Okay, so I know I shouldn't be starting another Multi Chap, seeing as I'm only like halfway through Lost Angel, but I just got this idea in my head and I couldn't shake it. I had to write it down.

Okay, so this is kinda a prologue. It doesn't go very far into the story.

The story starts for real in chapter two.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing apart from the plot and maybe a couple of OC's (If I even decide I want to make any OC's)


Clary stood in her room, alone, in front of the white, full length mirror. She hated what she saw; a pale, shapeless body, splatter of ugly freckles and carrot orange hair, hanging down to just below her shoulder blades. It would probably be longer, if it weren't for its wild, unruly curls, which caused her hair to be thick and untamed. She hooked her index finger under the under wire of her old, ill-fitting bra, pulling it down for what seemed like the hundredth time this afternoon.

Clary wasn't usually a negative person. She had never really bothered about looks or clothes; her idea of "dressing up" was a linen shirt and a pair of jeans that weren't riddled with splotches of paint. So it wasn't like she had particularly low self esteem or anything. It's just that today was a special day.

Today was the day she turned eighteen.

Clary had always imagined that she would wake up as an adult and suddenly feel mature and free and confident. She'd imagined that she would wake up and suddenly be released from the holds of awkwardness and discomfort that had followed her around since she was twelve. How wrong she was.

Instead of waking up and thinking "I'm a woman now!" she had woken up thinking, "Well this is anticlimactic." She did not feel confident, free or any less anxious than she had at age seventeen. If anything, she felt worse. She felt disappointed.

Even her room was still as juvenile and dated as it had been yesterday. Same old apricot orange walls, same old used to death patchwork quilt draped over her bed.

All those hours spent day dreaming in class as a frizzy haired, bracers wearing, uncomfortable fourteen year old had been hours wasted.

Clary sighed. There was nothing she could do about it. Just let it be.

Suddenly a shrill sound rang through the room. She flipped open her cell phone, putting it to her ear.

"Clary! What's wrong with you? I sent you like, ten texts. Why won't you answer?" It was Isabelle Lightwood, the closest thing Clary had ever come to having a "girl-friend".

"Ah," She pinched the bridge of her nose in between her thumb and forefinger. "Sorry Izzy; My phones acting up." That was a lie. She'd been avoiding Izzy, because talking to Izzy would mean talking about "the best night of her life", as Miss Lightwood liked to call it. Clary however, did not think it would be the best night of her life. Clary thought it would be just another night were she would be forced to sit around in Antics, the town's only over eighteen nightclub, and watch as every boy in the room drooled over Izzy.

"Oh well, never mind that," Izzy continued, "You gotta come over to mine, if you want to be ready in time." Clary groaned.

"Why can't I just dress myself?" She asked.

"Because," The other girl said exasperatedly, "If I let you do that, you'll probably just turn up in overalls or some shit." Clary rolled her eyes in irritation.

"You know I don't own any overalls."

"Whatever. Just get your skinny little ass over here."

Clary hung up and slid the phone into her pocket. Slipping on her converse, she started packing throwing things into her handbag; wallet, car keys, iPod, a pair of black, open toed kitten heels she's worn to her mother's wedding when she was fifteen and hadn't even picked up since. Hoisting her bag over her shoulder, she left her room and headed down stairs.

Just as she was about to leave the house, a voice surmounted from behind her.

"You off to Isabelle's?" She spun around. It was Luke, her step father. Luke was an average sized, stocky man who owned a book store downtown. He was the only father Clary had ever known; her real father having died in a car accident before she was even born. Yet, these days, Clary had found talking to him, to both her parents actually, harder and harder. The just seemed so... square. She knew it sounded cliché, but it was true. In fact, the entire town was the same. They all just seemed so content with having their fates decided for them in this washed up, east coast town. They never questioned it. Most of the kids that went to school there ended up going to the local community college or state university. That's as long as they even made it into college. Only one or two very bright graduates actually went to one of the colleges interstate. Clary had been awarded a scholarship into the arts program at the state university, where she would receive a mediocre degree in visual arts. Fantastic.

"Yeah," She said in response to Luke's question. "She wants to get ready early." Luke smiled.

"Okay sweetie. Have fun." He began to turn away and she was just about to slip out when he turned back to her.

"Oh, and Clary?" She looked back at him.

"Happy birthday."

By 11:30, Clary had already been at the club for two hours. The night, so far, hadn't been as terrible as Clary had expected. Simon, Clary's best friend since childhood, and Isabelle's boyfriend had danced with her for almost an hour, and she had actually enjoyed herself. Both Isabelle and Simon had pitched together to get her new laptop, and Isabelle's older brother, Alec, had sent her Mayday Parade CD from New York, were he was going to school. Even Isabelle's little brother, Max, had given Clary a pack of watercolour pencils. It had been nice.

But by this time Clary was starting to wish she was back at home, in bed. Simon and Isabelle had unintentionally forgotten about her and were currently dry humping on the dance floor. So now, of course, it was just her, sitting alone in the booth. She wasn't too worried about being alone; she liked the solitude.

She was looking down at her diet coke, twirling the straw in between her fingers when she noticed someone sit down on the other side of the booth.

She looked up to meet a pair of luminous gold orbs, paired with a grinning set of white teeth. Jace Wayland.

Jace Wayland had been one of the most popular boys in her high school. He was captain of the football and basketball team and had a notorious reputation for being a bit of a player. He had had an on again off again relationship with Aline Penhallow, captain of the cheerleading squad and the schools Senior Class President. Jace and Clary had nothing in common, save that they shared the same birthday. She knew because every year her birthday had been forgotten by the teachers and basically all the other students apart from Simon, Isabelle and Maia (a sweet biracial girl in her Trigonometry class), overwhelmed by the importance of Jace's birthday. She didn't blame him though. It's not like he did it on purpose, he didn't even know she existed. In fact, the whole time they had been going to school together, Jace had never even looked her way. Which begged the question; what was he doing sitting in front of her in a booth in a considerably lame nightclub (the over twenty one clubs were much more enticing to someone of his social status), smiling like she'd just told him a dirty joke?

"Hello," He said cheerfully, "Clary, right?" Clary didn't know what to do. Was this some kind of immature prank?

"Hello," She said slowly, "And you are...?" She figured she might as well have fun with him.

Jace snorted, "You're not honestly saying you don't know who I am, are you?"

"I am very honest." He smirked.

"If you say so. Jace Lightwood." He stuck out his hand, his mouth broadening into a wider grin when he noticed her hesitate. She took his hand and shook it.

It was very loud in the nightclub, the ear bursting dubstep rattling every surface inside the building. She could barely hear herself think, and they were basically shouting over the music. She was starting to get a headache from trying to hear above the noise all the time. A sharp pain had started throbbing in the right side of her forehead, and she closed her eyes, temporarily forgetting about Jace, rubbing the aching spot with the palm of her hand.

Jace seemed to notice this, and he reached forward grabbing a hold of hold of her wrist.

"C'mon, "He said as the music stopped and the DJ started talking into the microphone, causing people in the club to start cheering, "Let's get some fresh air." She hesitated. She didn't really know Jace, how could she trust him? He seemed to sense her worry, because he smiled reassuringly.

"Don't worry, I don't bite." He got up from the booth, pulling Clary up with him, and he lead her towards the door.

Once they were outside, Clary's headache dulled significantly, and she gave a sigh of relief. Jace strode forward in front of her, settling himself on the hood of an old, powder blue Ford Flacon.

"Feeling better?" He asked.

Nodding, she walked up to the car, until she was situated in front of him, leaning the bottom of her thighs against the shiny metal bumper. They were silent for a while. Jace tugged his knees up to his chest, crossing his legs over one another and resting his head on top of his knees. He didn't look very much like the boy she had known from a distance for almost half her life. He looked thoughtful, not dumb and zombie like, like the rest of the jocks that used to be in her class at school.

"You look very pretty tonight," He noted, motioning to her dress. She ran her hands self consciously over the skirt of the dress Izzy had given her to wear. It was a light pink colour, the material soft and floaty under her fingers. It was unlike anything Clary had ever worn before. Paired with the strapless bra Isabelle had bought her and she looked half decent. It didn't look fantastic on her, but it looked nice.

"Is that why you brought me out here?" Clary asked Jace, bluntly. He frowned.

"What? Oh God no, of course not. You just seemed like you needed a break, that's all." She sighed, the head ache starting to come back.

"That still doesn't explain what you're doing."

"And what am I doing?" He asked, starting to piss her off.

"This!" She snapped, "All of this! You never spoke to me at all in high school, never gave me two seconds of your time. And then you turn up randomly on our birthday and start acting like we're BFF's! So excuse me, Mr Lightwood, but I'm just a tad confused. I'm sorry."

She ended her rant and turned on her heel, starting back towards the front doors of the club. She was about half way back to the front doors when she heard him mumble something.

"What?" She barked at him, still on edge. He coughed.

"I said; 'This isn't high school anymore.'" She stared at him for a few moments. He was very beautiful – the artist in Clary could appreciate that- even in the stark, white glow of the street lights. His hair seemed almost white in that light and his eyes shone like tiny moons.

"I know that," She attempted to run a hand through her hair, before remembering the hours of work and tons of hair spray Isabelle had spent that afternoon, managing to get Clary's hair to sit in perfect spirals, "But what are you doing here? It's your birthday too. You should be spending it with your friends."

"Friends?" He stretched his legs out in front of him, smirking, "You mean like Sebastian? Jonathan? Raphael? Those small minded, testosterone fuelled, Neanderthals?" He shrugged, "I could go hang out with them, probably at some house party. Maybe even get the chance to watch one of them try and kill themselves by drinking an exorbitant amount of beer, or, even better, watch them do it upside down. Sounds fan-fucking-tastic." Clary held back a sigh, rubbing her temples exasperatedly.

"I get that, but why come here?"

"I don't know," He eyes were a blank canvas, completely unreadable, "I just like the noise, I guess."

She was quiet for a few seconds, taking in what he had just said. Then she asked the one question that had really been bothering her.

"So why talk to me? I'm sure you already know this, but I'm not exactly, you know, you're type." His face changed then, from blank to thoughtful.

"You know, I'm not really sure." He crossed his legs, "I just saw you sitting there, by yourself. You seemed lonely."

"Well you shouldn't have bothered." She snapped, defensively. "I don't get lonely."

He blinked, "Everybody gets lonely sometimes."

She found herself at loss for words. What the hell was she supposed to say to that?

He ran a hand through his hair and slid down the hood so he was sitting in front of her. She took a small step back, uncomfortable with the sudden close proximity.

"Look," He began. Clary was annoyed to find that even sitting down he still managed to be as tall as her. "I feel like we've gotten off on the wrong foot. I don't want to start a fight with you." He sounded sincere, and she started to feel slightly guilty. She was just about to apologise for everything, or at least try to, when she heard somebody yelling from behind her.

"Clary!" She spun around to see an exuberantly happy Isabelle towing a long an equally happy Simon, who was grinning from ear to ear. Neither of them noticed the blonde boy sitting on the car behind her.

"Clary," Izzy began, "Oh my God, Clary, you'll never guess what." Clary found herself grinning a long with the two, even though she had no idea what she was smiling about. It was impossible to hang around Isabelle and not have trace amounts of her bubbly nature rub off on you.

"What?" She asked. Isabelle simply held up her left hand, clearly displaying her ring finger. On it sat a sparkling diamond attached to a plain silver band. Clary gaped, unable to believe what she was seeing.

"Oh my God, Izzy," A smile spread on to her face, "Did Simon..?"

"Yes!" She shrieked happily. Simon put a hand on her shoulder.

"We're going to wait until after college, of course," He said, smiling, "But it's like a promise, you know. It's definitely happening."

Clary hugged Isabelle tightly, and dutifully ignored the clenching in her chest.

"Oh my God, you guys, this is fantastic!" She threw her arms around Simon and he squeezed her back, twice as hard. "I'm so happy for you."

Isabelle grabbed Clary and Simon by the hands and began to drag them back into the club, talking about celebratory drinks when Simon looked around and finally noticed the fair haired boy sitting behind them.

"Oh, sorry, "Simon looked at Jace questioningly, eyebrow raised. "Clary, I didn't realise you were with someone." Of course Simon knew Jace. Everybody knew Jace.

"No," Jace stood up, "I was just leaving."

"Yeah," Clary looked at him in what she hoped was an apologetic way. She hadn't exactly been pleasant towards him.

Isabelle didn't even look back, just kept pulling them on back inside.

They went inside, and Isabelle bought them all a round of champagne using the fake ID she's had since she was fifteen.

They laughed and cheered and clinked glasses and toasted almost everything they could think of. But throughout all the laughter and chatter and excitement between the three of them, Clary couldn't stop thinking about Jace.

The golden sun's that shone in his eyes, his moonlight coloured hair. The thought of him plagued her mind. There was something intriguing about him. She had thought she had Jace, as well as the rest of those jocks, figured out. Thought she knew their deal. But she was starting to think that maybe she was wrong.

Maybe she didn't have anyone figured out at all.

So, what do you think?

I know that I didn't really give you much story to review, but there'll be more to think about next chapter.

Please R&R though! It really helps when I get feedback. It encourages me to update more!