Cassandra Clare owns what I wish was my life.
I know . . . depressing.
Jace tapped his pencil against the hard oak desk; shifting uncomfortably in his seat as Mr. Hanson droned on about the polar coordinates of a circle or something like that. . .
He made a groan under his breath as the tapping of his pencil increased. Did the clock always move that slow? He couldn't really remember but it never seemed to before. Every tick seemed like a bomb dropping as Jace trained his eyes on the infernal machine.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Usually he wouldn't be this excited to get out of class and to get football practice but the scout's were coming soon.
Coming to see him.
He felt his hand moving faster as his jittery leg started shaking his desk, the clock over Mr. Hanson's bald head continued to tick at its painstakingly slow pace. This was the breaking point, if he didn't prove himself to the few scouts that showed they wouldn't spread the word of his talent, which he had much of, and he would never get a scholarship and away from this hell hole of a town.
"Mr. Herondale?" Jace stopped his leg instantly and looked up as Mr. Hanson's large shadow settled over him. The man's face was permanently sunburned as his beady eyes regarded the golden teen."Are we boring you?" He said as his hand came down hard on Jace's and stopped the pencil that was now being hurdled against his desk.
This was the big question, the question that set my whole existence into motion. You know when teachers say "there's no such thing as a stupid question"? They are absolutely and completely lying to you. Of course, there are stupid questions, exhibited right here with Mr. Hanson's question. I mean, of course he was boring me. Who in God's green Earth wants to learn about polar coordinates? When was I ever going to use polar coordinates?
Never. That's when.
It was a purely innocent but stupid question, the type that was supposed to intimidate you and make you sit up straight, eyes facing forward and pretend you gave a shit about whatever they were teaching. Which, I actually did know what he was teaching; that polar coordinates stuff. That was a positive step in the right direction.
Anyway, back then I had to be a pain in the ass. It was part of my. . .charm. Clary told me once that it was part of who I was but it had nothing to do with charm. She was the only one who ever had told me that, but then again she was different from all the other girls. She was different from all the other people in the world. Clary was her own person and along the way she taught me how to be one too.
But that lesson would come later so, naturally, when Mr. Hanson asked this mediocre question; I answered it the best way I knew how. The way I knew everyone would enjoy.
"Honestly," Jace said sinking further into his seat, his long legs spreading and taking up more of the desk space than they should have. His made his face hold a look of disinterest, which he knew would get Mr. Hanson to turn a deeper red and make the vein on the side of his forehead pop out. Jace locked eyes with Jordan, who seemed to know what was going to happen because he shook his head and pleaded with him from across the room with his eyes. "Yes, you're boring me quite a bit."
In truth, it was stupid to answer that way but I was still growing back then. And I was so far lost I didn't even know who I was anymore.
That innocent question was answered just as innocently. And of course was gifted with. . .
Mr. Hanson's face bunched up and Jace took it as a success when he saw the vein that was popping out of his teacher's forehead. "That's it, Mr. Herondale, I have been lenient before but I'm through. I'll be seeing you in detention, I'm sure you and I can find something to do that's less boring there together."
"What!" Jace's mouth dropped open as he sat up straight in his desk. "You can't do that, Mr. Hanson—"
"Oh, on the contrary," Mr. Hanson smiled; it was one of relief and not force. He took some sort of pride in taking Jace Herondale by surprise. "I can and will do just that."
"But, sir, we need Jace." Jordan said from his side of the room, having now taken off his fingers from pinching the bridge of his nose and had stopped slamming his palm into his forehead. He shot Jace a glare before pleading further with the red faced teacher. "We have a huge game against Bakersfield tomorrow and if we lose than we can't go into the championship leagues. Jace has to be at practice, he's our quarterback." This seemed to soften Mr. Hanson slightly as he trained his gaze on Jordan. "I'm sure if Jace sincerely apologized it would be enough, wouldn't it, Mr. Hanson?" Jordan threw his 10-watt smile in just to seal the deal.
See, our school took great pride in its football team; a lot of the major funding went toward it and that had many of the other students in outrage, Clary being one of them. Even, teachers took great interest in the football department of the school; sometimes they overlooked homework or other discrepancies that could get in the way of messing with the footballer's game.
Especially me.
My dad was the coach, Stephan Herondale, but that wasn't all he did; he also happened to be the Mayor of our sorry little town. And because of it, that meant people gave his son certain privileges other students didn't get. At the time, I liked that; getting leniencies for things. It was an easy way of life but I would learn how corrupt it was too; that there was another path to life that was much more difficult, involved a lot more work, but was so much more rewarding.
Mr. Hanson squinted his beady eyes, they reminded Jace of the crab he had for dinner last night, at Jordan before he settled his disturbingly small gaze on Jace. He raised one golden eyebrow in response knowing that Mr. Hanson was going to take the bait. "That seems. . .fair. I think I can overlook Mr. Herondale's rudeness if he apologizes."
Jace knew this was his chance; his way out of detention. He knew how mad his dad would be if he found out that Jace was missing practice; a practice that was right before a huge game. Actually mad was too soft of a word; he'd be enraged, livid, infuriated, irate, furious. You name it, he'd be it.
But he couldn't seem to swallow that damn pride of his; the one that kept creeping to the surface; the one that reminded everyone of who he was, who his family was, that reminded people that he was Jace Herondale. A boy to be held in high-esteem or praised like a monumental God.
Jace snorted, his head falling forward and his golden hair with it as his trademark smirk fell into place. From across the room, Jace heard Jordan groan and let his head fall to the desk's surface with a bang, obviously knowing what he was about to do. He regarded Mr. Hanson like the man had no more worth than gum on the bottom of his shoe. "I hope you enjoy waiting then, Mr. Hanson, because it will be a sorry day in hell before I apologize to someone like you." His smirk seemed to deepen as Mr. Hanson clenched his hands into fists and his face became redder. "In fact, while you're at it, you can start holding your breath too. That should make things interesting."
The bell rang just as Mr. Hanson slammed the light pink slip of paper on Jace's desk. "I will meet you in room 340, Mr. Herondale." Mr. Hanson seemed to be trying to calm himself as he took a deep but shuttering breath, his nostrils flared with rage. "Don't be late."
Jace gave him a mocking two-fingered salute and slipped out the door before Mr. Hanson could yell about that too, knowing he had no intention of actually going to detention.
Jordan appeared beside him as they walked, his face scrunched up with amused disgust. "Just couldn't help yourself, could you?"
Jace turned toward his friend as they weaved down the hallway, people parting like the Red Sea as they passed. He plastered his favorite smirk on his face as he turned to his friend. "Of course not, did you really think I would apologize to him?" Jace let out a laugh as Jordon frowned and shook his head.
"He is your elder, Jace. You do owe him a certain amount of respect."
Jace rolled his eyes. "Respect doesn't come with age, Jordan. It comes with connections. Which I happen to have; pretty strong connections, in fact." Jace let out a laugh that made Jordan curl his nose. "I happen to be pretty close to the man that signs his paycheck."
Jordan stopped as Jace let out another chuckle before frowning, wondering why his friend wasn't laughing with him. Jace turned, his hand holding the one strap of his backpack he had on his shoulder tight, as he looked at Jordan. "Is that really how you feel?"
Jace snorted, which was supposed to have been a sarcastic laugh, but was more uncertain than he intended as he stared at his friend. Jordan's brown eyes seemed to be filled with disappointment, something Jace hadn't seen from him before. Or perhaps had just never noticed. "Of course, it's the way life works."
"Just because your dad signs his checks that makes you better than him?"
Jace rolled his eye before he grabbed Jordan's arm and pulled him along. "Yes, that's what I just said."
Jordan pulled back sharply, taking Jace by surprise when his eyes saddened and stepped back. "You know sometimes I'm not so sure who you are or if I even really know you."
Jace blinked. "What?" He seemed to snap out of it because he smirked again. "Are we having a bonding moment? Because I didn't bring any tissues and I'm all out of estrogen and chocolate."
Jordan just frowned and shook his head. "You have three different people in you, Jace. The football player, the popular kid, and Jonathon Christopher Herondale: the Mayor's son. I'm never really sure who I'm talking to. But I sure as hell know it's not Jace."
For some reason, this made him mad. Who was Jordan to know who he was? He was Jace Herondale, he didn't need this shit and he certainly didn't deserve it. Jordan should have been happy he associated with him at all.
Frowning, Jace spoke with as much superiority he could muster."You don't know the first thing about me, so don't pretend you do."
"That's exactly what I mean."
What Jordan said had bugged me, more than I would have liked to admit. That was how I ended up painting Ms. Culsko's, or as I and the guys on the football team liked to refer to her as Ms. Wacko, props for the upcoming play. Though I could have gotten out of it easily with one quick call to my dad, but his words ate at me and put the first plant of doubt in my head. It would take seed once she entered my life.
Because the budget was cut so close—it all went to the "sports academic department" as you know—the drama and art department had to form together. Ms. Culsko taught both; I had been bitter then, thinking about how art was pointless and that it had no real worth to the world unlike how many people thought, before Clary taught me different.
A lot of the emo artists and drama geeks, or thespians as they called themselves, stayed back to help out with the props too; so I wasn't as alone as I thought I would be.
At least, that was how I felt back then about the artists and thespians.
I knew I had only been forced to paint the props for detention because Mr. Hanson wanted to flirt with Ms. Culsko, both being single and old. I thought it was pathetic at the time but that changed too. Everything changed, she made it change. And she did it all in the simplest way, because she loved me.
That was the moment when I met her first; as I sat their begrudgingly painting Ms. Culsko's giant night sky that was to be used in A Mid Summer's Night Dream for the upcoming play and yelling at any of the annoying kids that tried to teach me how to paint with more "care" than I obviously gave, I saw her.
She looked just as she had that morning with some minor changes. Her clothes were dry now and her hair— which was parted down the middle— was in thick, curling, strands down her back. She looked just as happy as always as she floated up to Ms. Culsko and handed her a pile of pictures.
"I took some more." Clary said with a large smile on her face; her green eyes were large and full of mischief and adventures. Her bright red hair reflected off the spot lights, making her look as if she was an avenging angel with blood dripping from her head. Ms. Culsko turned from Mr. Hanson, who also turned to Clary with a smile on his face. It seemed that everyone was happy around Clary, Jace observed; she had an air about her that seemed to be contagious.
"Oh!" Ms. Culsko answered; her graying hair fell around her face in wisps. "What beauty did you bestow upon the world last night, Clary?"
The young girl laughed as she held out the pictures in her small hands. She looked so fragile under those lights, like a strong wind would break her. Ms. Culsko, as if sensing the same feeling that Jace did, gently and gingerly took the pictures from Clary's outstretched hands.
"You'll have to look and see for yourself." She answered before turning her attention to the man standing just beyond Ms. Culsko.
"Well, hello Miss. Morgenstern, you're looking lovely today." Mr. Hanson said with a fatherly smile on his permanently red face.
She had been Miss. Morgenstern back then when I first met her. But it will all make more sense as you listen to my story.
Excuse me, our story.
Clary smiled radiantly back. Everyone seemed to stop what they were doing and watch her in fascination as her face lit up, she was almost her own creature something totally different from the rest of us. "Why, thank you, Mr. Hanson. You don't look too bad yourself. I see that's a new bowtie you're wearing." She said her smile still in place. Jace felt something odd fill his stomach, almost like a fluttery feeling and a burning, almost like a nervous jealousy. Why wasn't she smiling at him that way?
His hand twitched as his eyes went wide, his hand accidentally painting over one of the white stars in the night sky. The thought had been effortless, like it was the most natural thing in the world to question. It made Jace queasier than he already was.
There were a few choice people that accepted Clary, Jace wasn't one of them but Ms. Culsko and Mr. Hanson were; Jace had always suspected Mr. Hanson only really wanted to get into Ms. Culsko's pants, that's why he showed interest in the elfish red head, but watching them now he felt differently.
The older man smiled as he tweaked with the bowtie around his neck, Jace thought it made him look like a deranged large man-child, as he flashed a crooked smile at Clary. "Why yes, Ms. Culsko picked it out." This caused the older female teacher to blush to her graying roots. "What do you think? Be honest with me."
Clary looked at him for a moment in deep concentration, her green eyes flickering over Mr. Hanson's face and bowtie, like she was gathering all the information that she could and was trying to paint the perfect picture. Like she was assembling all her thoughts into a row, so that she knew exactly what she wanted to say when she spoke.
"I think you look absolutely dashing."
Mr. Hanson let out a laugh as he placed a soft hand on Clary's small and delicate shoulder. It bugged Jace that she was so small. Didn't she know that one wrong move from someone as large as Mr. Hanson or even himself could break her? Why wasn't she protecting herself more instead of letting him touch her? And yet, there was a strength in her that seemed to radiate outward from her tiny core. Something that made him think twice about calling her weak.
"You are always a pleasure, Clary."
She smiled in response before looking to Ms. Culsko. "Do you have anything you need my help with?"
The older woman, who seemed to have gotten lost in whatever Clary had shown her on those picture, smiled and brushed some tears that fell from her cheeks. "Yes, of course!" She said in a hurry trying to hide the emotion leaking from her big, blue eyes. Jace couldn't help but try to stand on his tip toes to see over to the pictures she held in her hands but he was too far away. What could she have shown the older woman to make her tear up? "The night sky for the play needs to be painted still."
Mr. Hanson shot Jace a glare as if just remembering he was there. Jace rolled his eyes as he lazily picked back up the paint brush he had set down and got back to work; he may have stopped watching but he never stopped listening. "Jace is just fine painting that on his own."
Jace rolled his eyes again as he dipped his paint brush down in the royal blue paint before slapping it back onto the large propped wall. Ms. Culsko flinched at the sound, to which Mr. Hanson glared again. He smiled to himself as he locked eyes with Clary; her large, green eyes were covered with not one ounce of make-up and yet there was something about her that made her enticing. Something he couldn't name.
"That's a pretty big wall, Mr. Hanson." She answered as she began to walk toward him, something in his stomach dropped with every small step she took in her beaten up old converse and every jiggle the things dangling from her necklace made as they slammed together.
Mr. Hanson stopped her gently with a firm hand on her shoulder. "He's being punished and will work by himself until the entire wall is completely covered."
Mr. Hanson spoke in a loud enough voice that Jace knew that the implications of that sentence were mostly meant for him. He snickered to himself as he wondered what Clary would do. Would she whimper and run back to Ms. Culsko? Would she ask what he had done and agree with Mr. Hanson? Would she simply ignore him and critique his painting style?
Why did all those options make him feel like someone was pulling at his stomach?
Clary turned and looked up at Mr. Hanson as the older man looked down at her. She was quite small, Jace realized, yet she held herself with a high regard. Not as if she was better than everyone else but as if she were stronger than everyone thought. "No one should be alone, Mr. Hanson."
The sentence was innocent and even took Jace by surprise as he whipped his head to look at her. She spoke quietly, not to offend or argue with what Mr. Hanson said, as if she was simply stating a concrete fact. Mr. Hanson must have seen something in her eyes because he let go of her shoulder, wide-eyed and blinking before nodding his head and watched her go; Jace watched her come.
She didn't meet his gaze; not in the way most girls did when he was around, like they were too shy to look him straight in the eye but more like she was in her own world. One that no one knew of but her as she stopped before him and picked up the untouched paint brush that lay beside him.
She looked at him then, right in the eye as if they were equals. As if she wasn't an outcast and he wasn't the Mayor's son. And then, she took him by surprise again, she smiled; her pearly white teeth set out on display as her plump, pink lips pulled back. "Hello, I'm Clarissa but you can call me, Clary." She outstretched her small, pale, paint covered hand in front of her.
Jace blinked and, for what seemed like the first time, was speechless as he stared at her hand as if it was about to crawl off her wrist and come alive and eat him. He couldn't shake her hand that was practically social suicide. She stared at him with those giant green as and seemed to sense what he was thinking because she began to drop her arm, her smile unmoved.
As if of its own accord, his hand shot forward and grabbed onto her; clinging as if hers was some form of life raft. Jace glared at his hand feeling a tad bit betrayed as it closed around Clary's; the room seemed to go silent as the students stared at them.
"Jace." He nodded once before dropping her hand and turning away; finding a new found love in detention prop painting.
"So there's some hope for you after all."
The comment threw Jace right off his game as he painted over another star and turn to look at her with wide eyes. "What?"
"Hope." She answered with a larger smile before dipping her brush and swiping her hand across the canvas as if she were performing a dance. For a moment Jace watched her hand as it twirling and weaved across the propped wall not hitting any of the large silver stars already painted on."Well, this was a silly idea."
Jace frowned as she changed the subject so rapidly. He was still stuck on what she first said. "What?" He found himself saying again. What was it about this girl that had him forgetting how to act like himself? Where were all his sarcastic remarks? Where were his half-assed replies?
Clary frowned; her large, dramatic, red eyebrows moving down over her sparkling eyes. They were like two gems; they were truly captivating. "This." She pointed her hand out at the wall before placing a paint covered hand under her chin. "It simply won't do. It's going to be nearly impossible to paint around these stars." She said indicating to the few silver stars that were still painted on, in the area where Jace hadn't destroyed several. He didn't think it was too hard for her, she looked like she could paint around them perfectly fine. It seemed like she was doing it more for him than herself, but he couldn't be completely sure and he didn't really want to care. "One moment." She lifted a finger up to him, like he cared about where she was going; which, if he was going to be completely honest with himself, he did a little bit.
But only a little.
She poked her head in the supple closet at the far end of the art room before disappearing inside. Jace hoped slightly that she wouldn't come back; there was something that unsettled him about her. And the longer he was around her the more his social status took the beating and went down the drain.
But she popped right back out, to large rollers in her hands and that stupid smile on her face. She held one out to him to take which he did with uncertainty. He wasn't exactly sure what she wanted him to do with it as he held it in his hands like one would if they were holding something that disgusted them.
Clary paid no attention to Jace's unease as she bent and coated the roller in blue paint and rolled it over the canvas in front of her; covering over the stars that were remaining on the large plank of wood. Jace's mouth dropped open as she stood on her tip toes to try and reach the top corner.
She turned to him with a smile, like she hadn't just ruined Ms. Culsko's prop and motioned with her roller toward to the far corner of the wood. "Can you get that for me? I can't reach it."
Jace blinked. "Are you sure you're allowed to paint over this?"
Clary smiled sweetly back as she looked him in the eyes again, something in him wanted to step back from the strength in her stare. "Has what's been allowed ever stopped you from doing something before?"
The question took Jace by surprise; of course they both knew the answer. Jace could see it reflected in Clary's eyes as he smirked and stepped toward her, towering over her frame with his own. "I think you know the answer to that."
Soon she would fall to his feet and kiss them; that was the kind of affect Jace had on girls. They started to hyperventilate when he was around and when he smiled at them, they all but fainted. But Clary Morgenstern was not like most girls; this was more evident when she simply stared back into his eyes, making Jace feel as if they were stand face-to-face rather than him standing over her.
"Good. Then you'll get that spot for me, won't you?" Clary didn't wait for him to answer as she turned away; he stared after her in shock. That wasn't right. She was supposed to fall to her knees and beg him to kiss her—most girls usually did—but she just dipped her roller back down and started on his side covering the entire piece of wood, the part she could reach anyway.
Those would only be the first signs that Clary was different. She would settle my ego instead of stroking it. She would be my sanity when the world seemed insane. She would be my rock that tied me down to Earth when I thought I could fly like an angel.
To this day, I'll never understand why she loved me. I wasn't truly anything special—at least not as special as I had always thought I was—I was just a spoiled, rich boy who thought he had the world in the palm of his hand. What I didn't realize was it was all a mirage. The moment I went to touch it, it would turn to dust.
The world, I was so foolishly living in, didn't really exist. That's why I think God sent me her, Clary, to try and guide me back. It worked too. That's why I pray every day and thank the big guy upstairs. She was the most perfect part of my universe.
And I wasted so much precious time trying to figure it out.
It was still raining like it had been that morning as Jace raced to his car. He sighed heavily as he ran his hands through his wet hair, no doubt making the curly strands loop and twist in awkward ways around his head. He threw his backpack in the backseat of his new black Camaro and slammed the driver's door shut. Leaning his damp forehead head on the steering wheel he knew his father was going to be furious. He didn't really even want to go home. When he had been younger, he used to go to his best friends: Alec and Isabelle's house. They had turned their guest room into a room just for him, which he usually stayed in when he was over, joking that if he were going to become a true member of the Lightwood family he would need his own room.
He felt a sick twisting feeling snake through his stomach as something coiled inside him almost burst. He wished more than anything to go there now, but they wouldn't want him. Not after what he had done; he couldn't blame them, he wouldn't have wanted him around either. Jace closed his eyes and willed the pain to go away. But he couldn't, he knew it would always linger in his heart like a bad taste in his mouth. If his father knew he would call him weak and feeble.
But Jace would never tell him.
Not ever.
Starting the car seemed like the next best idea he had all day as he pulled easily out of the, usually, clustered parking lot. The sun had set and it was dark outside; he tried not to think about the lack of call or text he received from his mother or father.
In the distance, a shadowy figure shuffled forward. Jace squinted and brought his face closer to the windshield as he approached the wandering figure. His head lights swallowing them whole and letting him get a glimpse of the night walker before he flew past them. He told himself he wouldn't go back as he tightened his hands around the steering wheel. That only bad things could happen if he went back. He continued to tell himself that as he turned around and cursed loudly, heading back the way he came and slowing to a crawl beside the mystery walker.
"Get in the car." He said through the now rolled down window, rain droplets hit his cheeks and covered the inside interior of his cool leather seat.
"My mother used to say never go anywhere with strangers. Not even talk to them for that matter."
Jace rolled his eyes in no mood to joke. "I'm not a stranger. You know who I am, Clary, you just spent, like, 4 hpurs with me." He said through clenched teeth, wishing he had just continued to drive home. "Now, get in the car. It's dark, raining, and you don't have a damn coat on."
Clary turned her head toward him, reminding him of how she looked this morning. Her hair plastered to her face like red paint and her clothing clinging to her small figure. He couldn't leave her here; she was too small. A hawk could pick her up for all he knew.
"I don't know you."
Jace raised an eyebrow and smirked as he brought the car to a slow stop as she stopped moving forward, her hands perched on her sharp hips. "You seriously expect me to believe you don't know me?"
"I know of you, I know about you, but I don't know you." Clary said with a smartass smile of her own.
Jace stared at her for a moment and waited for it to dawn on her that she was being asked by him to get a ride home. But the recognition he expected never showed in her eyes as she hiked up her large backpack and continued on her way. Something ate at the back of his mind as he remembered what Jordan had told him earlier.
"You know sometimes I'm not so sure who you are or if I even really know you."
Jace's fingers curled tighter around his steering almost subconsciously.
"You have three different people in you, Jace. I'm never really sure who I'm talking to. But I sure as hell know it's not Jace."
Just the fact that Clary, a small frail nobody, had said the same thing to him made him all the more upset as he hurled his car onto the graveled shoulder, parked, shoved the driver door open, and ripped his key from the ignition. He stomped after her as she turned slowly around, the rain fell down her face like tears but her eyes were happy as she regarded him, like she enjoyed the fact that she was soaked to the bone with no coat in the middle of a thunder storm.
Jace could feel his own hair begin to stick to his head as he narrowed his eyes at her. "Would you just get in the damn car, Clary?"
"Why?"
The question threw Jace off balance. This isn't what happened in all the movies, when the hot guy offered the nobody girl to let him drive her home. She shyly accepts it then and gets in without complaint. She never questions the hero for his duty; she never stubbornly wonders why he's doing it.
"Because . . . because . . ." Jace yanked another hand through his hair in frustration as he stared down at her. "Because I already explained why! It's raining, it's dark, and you have no coat." Jace crossed his arms over his chest, which you could plainly see through the white t-shirt he wore. Almost reflexively, he waited for Clary to check him out, run those gemmed eyes across his frame but she never did. In fact, she showed no interest in going with him anywhere.
"I always walk." She said with a shrug before turning back around.
"Wait," He put a hand on her shoulder. "You do?"
She nodded giving him a prodding look, like she was waiting for him to take action; to do the right thing. Hadn't he already tried to do that though? He was trying to give her a ride home and she wasn't accepting. What more did she want?
"So, I know the way. I'll be fine."
Jace sighed and ran a hand down his wet face as rain fell down his cheeks, rolling down like water in a stream. "Well, I won't be." He winced as she raised her eyebrows at him. "My mother taught me to never leave a damsel in distress."
Clary's eyes sparkled as she smiled. "I may be a damsel but I'm in no distress."
Why was she making this so difficult? He knew he could just pick her up and throw her in the car but something about the way she held herself made him think it would be harder than it looked. "Would you please just humor me then? Do it for me and let me have some peace of mind that you got home safely."
She stared into his eyes as if searching for something in particular before she smiled and nodded her head, obviously finding whatever it was she was searching for. She wordlessly moved around him and headed for the door to his car, leaving him blinking in the street. That had seemed too easy; all she wanted was for him to admit he wanted to help her?
"Well," She said from the passenger side of his black car. He could barely see her wet, red, head over the hood of his vehicle."Are you going to unlock the door?"
He nodded a moment clearing his head as he jogged for the door. He opened his side before he leaned over and pulled the door handle and pushed hers open too. She smiled gratefully as she pulled her backpack on her lap and shut the door behind her. "Thank you. Oh," She said as she glanced down at herself. "I'm probably getting your car all wet, I'm sorry." He looked at her for a moment assessing her as she shivered; she seemed sincere as she looked back at him.
He shrugged as he pulled away from the curve. "It's no problem, its leather." He threw her a look from the corner of his eye. "But just for curiosity sake, why the hell don't you wear a coat again? It's pouring rain out. I mean, you own one, don't you?"
She shrugged her shoulders mimicking his nonchalance. She turned her head and trained her eyes out the window, still shaking from the chill. Jace leaned over and turned on her heated seat and threw the heat on for good measure. "Yeah, I do. I just don't want to wear it."
"Why don't you want to wear it?" It was the stupidest thing Jace had ever heard. "You'd rather catch your death instead?"
Something in his sentence made Clary flinch as she looked back at him, the shaking stopping. There was a sadness he had never seen in her eyes before and he decided he never wanted to see it again. It dimmed her green eyes to a mere shine and shadowed their true potential.
"I don't think you can catch death." The tone of her voice was meek and hollow as if she had repeated the words to herself so many times they had lost all meaning."Death is more of a fog than a solid being." He snapped his eyes to her for only a moment to see her staring dishearteningly out his windshield, her green orbs seemed to be miles away, her fingers playing with the random shit that hung around her neck. "You can't catch fog. You can only really wait until it clears."
Jace blinked as a silence took over the car. It was an awkward silence for him but he didn't think Clary truly took any notice to the tension she had built. So Jace broke the silence and the saddened gleam in Clary's eyes the only way he knew how.
By telling the truth.
"That has to be," He said slowly feeling her eyes slowly begin to focus back on the real world and not the one that lived in her mind as she turned her head his way. "The craziest shit I've ever heard."
A large smile broke out across her face, her white teeth seeming to light up the dark confides of the car. Something in Jace's chest lifted seeing her smile again, a burden he didn't know he carried until that moment. "'A question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I or are the others crazy?'"
Jace frowned before he looked at her a moment, she was still smiling the light in her green eyes back in place. "Who said that?" He asked with his own smile as he turned his eyes back to the road.
"Guess."
Jace frowned for a moment as he shuffled through the famous people he knew of in his mind. "Robert Frost?"
Clary laughed making Jace smile bigger as he turned to look at her. Her eyes were closed and her face held the supreme look of happiness; she may have been laughing at him but it didn't matter. He still made her smile and something inside him warmed at the thought of it.
She shook her head. "No, but good guess."
"Lady Gaga?"
Clary snorted a giggle as she shook her head. "Getting colder."
"Who was it?"
"Albert Einstein."
Jace nodded as he mulled it over. "Well then it has to be something to consider if he said it."
Clary smiled again, as they pulled up to the winding gravel drive way that was known to lead to Mount. Angel. "I think we all wonder about that. What is normal anymore?" She said as she pushed open the car door and hopped out of the warm car. "Thanks again, Jace, it was really sweet of you to drive me home." She said it with a certain look in her eye, like she knew the consequences if he had gotten caught with her in his car. If he was caught associating with her at all, which were severe.
So, why is it he seemed to have forgotten?
Jace shrugged again, like he helped drive the outcast home all the time "No problem." He made it seem like it was all nothing, but something in his stomach told him this was just the beginning and he had set it all in motion.
"That was a mistake." Jace murmured to himself as he watched her hurry up the steep driveway, stumbling slightly from her heavy backpack. Jace felt like a jerk for not driving her to the porch before she opened the front door to the large Victorian home and turned back. That large smile was still on her face, the same one she had given Mr. Hanson and a flutter of something took over his stomach before she waved and walked through and disappeared inside.
But it would be the best mistake I ever made.
You get a little taste of Clary's character in this chapter.
What did Jace do to the Lightwood's? Will he ever figure out he's no better than the rest of us?
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