Wanna give me your number so we can message easier?
“I don’t understand why that’s such a dramatic stage,” Simon said, raising his eyebrows. Clary looked up at him and frowned.
“How do you not get how dramatic this is?” she exclaimed. “If she has my number, she can find out more about me!”
“What, exactly?” Simon asked. “You’ve blocked it off all your social media streams, as per school regulations. It’s not like she’s some pro-hacker working for the FBI.”
“How exactly do I know she isn’t?” Clary exclaimed. Simon snorted, downed the rest of his coffee, and clapped her on the back. His eyes were knowing, and also slightly pitying, and Clary’s stomach swooped unpleasantly, the familiar feeling of lonliness and shame spreading like an inkblot again.
“Clary,” he said, “give her a chance. You’ve been talking to her all summer, and all I’ve heard from you for the past month is bitching about how uncomfortable that forum private message platform is. Please. For my sake. And for yours. PLEASE. Give her your number.”
“But—“ Clary started, and the bell rang. Simon grinned, backing out of the teacher’s lounge.
“No backing out now!” he called at her. “Just do it!”
Clary sighed, the inkblot of despair slowing down.
She tapped in her number, and it stopped growing altogether.
When she got a message from an unknown number (We just eliminated a whole subject of conversation. Whatever will we talk about without the complaints about that damned messaging system?), she smiled, and as she saved the number into her phone as Forum Girl, the inkblot began fading.
It’s not cheesy if I say that I feel closer to you now, right?
Isabelle smiled down at her phone and ignored Lydia’s snort.
“If you say one salty thing about Ginger, I’ll tell the captain you’re free for the next month’s worth of weekends,” Isabelle said, the smile still firmly in place. Lydia’s huff didn’t go unnoticed.
“You know I’m kidding, querida, right?” Isabelle said, raising her gaze to Lydia even as her fingers continued tapping out a snappy reply.
Lydia nodded. “Go get her, cousin. She’s making your smiles less scary lately. I like not quaking in my boots every time you get an idea into your head.”
“That’s not good,” Isabelle said with a frown, even as a lance of joy raced through her. “I need to inspire fear. A detective that doesn’t inspire fear doesn’t get confessions so quickly.”
“True,” Lydia hummed, and her phone beeped. Glancing at the screen, she grabbed it and her jacket. “Coming, Lightwood?”
Isabelle tapped send (Now we have to meet. I mean, it’s been 4 months. And I definitely owe you dinner and a movie.), flipped her hair back, and stood up. “Indeed.”
I’ll talk to you later. I think something major just happened at my job.
Clary sighed and locked her phone, slipping it into her pocket. Something major just happened at her job as well. Someone had vandalized the playground, again, and the kids were getting cabin fever from spending recess inside the school building. But Principal Garroway wasn’t going to let this go again, so he called in the police to investigate the graffiti.
Now Clary was standing out in the snow, nose red and hat jammed down her ears, for the detectives to get there. Luke had asked her to be the liaison, since she wasn’t a homeroom teacher and he was busy placating the parents. So she was sent out to wait for the officers, who were requested to arrive in plainclothes so as to not alarm the children, who were staring out at the schoolyard, longing for the snow.
A compact lilac car pulled up in front of the school, and two women climbed out. One was bundled into a parka, her golden braid resting on her shoulder and her parka hood pulled up over her head. The second one, lithe and fluid, garbed in a long black peacoat and a simple knit band around the top of her head, spotted Clary and headed towards her. The blond followed.
Clary tapped send (At mine too. Fingers freezing off, TTYL. But I’d love to meet you) and slipped her phone back into her pocket. “Hi,” she said, holding out her hand to shake the two detective’s hands in turn, breath coming out in white puffs. “My name’s Clary Fray. I’m the teacher liaison.”
“Detective Lightwood,” the taller one said, pointing to herself, “and Branwell”, pointing at the blonde. She nodded her head towards the playground. “What seems to be the problem here?”
As Clary lead them through the twisted swing sets and grafittied walls, she couldn’t help but glance at Detective Lightwood more often than not. Her features were dark and sharp, her gaze focused, and her hair fell in dark waves across her shoulders. For a moment, Clary wondered how it would feel to run her fingers through the dark strands, then started and frowned as she pushed that thought away.
“Looks like we’re pretty much done here,” Detective Lightwood said, turning to Clary as Detective Branwell collected empty spray cans from the corner, dropping them into evidence bags. “Can I have your number, for updates?”
“Sure,” Clary said, and recited the number. Detective Lightwood’s brows furrowed as she typed it in, and a small grin grew as her typing speed slowed. Finally, after what seemed forever, she typed in the last number and let out a giggle.
“What’s wrong?” Clary asked. The other woman raised her gaze, laughter dancing in her warm eyes, and holding that gaze, pressed Call. Clary’s phone vibrated; she pulled it out of her pocket, and when she saw the screen, she let out a shocked breath.
“Ginger,” Detective Lightwood said, amused, as Clary breathed, “Forum Girl.”
They looked up from their phones, caught each other’s gaze, and then looked away, blushing. Finally, Clary looked back at the detective, who was looking at her with hope and amusement and a bit of fondness.
“Clary,” she said, holding out her hand.
“Isabelle,” the detective said, and grasped her hand, a wide smile gracing her face.
“So, when should I be at your place?”
[10:09 PM] S: How was your date?
[9:18 AM] C: If I’m only answering you now… what do you think?