First - I do not own these characters, I owe them to Cassandra Clare

Second - I got this story off another writer ( candycop99) who is writing the same story, but this is just my version of it. I swear I take no credit as to how the story plays out. I will tell you if I deviate from the main storyline which the author has written. Thank you for understanding.

Clary

Beep, beep, beep.
"Ugh," I groaned. My hand scrabbled for the alarm clock. I turned off the infernal device, and sat up, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. It took me only a moment to realise what I had read on the screen.
"TEN O'CLOCK?" I yelled, surely waking up the entire neighbourhood.
I threw off the sheets, and scampered around the room. I snatched up some clothing – a light blue jumper and a pair of jeans – and pulled them on. My suitcases sat neatly by the door, and I stacked them up on top of each other to drag them easily down the stairs. I grabbed a piece of toast, kissed my mother Jocelyn on the cheek, and dashed out of the apartment onto the street. I hailed a cab, and, as it drew up, squealed. In and out of the apartment again, and my plane ticket was safely in hand.
"Airport, please," I said to the cabbie. "And fast."
"Can't guarantee anything with this traffic," he drawled.
"Well, can you at least try? My flight is in two hours."
"Darling, you are late!"
"Yeah! Now, drive!" He nodded and laughed, and pulled into the late-morning traffic. Bright yellow taxis, humming like bees, streaked past. Shouts and calls echoed around the street. A man in a suit and a street vendor were arguing fiercely. Typical New York, I thought to myself.
As we made our way through the sea of cars, I flicked open my phone. "Simon," I said into the voicemail microphone, "I'm on my way to the airport. Call me." He wouldn't call me, I knew. He would be fast asleep, having stayed up all night watching a programme on his laptop. I would be stuck in a plane all day, so we wouldn't talk until tonight.
As soon as we pulled up at the airport, I threw the correct amount of money at the driver and jumped out. Quickly getting through security, I sprinted to the gate, my rucksack thumping against my back, a jacket slung over my arm, and my passport between my teeth. The woman at the scanning machine smiled sympathetically.
"Clarissa Fray," she said, reading my name off my ticket.
"Clary," I corrected her, catching my breath.
"Well, Clary, have a safe flight."
Once in the airplane, I flopped into my seat and prepared to close my eyes. Next to me, a brown-haired girl with glasses. As the plane took off, we exchanged names (she was called Emma) and small talk. The air hostess passed around drinks and a meagre breakfast.
"Ew," said my neighbour, "this is disgusting."
I laughed, and pushed my fork into the dish. "God, it's like a sponge!"
There was a moment of silence, filled only by the sound of the plane's engines, and chewing mouths. "So," she said, "what are you doing in California?"
"I got accepted into a boarding school there."
"That's a bit late into the year, isn't it? November?"
"Yeah, a little … lots of catching up to do!"

The hours dragged on, and I fell asleep. I woke up to a hostess telling us to buckle up again, because we were about to land. Emma and I swapped phone numbers, and parted ways. Passport control, baggage claim, baggage check … all were done with a constant yawn at the back of my mouth. I walked towards the exit, searching for my name in the forest of signs. A tall man in a suit approached me.
"Fray?" he said roughly.
I nodded. He took my bags off me and carried them to a slim black car. I was helped into the back seat and driven away. Almost immediately, we were trapped in traffic. A resigned sigh escaped me; I pulled out my phone to check for messages.
One call from my mother, one text from Emma, and five from my brother, Sebastian. I landed on voicemail with my mother, who must have been sleeping. I wished Emma a good stay, and proceeded to scroll through Sebastian's messages.
Sebastian Fray is my older brother by a year. He's seventeen and currently attends the same school I got into – the School of the Skilled. The talent that bought him a ticket into the academy was computer engineering. Here is the first of our differences. I got accepted because I excel in combat. From Taekwondo to fencing – you name it, I can do it. I could take down a man bigger than me with my eyes closed and my hands behind my back. Somehow, that's a skill that the academy is looking for, and so I was sent a letter of recruitment, to which I accepted. Sebastian and I are often told that we could hardly be related. He likes video games, films, and anything technology-related. I, on the other hand, love to read, draw, and train. The only thing we have in common is our proficiency in sports, and our dry humour. We don't even look the same. He's got white-blond hair, I'm a curly, red mess. His eyes are almost black, mine are emerald green. He's tall, and I'm menacingly minuscule.
Clary to Sebastian: Seb – off the plane, on my way to the school.
He answered almost immediately.
Sebastian to Clary: OK, I'll show u round campus after u got ur sched and stuff
Clary to Sebastian: only if you check your spelling!
Sebastian to Clary: I didn't get accepted for my English, did I?
I chuckled.
Clary to Sebastian: yeah, there's no way you'd make it as an author.
Sebastian to Clary: I am hurt! I am very much hurt! I'll meet you at the entrance.
I looked out of the window as the car drew to a standstill, and gasped. There was no way that was a school! It was six floors high, with whitewashed walls and black slate roofs I was dying to climb onto. There were sprawling grounds behind the main building, whose grass was starting to yellow. I could see smaller houses here and there on the golf-course-like terrain, and students milling around the courtyard the driver had drawn up in.
Suitcase in hand and pride soundly swallowed, I started to force my way through the crowd to the front steps. There, I spotted a familiar shock of blond hair.
"Sebastian!" I called, running up to him for a hug.
"Hey, firecracker," he smiled. "Good to see you. Have you shrunk an inch?"
I punched his shoulder gently. "Nice shirt choice," I mocked.
He picked at cloth, over which was written you can't spell game without me! "I have the best style," he said. "Right, let's get your schedule."
Sebastian led me into the building. The place was even grander within than without, if that was even possible. Marble floors and blue walls, high ceilings with – were those chandeliers? Heavy doors were set into the walls every few feet, leading into numerous classrooms and offices.
"Whoah," I breathed.
He grinned. "I knew you would like it." He steered me through the corridors and into a cosy office with a young woman behind a desk. "Antonia," he said, "can we get my sister checked in?"
She looked up from her computer, and smiled. "Good afternoon, Sebastian. Of course we can. You must be Clarissa," she said to me.
"I prefer Clary," I mumbled.
"All right. Here's your schedule, and a map in case you get lost. You also need your room fob. You're in 114A, which is in the main building. I've got all of your textbooks right here. Classes start at eight o'clock sharp every morning, and end at three. You get weekends and holidays off. I've got you signed on to the main website, so you'll receive the daily announcements in your inbox. I just need you to fill in a short form for me…" and on it went.
Finally, loaded up with school paraphernalia, Sebastian and I left the office. I was then shown around the first four floors of the school. Indoor swimming pools, numerous different classrooms for a variety of skillsets, bathrooms, and a gym (fully equipped with fighting materials, I noticed excitedly), were all I got to see. Outside, I was told, there were the playing fields, an outdoor swimming pool, and a dance hall. The student union was down the road. Apparently, the smaller buildings on the grass were individual dormitories for seniors, teachers, and veterans. My bedroom would be on the top floors of the school's principal complex. Boys were not allowed into the girls' floor, yet girls were allowed on the boys'. That meant that I was left to find it on my own. I bid my brother goodbye, took my bag, and headed into my floor.
114A, I told myself. 114A, where are you?
I was looking over the numbers on the doors, when I collided into a girl coming around the corner. I fell over, and my things skittered across the floor. I began to gather them up, and the girl helped me. She had long, silky black hair, and dark brown eyes. She looked like she had stepped out of the cover of a fashion magazine. She wore a light blue tank top with a black leather jacket, and form-fitting jeans. On her feet were heels so high that they gave me a headache to look at.
"I am so sorry," she babbled, "I'm so clumsy, it's unreal." She stood up – towering over me by six inches, at least – and said, "you're new here, right?" I nodded. "I'm Isabelle Lightwood."
"I'm Clarissa, but call me Clary. Sorry for bumping into you, I wasn't paying attention." I hefted my bag over my shoulder and started away from her."Hey, do you need help? You look lost." She smiled, and it was genuine.
"Yeah, I'm looking for my dorm," I said, "114A."
"Oh my God," she squealed, "You're my new roommate! Brilliant!" and she hooked her arm through the straps of my bag, and led me down the corridor.
As I walked into the dormitory I saw that it looked far more like an apartment. The ceiling was slanted, throwing the living space I was looking at into contrast with the wide windows. They let in cold, autumn light. There were plush couches surrounding a low coffee table, and a flat-screen television. In one corner, a kitchen with a small island layered with cabinets. I walked around the place, drinking it in. It looked comfortable, while still keeping a surprisingly classy demeanour. On either side of the kitchen area were two doors – each with a bathroom and a bedroom behind them.
"Right, that's your room," Isabelle said. "I'll let you unpack."
The room was bare, but I could soon fix that. Yet another window pierced the wall, and under it was a desk with drawers. The bed jutted out into the middle of the room, wide enough to accommodate two people. The floor was wooden, but a woolly carpet was spread over it. There was enough cupboard space for an entire family, which was good, because I couldn't pack light if the world was ending.
I unpacked slowly, taking my time. I called my mum, and Simon, both of whom wished me good luck for the next day. There was a cry from the kitchen, and I opened the door to see Isabelle, looking miserable next to a minor explosion at the cooker.
"Let's just get pizza," I suggested, tearing sheets of kitchen paper to wipe up the mess. "Do they deliver into the building?"
"Yes, they do. Let me find the phone number." When the pizza arrived, we settled into the sofas and tucked in. Chatting with Isabelle was surprisingly easy. I was usually shy, and hard to talk to, but she seemed friendly and open.
"Wait," she said through an enormous mouthful, "your name is Clary Fray. As in, the sister of Sebastian Fray?"
"Yeah, he's my brother. Why?"
"He's only one of the best-looking guys in the whole academy! And he's really intelligent, and funny, and nice," her voice rose, "and you failed to mention that he was your brother?"
"Well, you see, I'm not hugely attracted to him, so I didn't make it that huge of a deal," I laughed, watching her face go purple.
"Anything else you forgot to tell me?" she said wickedly, "You're not an international superstar, are you?"
"I wish! No. Well, actually, my special skill is combat. I have an aptitude for beating people into a pulp." I proceeded to outline my range of talents. Her eyes widened.
"Clary, you sound kind of … dare I say it? Badass," she whispered.
I gasped. "You dare not say that word!" and we rolled about, laughing. "Yeah, I'm a total badass. I can knock you senseless without needing to, and club baby seals to death without shedding a single tear."
"OK, let's not exaggerate. But you could, like, go up against someone, and win?" I nodded. Trying to avoid this kind of conversation, I steered towards her own talent. "Oh," she said, "I'm a fashion designer. I make totally fabulous clothing that no one can help but wear." She winked.
"That explains why you can actually walk in heels," I said.
Once we had polished off the crusts, I wished her good night, and went into my room. I finished unpacking, and hopped into the shower. Making sure I rubbed off the hours of plane clinging to my skin, I basked in the hot water.
I looked out of the window, which had a view onto the fields, and clambered into bed. I fell asleep fearing the next day.