a/n: I knew I promised this a while ago. But then there was life and family stuff. Like major life and family stuff. My mom had a stroke, my house got broken into, I lost a job, I worked on a sailboat for two month which meant no internet or computer, death of a close friend, and some other stuff. So all of everything got put on the back burner. But here I am ready to go.

IMPORTANT: I was looking for a character last chapter and while some submitted ideas, some I might implement, and I didn't find quite what I need. So here's the next way to find a character. I'm going to be doing a submit your own character. Of any and all characters submitted I'll be implementing one as a major character. Two additional ones will be chosen to be used as secondary characters. Interested? Here's the form I need.

Name:

Age:

Detailed description of appearance:

Short bio:

Personality:

Other:

Additionally you have to submit a good review with this. And by good I don't mean that one that favors me and speaks to my ego-I have big enough of one already, no need to give me undeserved praise. I want a review that tells me what you love, what you hate, what you want more of, what you want less of, why you started this story and why you kept reading it, would you recommend it to others on the site, what's one thing I could improve, and generally everything you would want to get in a review for one of your stories.

Disclaimer: But, seriously, I don't own it.

Alec's expression is serious as I turn the dial to open the locker, each movement aggravating the blistered burns hidden under the sleeves of my shirt, "I was worried when you didn't answer any of my texts. Your dad seemed pretty pissed."

He had no idea. We had seen my dad pissed on numerous occasions, every time we lost a soccer match or the value of his stocks fell. But this time he had been more than pissed, he had been caught in a murderous rage all weekend and I had the fortune of being the only one around to deal with it. I was surprised that I had been allowed to go to school at all.

Two deep burn marks on my arms, an ugly green bruise on my ribs from the night before, and a stomach tight from being locked in my room sans meals for two days were the only things I had to show for that rage of his. Or course I doubted that he was actually finished with punishing my disobedience or teaching me just how much control he had over my life. He was probably thinking of some twisted ordeal that he would spring on me as soon as I thought it was safe. It seemed to his favored method of operation-direct and brutal initial onslaught, a moment when the storm seemed to pass, and then a knife in the back when I wasn't looking.

"He took my phone again." I say in explanation as to why I hadn't any of the texts my friend claims to have sent. And it was the truth. He had confiscated my phone as soon as he thought of it and then promptly crushed it under the heel of one foot to ensure I didn't try retrieving it without him noticing. "Gave me a lecture about not sneaking out and tried grounding me. But that's bullshit since I'm already grounded until I die."

Which wasn't a pleasant notion no matter how long or hard I looked at it. Knowing him he'd find the key to immortality and keep my prisoner in his house until I passed away of old age. He'd do it just because he thought that since I was born to him he'd hold complete power over me for all eternity. But I wasn't planning on letting that happen. I was counting the days until I turned eighteen and could back my bags, say aufeidersen, and never see him or is house again.

I pull the books I need for my next class from my locker, gritting my teeth as they jostle the injuries on my arms. I'll have to give that to my father, he did place them exactly where they would cause the most discomfort, every time I moved my arms there was a flare of the burning pain that set my teeth on edge and I had to consciously keep from wincing.

And though I tried to keep any discomfort hidden Alec caught the grimace and there's instantly a hint of concern in his bottle blue eyes. He knows.

I know he knows. But he's also that friend who you can trust to know something like this. He's not going to insist I call the police or run off to tell his parents or a teacher. He's good like that; he can keep not only his secrets but those of his friends as well.

The locker door is shut just as Aline decides to make her first appearance of the day, looking like she just stepped off the set for a Britney Spear's video-the studs in her nose and her navel matching, heels a little too high for high school hall ways, and lipstick marring the stick of the lollipop in her mouth. And though I can't stand her incessant whining or her psycho bitch tendencies I do occasionally miss having her under my arm as we walked through the school, the power couple that everyone wanted to be. But as soon as I think this she opens her mouth and I'm glad that we seem to be officially off again, "Did you get in trouble with your daddy, Jacey-Wacey?"

I roll my eyes at her and decide to see if just ignoring her will be enough for her to move on to another victim. Maybe my father's lessons are starting to sink in, not letting forth the first snarky comment that comes to mind and instead holding my tongue.

But, of course, that isn't enough to get rid of the girl. If anything it just makes her feel as if she's been given permission to keep at it, "Oh? Is poor, little Jace not going to say anything? Did his mean daddy tell him he couldn't go to parties with the big kids anymore? Poor baby."

"At least I have a daddy to tell not to go to those parties." My tone mocks hers as I scowl down at her, "He didn't run off with the first cheap whore that crossed his path."

If looks could kill then I'd be dead in the hallway between the English department and the cafeteria. But I'm well aware by now that looks don't kill so I just meet her glare with a raised eyebrow. I doubt she'll actually have anything else worthwhile to throw at me. Normally if the person she's trying to get to doesn't visibly react within the first two or three comments she either cycles back and starts saying the same things over or she stalks off to come up with new insults.

"Go fuck yourself, Jace." She pushes between Alec and I as she marches over to her waiting posse. I hear a few comments about what an asshole I am as they move off, but I've heard that often enough that it has no effect on me whatsoever.

Alec's comment of, "Someone forgot to take their crazy pills today." Has me laughing as we turn into history class just as the bell rings. Seats are taken and it isn't long before I'm lost in the haze of boredom that comes with taking notes on Mesopotamian culture.

It's the door opening that calls for a brief pause in the lecture, something that every single student in the room is thankful for. As one we turn to look at whoever caused the disruption. And just like that they become even more valuable. Teachers here are notorious for humiliating the new students by asking nosy, personal questions they have no business asking; with any luck this new girl will be subject to this and in doing so will free the rest of us from hearing a single more sentence about anything that can be remotely related to Mesopotamia.

She isn't much to look at, too short to be really noticeable with red hair that could handle a good brushing and clothes that aren't suited to her body type. Even my thoughts sound like Aline and this just cements that fact that I want nothing to do with her for a good chunk of time. I twirl a pencil between my fingers and sit back in my chair as she approaches the front to talk to the teacher. I exchange looks with one of my teammates and he shrugs, thinking the same thing I am-a new girl is always a good thing to have, more options for everyone, but she wasn't anything spectacular to look at.

"Well, well, well." Professor Jeremiah clears his throat as he repeats the word over and over. I almost want to jump up and get him a glass of water; see if that would keep him from being so horribly dry. He'd do better as a monk or librarian than a man who is supposed to keep unruly teens in check all day. Even at his loudest his voice is so quiet that he is almost silent and despite his thick glasses I'm positive that he has cataracts that prevent him from really seeing what is going on in his classroom. "It seems like we've gotten a new student. Say hello class."

And I can almost hear the sound of two dozen sets of eyes being rolled at the stupidity of it as everyone grumbles a hello.

"If you'd like to introduce yourself…"

It's obvious that's the last thing this girl wants to do. She looks like she'd rather the ground just opened up and swallowed her or a piano fell from the ceiling and crushed her or a million other things would happen that would prevent her from having to complete the task at hand. But after a moment when she has no such luck she opens her mouth to speak, "Well, my name is Clary. I just moved here from New York city with my mom and stepdad…"

A city girl. She'd be disappointed with where she was stuck now. Though it wasn't completely tiny our city was by no means comparable to New York City. At least she probably wasn't stuck miles off in the country like my family's estate. She'd be able to have something to do to occupy her time other than reading old books and hiding from her angry father.

"And what do your parents do?"

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and then back, "My mom's an artist and my dad is opening a new book store."

Strike that. She probably did spend all of her time reading old books. But at least that was by her own choice and not because she was expected to have all of Dante, Chaucer, and Medici memorized by heart because they were somehow still relevant to the modern world. She probably read Dickens and had conversations with her normal family about whether the musical version of Oliver Twist did the book justice or not.

Sometimes, after days when my father has been unbearable, I try and imagine what my classmates' lives are like. What they talk about and watch and whether or not they getting lectured for forgetting how to conjugate an archaic Latin word. And though I know their lives are by no means perfect I can't help the little bubble of jealousy that is constantly hanging in my chest. If they knew that they would probably all be besides themselves with wonder. What on Earth could popular, good-looking, rich, Jace Morganstern have to be jealous of?

Bitterness doesn't become anyone well but at least I play mine off as cockiness. And that is only acceptable because everyone in the school wishes they had something like my life. If they ever knew that half of my sarcastic comments derived from some form of jealousy I would never be able to show my face in public again.

She's answering another question, something I missed while my mind wandered, but judging from the answer it had to do with hobbies, "I do lots of art." And somehow this doesn't surprise me at all. With her loose green shirt and the pencil smudge on her hand she seems like the type who would rather spend hours creating a perfect scene than dealing with stupid teenagers.

Our professor seems to have decided that is enough questioning, for the moment, and takes out a seating chart; a moment of studying it and she is assigned to her seat. There's a look of relief on her face at having escaped without having to answer anything awkward and personal as she makes her way down the row towards me. Eyes are scanning the class and then back again, I see the way they pause on me and raise one eyebrow, instantly her blush is as red as her and she ducks her eyes away again.

There are two ways girls seem to react to me, either they decide that they ought to throw caution to the wind and flirt shamelessly or they stare until they realize I'm aware and then go back into their shells. Though both get rather aggravating I have to admit that being bold is generally more appealing, at least they know what they want, as long as they're classy enough to at least introduce themselves before they pull me into the closest janitor's closet.

She passes by me and sits down in the chair. There's the normal introduction and then I hear her sifting papers around as the lecture picks up from where it left off. After a moment I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end in response to being stared at, I turn slightly and flick my eyes in her direction. And just as I suspected she's focused on me. The cock y side of me wonders if she's looking just to look or if the artist in her is attracted to my appearance.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer."

As soon as the words are out of my mouth some of the interest fades from her eyes. I can already tell that one sentence was enough to form an opinion of me in her mind-pretty, popular asshole, and I'm not going to say that she would be too far off.

Her lips twitch in a slightly annoyed smile, "Maybe I should take a video instead. Prove that people like you can actually form coherent sentences."

I wasn't expecting a snarky response from her. I figured there would just be more blushing and head ducking and so I give a slightly amused chuckle, "Oh? People like me?"

She gives me a flat look, "People who spend more time checking their appearance in the mirror than they do concentrating on anything that requires thinking."

And if she's already dismissed me that quickly I'm fairly certain that she'd not going to be one of those girls who gets blown away by a heated look or a laughing comment. And though she isn't my type at all I can tell she would be a bit of a challenge to even befriend and if there's one thing that I enjoy, it's a good challenge.

a/n: I know the ending is hella awkward. But that's because I cut the chapter halfway through since I figured you would rather get a shorter chapter with a lame ending now than waiting another owever long for a longer chapter. So yeah…