Hey guys! Time for another fanfic! The characters are a little OOC at first, but don't worry they'll grow into their personalities. Warning: Jace is a jerk at the beginning. But as the story goes on, he'll get more likable, I promise.
Le Disclaimer: I do not own TMI or its characters or..or... Anything!
Have you ever met an extremely attractive person, and felt like the world stopped when your eyes met theirs, and you had this feeling that there had to be something special between the two of you? Like his gorgeous blue eyes or her shiny smile could make you trek to the end of the earth and back?
And then they have to spoil it all by opening their mouth.
You know that feeling? That's exactly how it was when I met Jace Wayland.
It was the first day of ninth grade, and I'll admit, I was shaking with nerves. It would have helped if I weren't in an entirely new school, in an entirely new city. And it might have helped if I knew someone, anyone, too. But no, I showed up to school friendless, feeling small and invisible among the big, scary students of Aerisborn High.
I later learned that being small and invisible in high school can come in handy at times. But on that day, all I wanted was to see a friendly face, even the hint of a smile, but everyone looked right through me like I wasn't even there.
Or maybe I was just too short to be seen. Either way, I wasn't getting a lot of eye contact.
It took me forever to find my homeroom, but luckily the teacher was even later than I was. Everyone was turned in their seats, chatting to friends they'd probably known all their lives. One look showed me that there wasn't a single loner desperate enough for human contact to talk to me. You'd think there'd be at least some people who didn't know everyone else in a place as big as New York City, but evidently that wasn't the case.
I slipped in pretty much unnoticed—until, with my eyes fixed carefully on my feet, I plowed into a desk, banging my hip painfully on the edge. The sound drew a lot of stares, which settled on me and stayed there.
Face burning like an oven, I quickly sat down in the desk I'd just rammed into, keeping my eyes down and hoping that they'd all forget about me soon. Maybe my blindingly red hair transfixed them. I suddenly regretted leaving my favorite baseball cap at home.
The door to the classroom opened again, and the talk among the other kids instantly ceased. I assumed it was the teacher—who else could cut off conversation like that?—and I quickly opened my notebook, my head bent toward my desk, doing my best to look studious. Teachers seem to like that sort of thing.
I saw someone stop in front of my desk out of the corner of my eye. Dreading having to stand up and introduce myself—even though all the ninth graders were technically new to the school, even if they were all best friends—I glanced up under my eyelashes. And did a double take.
It certainly wasn't a teacher standing in front of me.
I usually wasn't one to melt over boys. I liked to study them in a more critical way, noticing symmetry, the features that would set them aside as unique if they were to be drawn. I'd never really been interested in dating; my mom always told me that that would change pretty soon, but I never believed her.
Until that second, of course.
Because the guy standing in front of me was pretty eye-catching.
The best way to describe him would have to be "golden." At least, that's the word that kept repeating itself over and over in my head as I gawked at him. The hair that was styled in a carefully messy fashion was golden, matching his tan complexion. Even his eyes were gold—a shade I'd never seen on a human being before. They had to be contacts.
He smiled at me, and my heart rate instantly picked up. I don't know what I expected him to say. So, what brings a pretty girl like you into town? Haven't seen you around. Tell me your life story.
Hardly. But one thing's for sure, I did not expect him to say what he did. When he opened his mouth, I was certain words as golden as his looks had to come pouring out.
Turns out, I was way off.
"Hey," he said, still smiling. I opened my mouth to stutter out a "hey" back, but before I could, he swept on. "You're sitting in my seat, Gingerbread."
I froze, my mouth still open from my half-formed greeting, and stared at him. Now that I looked closer, he wasn't smiling at me in that friendly "welcome to school!" kind of way. In fact, it was more of a smirk than a smile. He was mocking me.
"S-sorry?" I managed to get out, closing my mouth with a snap as I realized it was hanging open.
He leaned toward me, propping his hands on the desk. He smelled wonderful. His gold eyes were flecked with brown near the center, and his eyelashes were long and dark, the kind of eyelashes every girl envies. My voice totally deserted me as I found myself looking into those eyes.
"Are you deaf as well as stupid?" he said, enunciating each word clearly and carefully. "You're sitting in my seat. Now get out before I kick you back to your pot of gold at the end of the rainbow."
And I'd thought my face had been red before. For a second I just sat there, rigid and shocked, looking at him. There were snickers around the class, and the group of guys that had followed him into the classroom were grinning and elbowing each other, clearly enjoying every last second of this.
"Wow, you really are slow," he said, each word cutting into me like a sharp needle. "Get. Up."
I know I could have handled the situation so much better. If I had been the person I am now instead of the shy, quiet, eager-to-avoid-confrontation girl I was then, I would have thrown a punch to his jaw or folded my arms and answered primly, "Make me."
But there was no way I could pull off something that impressive or dignified back then. Oh, no. Instead, I could feel dangerous pressure building in my throat and behind my eyes. And almost before I knew what was happening, there were tears leaking from the corners of my eyes, and my breath was starting to make that little hiccupping noise that is generally associated with small children.
The golden boy's face practically lit up with disbelief and delight. He clearly had not been expecting this strong of a reaction.
I got up and clumsily gathered my stuff, stumbling to the back of the room and trying to ignore the stares that followed me. Some of them were pitying, but most looked at me with scorn and amusement. They'd already decided the kind of person I was based on those few minutes of my life—I was a coward, a baby, easily bullied. A nobody.
I didn't understand how he could hate me so quickly, but the look on his face as he stared at me from the front of the room next to my vacated desk spoke loud and clear. I hadn't said more than one word to the guy, and already he had dubbed me his new victim. It was my own fault for crying, I guess.
And, despite his good looks, despite the fact that my initial reaction to him had been awe and, yeah, attraction, it was surprisingly easy to return the feeling.
As I sat there in the back of the room during one of the most humiliating moments of my young life, dashing tears away with the palm of my hand, I thought bitterly at the boy, I hate you. He smirked back at me, as if reading my thoughts and responding, The feeling's mutual.
And that was the beginning of my not-so-beautiful relationship with Jace Wayland.
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