I don't own the mortal instruments! Everything belongs to Cassandra Clare.
A/N: Hi! This is my first fanfic, so I'd really like it if you'd help me with my grammar, spelling and such, and give me a few writing tips! English isn't my first language, so my english lessons in school basically consists of "tall, taller, tallest!" I know I'm not a very good writer, but I'm learning! Also, I think a piece of this author's note got into the story somehow, so if you see "ically consists ... w", just ignore it... :)
Clary Fray sat curled up by her bedroom window. She had her forehead pressed against the glass, looking out at the city below her. It was 2 am, but there was no way she was going to bed. Not now, not when it was the last time she would ever sit in that spot, the last time she would lie in her bed instead of the monstrosity she was probably about to face at her new home. Not when it was her last day in New York City.
Clary pushed her long, red hair out of her face and sighed. She didn't want to leave, but according to the police she had no choice. Apparently, sixteen-year-old girls weren't supposed to live alone in an apartment in Brooklyn, with no family, and no friends. Well, that wasn't entirely true. She'd had Simon, but he'd moved to only god knows where last spring, and she hadn't seen him since.
No, Clary Fray was on her own. The foster family she was about to move in with didn't count, for obvious reasons. She didn't want them, she didn't need them. She was doing just fine. The police could say what they wanted to; it didn't make any difference to her.
In an attempt to swallow her anger, Clary killed the lights and, despite her previous efforts not to, tried desperately to fall asleep, hoping that for once, she'd just wake up and everything would be alright. But of course, the world didn't give a shit about a tiny redhead, curled up in her bed, wishing for the life she used to have to come back and give her a second chance.
Clary awoke with a start. Someone was knocking on her door. Still groggy from sleep, she sat up, and tried to make sense of the situation.
"Clarissa! Open the door! We have to go now," a familiar voice called from the other side of the door. Groaning, Clary stood up and grabbed a pair of sweatpants and an oversized gray t-shirt – she slept in her underwear and didn't want "the mystery man" to see her practically naked. Clary walked the short distance from her bedroom to the living room (which also served as a kitchen), and pulled on the doorknob, revealing the – very annoyed – middle-aged man standing at her doorstep.
"What?" Clary asked, not so happy herself about this unexpected interruption. She looked at the person before her. He had brown hair streaked with silver, light grey eyes (A/N: Sorry! I couldn't remember what Hodge looks like! I can't get the books right now, I'm on vacation. Also, I'm not sure about the foot-or is it feet?-and inches thingy…) and he stood little over 6 feet tall. Hodge Starkweather, her social worker. Her very grumpy social worker.
"You're going to a new foster family today, or did you forget?" Clary swore under her breath. Of course! How incredibly stupid of her not to remember.
"Right. Just give me one sec, OK? I've got to change, and finish packing my stuff." Clary smiled falsely at Hodge.
"Please tell me you packed something! God, Clarissa, we don't have time for this stuff!" Hodge looked at his watch, then glared at her. "Be done in fifteen minutes, or I'll drag you out of here regardless of what you're wearing, or what you've decided to remember putting in your bag."
"Yeesh, no need to get so angry. I'll be done in ten." Clary turned around, and slammed the door in Hodge's face.
Clary was done packing in less than five minutes. The only things she hadn't packed yesterday were her pencils and her sketchbook. She quickly changed into a dark blue sweatshirt, a pair of black jeans, and her white Converse. After brushing her tangled mess of hair she was done, not bothering with makeup. What did she care about looking good in front of her "new family"? Clary glanced at her reflection in the mirror. A petite redhead with piercing green eyes looked back at her. The girl had fair skin, and a light sprinkle of freckles dotted her cheeks and nose. She frowned. I am not beautiful, she thought to herself. There is nothing special about me. No wonder my family didn't want anything to do with me.
Clary looked around her room one last time, her eyes scanning over the few items of furniture that inhabited it. The old, wooden desk, the green chair standing next to it, the bed that was now stripped bare of its light blue sheets that had matched the walls perfectly.
"Goodbye," she whispered softly, before grabbing her bags and striding out of the apartment.
Hodge was standing next to his silver Volvo when Clary came out the entrance, impatiently tapping his foot and fiddling with his gray business suit.
"You're on time, Ms Fairchild. For once."
Clary scowled at his use of the name.
"I am not Ms Fairchild anymore. Nor am I Ms Morgenstern. I am Clary Fray. Not anything else. Got it?" she asked, glaring fiercely at Hodge while she hoisted her bags into the trunk of the car. Hodge smirked.
"Of course," he answered smoothly. "Now get in the car. It's a six hour drive to Idris."
Idris, Clary thought, I've never heard of that place before.
"Not many people have heard of it," Hodge said, as if he'd read her mind. "But it's a nice town, and the Lightwoods will take good care of you. They've already got one foster child, or, well, adoptive son now. They adopted him almost a year ago, last fall. He's about your age, actually. Two nice kids, too. Alec and Isabelle." He slammed the car door shut, and got into the driver's seat.
Clary had begun contemplating whether or not she should just flip him off around the time he started going on about "the Lightwoods "(who sounded absolutely delightful, note the heavy sarcasm), and was now seriously considering strangling him so he would just shut up. Thankfully, he noticed her expression, and started the car without another word.
Approximately six hours later :P
"Clary. Clary wake up," Hodge said in her ear, shaking her softly. "Clary, we're here. You've got to come out and meet your new family."
Clary blinked a few times to adjust to the light, and yawned. She undid her seatbelt and opened the car door, turning a little red when she realized she'd fallen asleep all over the backseat.
"I'm up now. In case you didn't notice," she said with a faint smirk to cover up her embarrassment.
"Hard not to. You were snoring quite loudly, you know," he replied drily. "In any case, the Lightwoods are waiting for us in their driveway, which is approximately twenty feet away (A/N : Seriously, I have no idea how long this is! I'm aiming for about 10-15 meters… I also can't remember what Maryse and Robert look like. Yeah, I'm that Goode). So I suggest you get going. They're starting to look a bit, ah, amused, at our little conversation. Especially the blonde one."
Clary heard a loud laugh coming from behind her, and turned around. She stopped in her tracks. A whole family stood in front of her, watching her with very bemused facial expressions indeed. There were two older people, who she assumed were the parents - a black haired and blue eyed woman, and a brown haired brown eyed man - a tall, good-looking boy with black hair and blue eyes, and a girl who Clary assumed to be his sister, with the same hair color but she had black eyes instead of blue, and the longest legs Clary had ever seen. She was very beautiful altogether, and Clary instantly felt her self-confidence shrink to the size of a pea. But they weren't the ones who'd made her freeze.
No, it was the golden-haired boy standing a bit to the left, leaning against the porch railing that caught her eye. He had a teasing twinkle in his eyes, which were the color of liquid gold, almost exactly the same shade as his hair. She found all of him to be very, well, in lack of a better word, golden, actually. His skin was tan, and he was wearing a white t-shirt that showed off his well rounded biceps. Clary had no doubt he'd spent many hours in the gym to acquire those, and in a moment of weakness felt an urge to reach out and run her hands over that piece of golden perfection… Pull yourself together, Clary , she scolded herself, this is no time to be drooling over the extremely hot guy standing a few feet away
As if he could see exactly what she was thinking, the boy's smile widened into a grin, and he opened his mouth to speak, when a voice to the right interrupted him.
"Hi! You must be Clary! I'm Maryse, this is my husband Robert, and my children Alec, Isabelle and Jace," the woman, Maryse, pointed to each of her family members in turn, and Clary nodded. The golden boy's name was Jace. Why did his name have to be so incredibly s –
"Hello? You gonna say something? Or are you just going to stand there with your mouth hanging open? I know I'm hot, but really, it's rude to stare." Clary looked at the person who just spoke, who happened to be Jace. She felt her earlier impression (which was that he looked like a greek god) give away to a new revelation: he seemed like an arrogant, cocky asshole with a way too high opinion of himself.
Clary was just about to answer when the black-haired beauty, Isabelle, stepped forward.
"Oh, just ignore him. Clary is it? Well, I'm Isabelle, as mom already told you," Isabelle grinned at Clary, who actually managed to respond this time with a well formulated