I scrubbed my hand over my face, sighing deeply. "What do you men you can't be here, Will? Are you dying in a pool of your own blood or something-okay, I'm sorry that was really mean. I'm a bitch when I'm stressed."
"Yeah. I know. And to answer your question, I broke my arm. How am I going to play the guitar?"
"With your foot?"
"Clary."
"Fine, fine, okay.I'll figure something out. Feel better, and, Will?"
"Yeah?"
"Stay away from trees." I hung up the phone and set it down. Yes, Will. Fall out of a tree and break your arm on shownight, that'll really help. I shimmed into the clothes my stilest had made me get into, and I looked up in the mirror as I laced up my converse. My eyes were rimed thickly with black eyeliner and mascara, making the emrald gren of them pop. My red hair was straightened, and hung just above my waist. I had on charchol skinny jeans with rips in them in the knees and thighs, and a half shirt that stopped just above my belly sleves hung at my elbows, one sliding off my shoulder. The black shirt had a pair of big, giant, shiny metalic red lips. It made the green and black highlights in my hair really stand out. I ran my thumb over the ring on my finger, wishing my mom were here with me. My bracelets jangled as I wiped fast under my eyes to prevent tears from ruining Iris' hard work. People say that, with time, the pain of losing someone goes away. It doesn't. It just lessens, and every time you think about it is like a butterknife stabbing you in the heart.

I scanned the crowds, jumping away from the paparattzi and answering their questions hoping it would shut them up.

Question: Are you pregnant?
Answer: No.
Question: Who's the father?
Answer: Again, not pregnant.
Question: Why are you spending so much time with Magnus? Are you two together?
Answer: What, just because I'm famous doesn't mean I can't have friends? And no.

I finally broke free of them,and finally spotted someone in the crowd. I strode over to him, tapping him on the shoulder, and surprised golden eyes met mine. "Can you play guitar?"
"Yeah..."
"You any good?"
"I haven't gotten any complaints."
"Good. Come with me.'"
And I dragged him into the buildiing.