~Clary~

"You're so much better off without him!" Isabelle said for the umpteenth time that night, her eyes never deviating from the brush that she threaded through my hair, aiming to achieve the "perfection" that she had promised me while simultaneously trying not show any frustration. I think she was finally digesting the fact that she couldn't work her magic on everyone, especially not on those cursed with frizzy, matted, endless curls. Her cheeks were flushed, beads of sweat collected along her hairline, and she was breathing as though she'd just completed a 10k throughout her redundant, make-Clary-feel-better speech. It was the most flustered I'd ever seen her be. "I mean, no one needs boys in their lives. Yeah, I'm dating Simon and all, but even he gets on my last nerve sometimes, you know? The problem is simply that they're boys. We need men—"

"Isabelle," Maia droned, "you're making the poor girl have sex-hair."

My cheeks flooded with color and Isabelle threw the brush to the countertop, making a sound that sounded freakishly similar to that of a cat. "Let's see you do any better."

Maia rolled her eyes, clacking her nails nonchalantly against the edge of the tub. "Clary looks just fine with her natural hair. It's obvious that whatever you're trying to do isn't going to work, unless you're willing to spend the rest of the night on it, and then want to have to come over every morning just to repeat the same process over and over again."

Isabelle huffed. "So, great, I just wasted about an hour of my life that I'll never get back—"

"So dramatic."

"Oh shut up!"

"Don't get your panties in a twist, girl."

"I'm not, you are!"

"Really? Is that so? Who's the one—"

I stood up, taking a step away from Isabelle so that I could establish a more even ground between the two girls, and held up my hands as if I were in the midst of directing traffic. "Woah, let's just...calm down a little." I was met with two sets of wide eyes, and so I rolled my own, almost disbelieving that I was spending my night getting pampered and, apparently, making headway to having "sex-hair", while listening to two of my remaining friends left bantering back and forth with each other as if they were third graders. Isabelle and Maia, though I wasn't necessarily the best of friends with either of them, always gave me the impression that they were the closest of close—but how can that possibly be when they argue about the level of hotness the new security guard is? What's even the difference between a nine and a nine-point-zero-zero-two-five?

Almost unanimously, they crossed their arms over their chests and huffed loudly, only to send the other a glare and stare stubbornly down at their feet. "Really," I said after a moment's beat, looking between them. "I appreciate that I have people like you guys in my life that even bother to come check on me, and it's amazing that you guys want to give me a 'make-over' and all that, but...I don't exactly want to change my appearance just because of the—you know... the, erm, situation. I don't want to 'aspire' to look as made-up as Emily; that's just not me."

Maia was the first to jump. She rose from her seat on the edge of the tub and reached out her hand to grab mine, giving it a little, comforting squeeze. "We don't want to change you, Clary. Never. What's there to possibly change? It's just...sometimes it feels good to get a little dolled-up. It's more of a self-pride kind of thing."

I saw Isabelle in the mirror's reflection nod, and then I turned to fully face her. "Exactly. Even though us girls say they don't care what we look like, it's still nice to feel pretty every once and a while. To feel different and other-worldly—"

Maia snorted. "'Other-worldly'? Really, Iz?"

Despite the little bad of protest I could see practically welling up within her, Isabelle, with flushed cheeks and all, joined in on our laughter. "I was trying to be poetic, thank you very much," she giggled, growing a little red with embarrassment. "Okay, sometimes I just kind of don't think and I say things."

"Sometimes," Maia inquired.

"That doesn't stop you from hanging around me, now does it?"

"And yet you're—"

I knew where this was going; I'd become adept to their habitual-bickering routine after about the first couple times their seemingly harmless conversations resulted in me suddenly caught in the middle of a crossfire. I rose my voice, above Maia's sure-to-add-heat-to-the-fire comeback, and, without even realizing it, went to my tippy-toes. "I'm going to ask my dad to order some pizza. Does that sound good? Good." Okay then.

Isabelle had, in the end, managed to out-do herself; I was left with waterfall-smooth straitened hair, a baby-bottom-soft complexion thanks to this homemade mask she'd found on Pinterest, and her extra Naked pallet that she just so happened to keep on her twenty-four-seven. Apparently it was her gift to me for sitting through endless hours of her acting out on her need for perfection. It wasn't like I'd turned into a makeup guru myself overnight, but the gesture was still appreciated and the next morning I found myself coating my eyelids with one of the more neutral colors. For added "effect", I even coated my eyes in some fancy-smchancy mascara (that was also something Isabelle had "gifted" to me).

My reflection was one to gawk at—not because I was hot or anything, but because I hadn't seen myself with straight hair since fourth grade picture-dayandI was wearing more makeup than I'd worn for homecoming last year, and, not to mention, I now had contacts. It was crazy different. I was still recognizable, of course, but at the same time I could easily be mistaken for someone else. Think of it this way: you're seeing yourself without braces for the first time in years. You're still you, rather a different you.

It's like a part of me, a big part of me, was missing but... replaced by something else. Curly hair: gone. Glasses: gone. Clary: still processing.

I didn't want to give the impression that I was dressing up and making this complete one-eighty change all because of Jace and Emily and the whole spiel that went down between them which the entire school undoubtedly knew more about than I did, so I opted for jeans, my Chucks, and a rather plain top. I felt more comfortable that way, anyways; if I was going to be seen differently, I wanted to at least have some part of me, err, with me. Still, the nerves I had wouldn't go away. I tried to give my dad the acceptable indifferent façade, but my insides were a symphony of Pop Rocks, even after going through the whole 'things can only get better from here' lecture inside my head a few more times. It'll be just fine. You probably won't even see Emily or Jace—but that doesn't account for the rest of the school.

And then, the five-minute-turned-hour drive to school was coming to an end. The drop-off line helped a bit to slow the time down, but not enough to put a lid over the inevitability jar. All too soon I was kissing my dad on the cheek, saying my usual 'I love you' and 'have a good day', and then opening the car door, putting my left foot on the curb, then my right foot, shutting the car door, waving over my shoulder as a last 'goodbye', and staring face-to-face with the school that my used-to-be-best friend-slash-boy-I-was-hoplessly-in-love-with and the She-beast both went. I puffed my cheeks out before heaving the strap of my bag a little higher on my shoulder, made sure I still remembered how to blink, and found myself approaching the double-doors, taking it step by step. Slowly but surely.

I survived, needless to say. Oh yes, eyes had followed me everywhere I went, along with whispers and never-ending rumors, but it'd only taken me approximately three minutes to hear that Jace was skipping school. Again. Apparently, he'd been absent almost as much as I had for the past couple weeks. A part of me felt this undeniable feeling similar to that of guilt (that probably was guilt) pooling in my stomach, but the other part was quick to snap some sense back into me: he hurt you, not the other way around.

Aside from the constant reminder of my golden best friend hanging over my shoulders like a too-tight winter coat, I'd thankfully only seen Emily once. She'd met my eyes with her icy blue ones, but, surprisingly enough, had looked away without so much as a once-over a sour twist of her lips. Of course that hadn't stopped my heart from engaging my chest into kick-boxing match, but I was still standing. Homework was going to be a bitch, as expected when you miss half a month of school, and there was always the worry for tomorrow and the next day and the day after that, but I'd made it my first day back and I was on my way to my locker five minutes before the final bell.

I wasn't able to get too far, however, because suddenly a hand was firmly clasped over my mouth and another was yanking my arm towards the body of another. My back was then met with the cold brick of a locker room wall, and, after my body had gotten over the initial fear still present just beneath the surface, it took me all but a second to process the offender looming over me.

Sebastian.

Not a very long chapter, I know, but some readers are going mad and cussing me out and accusing me of being lazy and all that fun stuff, so I decided to put at least something up. I wrote this all tonight and I hope the quality isn't too horrible, but I'm still looking forward to seeing what you guys think(:

To those of you that are understanding of my unnecessarily long absences, I can't thank you enough. You guys are too awesome and it's not fair that I leave you all hanging for so long. I'm really going to try to be better. And, to those of you that are calling me a 'bitch' and 'fucking lazy' and more, calm down. I'm trying here. I really don't feel all that confident yet with my writing and I'm one of those people that has to pick and prod at everything until I'm at least a little satisfied; I don't want to post chapters that are horrible.

I haven't updated Unwritten in a while, yes, but it hasn't been three months! I'm sorry that I can't post every day, like one of you suggested, really, I am, but if you want me to update more, don't be so...err, rude?

Until next time, peace.