Know I said I'd update Friday, but my dad's Internet is a bitch. Thanks to my reviewers. And I went with everyone's advice and made this chapter a little longer, so don't blame me if it seems a little rambly and all over the place.
Disclaimer: I've done enough disclaiming. I think it's perfectly clear I'm not creative enough to come up with these characters myself.
Chapter 6
Jace couldn't believe his luck. He'd been put into art class. Fucking art class. He couldn't draw a goddamn stick figure—unless it was doing something questionable with another stick figure, which he figured wouldn't fly with the teacher.
Sighing to himself, Jace glanced around the painfully colorful art room. Looking at the color wheel was giving him a headache. He preferred grays and blacks, which were as depressing as his life.
Whoa. Jace pinched his thigh. He'd broken his promise to himself: no depressing/maudlin thoughts until he got to a place where he could deal with them.
He was pulled from his reverie when he saw Clary walk into the room. She obviously hadn't noticed him. Her red curls fluttered off her shoulders in the light breeze that came from the skylight. She walked to a table and was about to sit down when Jace decided to have some fun. Art was going to suck-might as well spice it up with a little Clary-torture. Even after only knowing her for about five hours, there was something intriguing about getting under her skin.
"Fancy meeting you here," he said, putting an arrogant smirk on his face.
Clary whirled to face him, staring at him in disbelief, much to his satisfaction.
"What are you doing in this class?"
Jace grinned at the fact she seemed to be flipping out, but part of him wanted to know why. He brushed the thought aside and answered her question.
"I wanted to be in wood shop, but it was full. This was the only class left with room for me."
By the look on Clary's face, Jace could tell she wanted to go into that wood shop class and make room for him no matter what it took, but he overlooked it then.
"Can I sit with you?" he asked. "I don't know anyone else in this class."
"You know Kaelie," she retorted, un-disguised dislike in her voice and expression.
"Just between you and me," said Jace, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "She seems like a dumbass bitch, though I've heard she can throw one hell of a party" It was so cute how jealous Clary was of Kaelie.
"So can I sit with you or not?"
"Sure. Whatever. I don't give a damn."
"How very kind of you to show such an interest in whether I feel welcome in this class or not," Jace quipped, moving around the table to sit beside her. She scooted her chair as far as possible from his, like he were something disgusting. What the hell was her problem with him?
But he didn't have much time to ponder his question, because Ms. Morgen had started addressing the class.
"Hey, guys. Hope you had a great summer. Mine was awesome. Let's cut the crap—I don't care how your summer was, and most of you don't care how mine was. So let's just skip it and move onto art. I'm sure you know the rules—no running or stabbing each other with scissors, no getting high off of the fumes from the rubber cement, no mixing paint colors without permission. And if you don't know the self-explanatory rules, then you'll just have to learn the hard way."
Jace stared at her. Despite his feelings about art class, he couldn't help liking Ms. Morgen.
"So!" Ms. Morgen spread her hands. "There are packs of drawing paper, pastel crayons, and everything else you might need on the back counter. This week, I'll be evaluating what you can do in every department—drawing, painting, and stuff like that. Today, you can draw whatever you want—as long as it doesn't involve anything that has to do with things I'd have to send you to the office or counselor for. I really don't want to have to deal with the paperwork or have to send any more e-mails than I have to to the man of the school. Have fun! You can talk all you want, just don't annoy me."
And she took a seat on the stool behind her desk, surveying the students as they collected around the supplies. When she was sure nobody in the class was getting high or stabbing anybody, she turned to her computer and began to type, doing God knows what.
Jace picked up paper and a box of those oil crayons Ms. Morgen had mentioned before returning to the table, sitting back down in his seat, and staring blankly at the page he was supposed to create something on. He glanced around the room. Kaelie was drawing something in hot pink—shocker—and seemed to be absorbed in her work, when she wasn't pulling her tank top lower and lower, showing the guy across from her something pink and lacy. Turning away in disgust, he looked at clary. Her head was bent over her paper, drawing with the ease of someone who has been doing art for a long time. Her hair hid her face from view, and Jace felt an urge growing inside him—the urge to brush the hair out of her face. But he didn't, figuring Clary would probably forgo Ms. Morgen's "no stabbing anyone with scissors" rule.
Jace reached over and tapped Clary's shoulder.
"What?" she asked without looking up.
"I don't know what to draw," Jace put as much patheticness into his voice as he could. "Can you help me?"
"What do you like to do?"
I like to cut myself, thought Jace. But I can't draw myself covered in blood.
"I like to do things in the bedroom." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, not remembering she wasn't looking at him.
"So draw a dick on your paper. Maybe Ms. Morgen will kick you out of the class. It would do you and me a lot of good."
"Why do you hate me?"
"Because you're a dirty, arrogant douchebag. And you're related to Isabelle Lightwood."
"Okay. First of all, I'm not the dirty one. You were the one who just said dick. Second of all, what do you have against Izzy? She's shallow and annoying sometimes, but she isn't that bad. And just so you know, I'm not arrogant. I just happen to love myself above all people."
Clary sighed. "Forget it. Let's draw."
Jace shrugged. "Whatever you say." But he intended to find out what was up with this chick. If it was the last thing he did.