ear to ear by what he'd done.
Clary paid attention the entire class. Hung on to his every word. He'd written down practice problems on the blackboard for the class to work on. She kept glancing down at the piece of paper, wondering if she should give him a chance. It seemed like Jace was making an effort to speak to her, but she didn't want to get in another fight. She'd had enough arguments in the last couple of days to last her a lifetime.
"Does anyone know the answer to this problem? You'll need to know it." Jace asked, bringing Clary back to the class.
Simon raised his hand.
"Come on down, then."
Simon walked over to Jace, who handed him chalk. Jace took several steps back to watch him go through the problem. It took him less than a minute to finish before he dropped the chalk into Jace's hand and went back to his seat.
"That's correct. Good." Mr. Herondale proceeded to wipe the board and wrote down another question. And another. And for the next hour, he kept going through problems after problems.
Clary's head about was to burst open. She needed the class to be over. This much math was hurting her brain and she couldn't handle it. She peeked a glance at the clock above the blackboard, and breathed a sigh of relief. Only five more minutes left. Only five. After that, she'd speak with her professor and she could go home. And possibly receive what Sebastian was supposed to send her, which she hadn't a clue about. It wasn't her birthday anytime soon, so it couldn't be a birthday present. Her mind was coming up blank. She didn't know what it could be.
"...See you guys in the next class. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
She raised her head to find students getting up and leaving the room.
"See ya, Ginge. Izzy is waiting for me by the pizza place down the street," said her friend.
"Have fun."
He hurried out of the class and once again, Clary was left alone. She turned to the front of the room, hoping to see her teacher, but he wasn't there. She frowned. Had he left before everyone else? Or had he said something important when she'd zoned out?
Without wasting another minute, Clary grabbed the note and briskly walked to his office. She reached it in record time, and the door stood ajar. She nudged it open with her toe and peeped inside. His desk was clean of any files and papers; only a cup was situated next to his green water bottle.
Clary knocked twice and crossed the threshold. She let herself wander over to his table before settling down on one of the chairs. She couldn't help but think about the last time she was here. The events rushed back to her in a blur: the slap, the running out, the crying, the apologizing…
She shook her head and stood up. He clearly wasn't here. She didn't know if what was written on the piece of paper she held in her hand was a joke or if he actually had meant it. With one sweeping look around the room, and no sign of him anywhere, Clary started toward the door. Just as she reached the doorway, she heard peals of laughter coming from somewhere near her. She quickly moved to stand outside and glanced down the hall. There, she saw Jace's arm draped around Aline's waist. She threw her head back and giggled before kissing the corner of his mouth.
A shot of jealousy coursed through Clary and she turned around to hide behind a wall, hoping neither of them would see her. She controlled her breathing and clenched her eyes shut, then slowly opened them. Is this what her teacher had wanted her to see? That he was taken? But Clary hadn't sent any indication toward him that she was attracted to him, as much as she liked to admit to herself that she was.
Pulling on the strap of her bag, she set out to go home. A nice warm bed awaited her and unlike her professor, it didn't disappoint. Her questions regarding her mother could be answered later, when he wasn't busy mingling with his coworker.
Clary walked through the throng in the streets in a daze. People pushed past her, many elbowing her, and others brushing by as briskly as they could. But Clary was beyond the point of caring. Only one image was plastered in her mind: Jace with Aline. How he held her. How close he was to her. How he made her smile. Clary's stomach twisted in knots and she hated this feeling. Hated with a burning passion. She wasn't like this. She was the type of girl who was happy with her boyfriend. Who didn't go after other guys. She wanted to prove her teacher wrong. She was not the type of girl he thought her to be. There was only one love in her life: Sebastian. Him and only him. Jace was just… eye candy. She'd never want him over her own boyfriend. Never.
She fished her phone out from her bag and sent a text to Sebastian.
I miss you. Call me when you're free?
Clary shoved the cell back to where she'd received it from, and paused. She was now standing in front of where she lived. She unlocked the door and rotated the knob before swinging it open. The lights were out and Clary flicked the switch on.
The living room flooded with brightness from the bulbs above her. Clary set her bag down on the couch, and froze.
She sensed someone else near her. Clary swiftly turned around and a gasp fell from her lips as her gaze landed on the figure in front of her.
"Sebastian?"
A/N: I know, I know, I know. So many questions. But don't worry, Clary's in the same boat as you guys. All I'm going to say it: be patient. I promise your questions will get answered in time.
Also, I realize that many of you might be frustrated with how Jace is acting, but there is a reason for that. We don't know what situation he's been/going through. All I'm going to say is: trust. Trust me.
See you all next month, lovelies. xo
P.S.: In case you wanted to know the ringtone Clary had for Seb, it's: Your Love's a Drug by Leighton Meester (Blair from Gossip Girl). Listen to it. I love it. (Thank you rippingbutterflywings for recommending it to me!)