When Perfect Meets Crazy

Chapter 35: 34 - Lucky for us, I was a great liar.

An awkward bit of silence passed and I finally looked up, meeting his gaze.

“I hate that.”

He blinked and stared back, not saying anything. I forced a smile, then averted my gaze, returning my

attention to the desk unit as the most uncomfortable silence ever settled between us.

He cleared his throat, drawing my gaze back to him.

“Do you know what we should do?” he asked.

“What?”

“Screw her over,” he answered. “Seriously. You’re crazy smart. You can come up with a legit plan. I can

help you carry it out. My sister had to deal with something similar too when she was young.”

“She’s just nine,” I said flatly.

“My older sister,” he clarified.

That made more sense but I still wasn’t interested. I understood the sentiment behind the offer and it

was exactly why I was unwilling to accept it.

“Don’t pity me.” I rolled my eyes.

“Pity you?” He raised his eyebrows. “You?”

I shrugged. It was the reason he was oh so chivalrously offering to mess with Claire, wasn’t it? I wasn’t

stupid nor was I interested.

“Whoever pities you is completely stupid and contrary to what you believe, I’m not. I know you’re tough.

I’ve seen it. I know what you’re capable of.” He gave a one shoulder jerk. “I’m not denying that it

must’ve hurt but I know you. I wasn’t even going to say sorry.”

I arched one eyebrow, disbelief coloring my face specifically at the last part of his statement.

“You heard right.” He held my gaze. “You’ve insulted me way too often for me not to know you have a

tough skin. Remember all the times you outright called me dumb. Not to mention the times you implied

it.”

A gasp of surprised laughter bubbled out of me. He shrugged and I found myself smiling in genuine

appreciation.

“I used ‘idiot’ more than any other adjectives,” I corrected. “For accuracy’s sake.”

He rolled his eyes, a smile on his lips. My answering smile was so wide it made my cheeks ache.

“I have a question.” His expression suddenly turned serious.

My smile collapsed.

“What?”

“I’d ask Claire myself but it feels like a touchy subject so I’d just rather ask you than go behind your

back. I’ve seen you in action so I’d prefer to not be a target.”

“What you want to know?” I asked reluctantly.

“Claire. How did she manage to pull one on you? You have eyes in the back of your head. I want to

know how she did it.”

I released the breath I had been holding, relief flooding through me. All that anxiety for nothing. He

really needed to stop building up to questions or confessions and just outright say whatever he had to

say. Who builds up to random only mildly invasive questions, for the love of God? I shook my head

exasperatedly.

“You’re insane,” I stated.

Suddenly, all I wanted to do was laugh. So I did. But once I started, I couldn’t stop. The whole while, I

was conscious of Ian’s confused gaze on my face. Still, I kept laughing.

“No seriously,” he pressed.

I could see why that nugget of information would be important to him, especially since he’d never

successfully pulled one on me himself but in the face of everything, there was something intrinsically

hilarious about the idea that an undercover special officer was avidly interested in how to pull one over

a sixteen year old high school student.

Somehow, I managed to quiet down for a moment.

“I was quiet in middle school. Harmless,” I answered, forcing myself to swallow what was left of my

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At the word ‘harmless,’ he flashed me a skeptical frown. I smiled.

“It’s true,” I reaffirmed. “I grew up smart and when you’re that smart from a young age, you naturally

become the teacher’s pet. You have people comparing others to you. Saying how you’re smart, not

disruptive and things like that. It warps you a little bit.”

I shrugged, doing my best to ignore the sudden bout of self-consciousness.

“You start feeling like you always have to be just that - smart, quiet, not disruptive- all the time.”

He nodded slowly.

“So,” I said brightly, shaking the melancholy off as best as I could. “I was quiet and not disruptive the

way smart kids always are. It was part of what spurred my rebellious phase on.”

He nodded, staring at me like I was something he couldn’t quite fully understand.

“Every time I think I get you.” He shook his head.

I overlooked his uncalled for internal reflection.

“I wanted to stop feeling like all I had was because I was good at school and a model kid at home. Like

it was all conditional and would all go away the second I failed. Or the second I stopped conforming.”

I heaved a sigh.

“So I started acting out.” I shrugged. “I stopped studying. Stopped doing everything I was supposed to.”

My gaze found his.

“I’m confused.” He frowned. “You’re pretty much every parent’s dream child. A straight ‘A’ Harvard

bound student.” His eyes narrowed. “Tell me this is not what you look like rebelling.”

“No. Of course not.” I laughed heartily, shoving him lightly. “I stopped because it wasn’t working out the

way I wanted.”

“What?”

“It backfired.”

“How does rebelling backfire?” He scoffed.

“Mine did.” I shrugged. “My parents started fighting about me. About whose fault it was. About

everything really. They also started focusing their efforts on Olly. You know, to at least secure the other

child before she ‘got out of hand like me’.” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “They were stifling her. She

was miserable. Picture trying to turn Isabelle into Alec.”

“Isabelle?”

“Lightwood.” I clarified.

He stared back blankly.

“Isabelle Lightwood,” I expanded.

“The name means nothing to me.” He shook his head.

My eyes widened in disbelief.

“Shadow hunters?” I tried again.

He shook his head.

“Mortal Instruments?” I was at my wits end.

“You’re just saying words.”

I blinked.

“No. God no. That’s... no.” I shook my head in denial. “You seriously don’t know Mortal Instruments?”

He shook his head. My lips parted in a silent ‘o’.

“Really?” My tone was drenched in disbelief.

He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Okay,” I shook my head, “you’re bingeing the series with me. Argue and I’ll add the movie.”

His brows furrowed.

“A movie and a series?” His tone made it clear he didn’t think it was necessary and would much rather

have his eyelashes plucked out.

Unfortunately for him, I couldn’t care less.

“Prepare yourself,” I warned.

• • •

As I drove back home with Ian riding shotgun, I found myself stealing glances at his profile at every

turn.

“What?” he finally asked, turning his head in my direction.

“Nothing.”

I shook my head, forcing myself to stare straight ahead. I felt, more than saw, him roll his eyes.

“You’ve been looking at me and looking away since. What is it?”

“Just wondering,” I answered in a small voice, my fingers tightening around the steering wheel.

“About?” he prompted.

“I told you some personal stuff today.” My tone was accusatory. “I normally wouldn’t do that. It’s not me.

I mean I never even told Olly and she’s the one I’m most open with.”

I frowned, levelling him with the full force of my accusatory stare. It just wasn’t adding up. There was no

reason to tell him what really went down with Claire regardless of whether or not he ask. But I did. I

even went an extra mile, telling him about my childhood. I had no reason to do that.

It was entirely uncalled for and out of character. Did he perhaps slip me something to make me more

susceptible to his suggestions?

“You’re pretty much Fort Knoxx, aren’t you?” he quipped, oblivious to my inner turmoil.

Clearly, it wasn’t his attentiveness that had done the trick. He had none of that going for him. Besides

the way I reacted, getting angry one second, then fine the nex--

“Ohhh.” I slapped a hand across my forehead as realization dawned.

It was PMS. It had to be. Hormonal imbalance was screwing with me. I wasn’t going soft. Phew.

“What?” His curious gaze met mine.

“Here.” I tossed him my phone since I was driving and I couldn’t check it myself. “Check my calendar

and tell me what you see over the next few days.”

His expression made it clear he wasn’t following.

“Oh-kay,” he drawled, picking up the phone before the screen could go off.

A beat of silence passed as I waited for him to open the calendar app.

“It goes red in two days,” he announced. “What’s that about?”

“Makes sense now.” I sighed in relief, snatching my phone back.

“What does?” he asked, irritation evident in his tone.

“Why I over shared.”

At his blank look, I added, “About Claire.”

He wrinkled up his nose, exasperation coloring his features.

“I asked a question. You answered. How was that an over share?”

I inclined my head, begrudgingly acknowledging his point.

“For other people, maybe not but for me, it was an over share.” I explained.

Normal non-hormonal me would’ve laughed in his face when he asked about Claire, told him it wasn’t

any of his business and actually stuck with it instead of spilling my guts all of five seconds later. I really

wanted to crawl under a rock to die now that I thought it over. I had pretty much lost all sense of self

control the second I started talking. Christ.

“Okay.” He shook his head slowly. “What did you figure out then?”

“I’m hormonal right now. PMS. Which means I can’t trust myself around you,” I answered.

At this, he wriggled his brows suggestively, throwing me a smirk I had to roll my eyes at.

“Oh please.” I waved the idea away with a flick of my wrist. “For that, I’d have to be even remotely

attracted to you.”

Lucky for us, unlike him, I was a great liar.