City of Boneheads: A Parody of City of Bones (The Mortal Instruments Book 1)

The stick figure stood on the hill, waving at the stick figure woman and the stick figure dog, and…

“And his hand had six fingers,” Clary muttered to herself in exasperation. She crumpled up the drawing and tossed it onto the large pile of crumpled-up drawings on the floor of the living room. She looked around at the expertly done framed drawings on the walls, and wished that she could be as good at art as her mother. But then she thought about how if she were an artist like her mom, she’d make no money like her mom, and she felt glad she wasn’t wasting her life trying to be an artist.

Clary heard the key turn in the front door and quickly grabbed one of her mom’s paperbacks from the coffee table. She didn’t want Mom to chew her out again for getting thrown out of the club for stealing, and she knew Mom would never interrupt her reading.

The door opened and Luke came in, carrying a stack of unassembled cardboard boxes. “Hi, Uncle Luke,” said Clary. Mom told Clary to call him “Uncle Luke” because he was a “good friend of the family,” which Clary knew really meant he was a “hookup buddy.”

“Hey Clary,” said Luke. “What’re you reading?”

Clary turned the book around and read the title aloud. “How to Live on One Dollar A Day: The Guide to Being A Professional Artist.”

“One dollar a day?” said Luke. “Must be a really successful artist.”

They both laughed.

“So what’s with the boxes?” said Clary.

Luke’s face filled with worry. “Uh…your mom’s just organizing some stuff,” he said.

Clary sighed. She’d figured out the real reason for the boxes as soon as she saw them: Mom hadn’t paid the rent in so long they were gonna be homeless and live in cardboard boxes.

The door opened again and Clary’s mom walked in. As usual, she wore paint-spattered overalls, not because she’d done any art today, but because being an artist paid so little that she couldn’t afford to do laundry regularly.

 “Mom, can we at least get plastic boxes so when it rains our house won’t fall apart?” said Clary.

Clary’s mom laughed. “Clary, the boxes aren’t for us to live in,” she said.

“Then what are they for?”

Clary’s mom hesitated, and Luke gave her a look.

“Just tell her, Jocelyn,” said Luke.

Clary’s mom took a deep breath and nodded. “Fine,” she said. “Clary, I’m renting out your room on Airbnb.”

“What?” said Clary.

“Do you know what we can get for a 180-square foot bedroom in Park Slope? In the summer? With hardwood floors?”

“But where am I gonna sleep?” said Clary.

“At Luke’s summer house in upstate New York!” said Clary’s Mom. “Do you think 10 boxes will be enough for all your stuff?”

“Mom, this isn’t fair!” said Clary.

“What isn’t fair is that soon they’re gonna outlaw Airbnb because of all the money the hotel lobby is throwing at it,” said Clary’s Mom. “So we’ve got to make our money while we can.”

Behind Clary’s mom the door flew open, and Clary’s mom let out a scream. But it was just Simon.

“Sorry to surprise you, Mrs. Fray,” said Simon.

“Oh I wasn’t surprised,” said Clary’s mom. “I screamed because I’m horrified my daughter is still hanging out with you.” She turned to Clary. “Come on, honey, you’re like an 8 and he’s like a 4 or 5. Time to start stepping it up.”

“Um, anyway,”  said Simon, “I just came over to ask Clary if she had any interest in me buying her dinner and then taking her to a movie and then buying her ice cream or a drink afterwards, or both if she wants.”

“Sounds great,” said Clary, “because I’m certainly done with this conversation. Later.” She walked to the door.

“When you get back, can you make sure before you go in your room that a renter’s not sleeping there? said Clary’s mom.

But Clary didn’t hear her, because she’d already slammed the door behind her.

“What was that about?” said Simon, while Clary blissfully munched on the plate of nachos Simon had bought her.

“Oh, nothing, my mom just gets weird once in a while,” said Clary. She didn’t want to tell him she was leaving for the summer, because then he might lose all hope of hooking up with her and stop buying her stuff like these awesome nachos.

“It’s funny,” said Simon, “I’ve known your mom for a while but I don’t know much about her. Like, where did she get those scars?”

“What scars?”

“You know, the ones on her butt.” Simon pulled out his phone and showed Clary a photo he’d been texted of a butt wearing only skimpy panties, with the caption: “Simon—You know you want it. xoxo Jocelyn.”

“I’m still not seeing the scars,” said Clary.

“They’re easier to see in the naked photos,” said Simon. “Hold on.”

“Don’t worry about it, I believe you,” said Clary.

“Hey, so I promised my bandmate Eric I’d go to his poetry reading at Java Dada today. Any interest?”

Clary had no desire to see poetry whatsoever. But she was still hungry, and Java Dada had awesome cheese fries Simon could buy for her.

“Sure, I’ll go!” she said. “Speaking of your band, did you guys ever settle on a name?”

Simon shook his head sadly. “We just can’t seem to come up with anything that really works. Got any suggestions?”

“How ‘bout Friend Zone?” said Clary.

“What’s a ‘friend zone’?” said Simon.

“Eh, maybe it’s too obscure,” said Clary. “What about ‘Can’t Take a Hint?’ Or ‘Out of Your League?’”

“Hmmmmm, not bad,” said Simon. “I’ll run them by the guys. Come on, the show starts in 15!”

The cheese fries at Java Dada were so good that Clary could almost forget the fact that she was in a room listening to poetry.

“Okay, I’ll admit it,” said Simon. “Eric’s poetry is pretty bad.”

“Calling it ‘bad’ would imply there’s such a thing as good poetry,” said Clary. “Hey, can you buy me a Diet Coke?”

“Right away!” said Simon, and he practically sprinted to the bar.

Clary felt a tap on her shoulder. It was a cute blonde girl sitting in the next seat over.

“Excuse me, I—”

“No, you cannot have any of my fries,” said Clary.

The girl laughed. “I was actually just gonna ask if that guy was your boyfriend.”

“Who, him?” Clary said, pointing at Simon. The girl nodded. “Nope,” said Clary.

“He’s kinda cute!” said the girl.

Clary made the “Loser” sign with her fingers on her forehead.

“Oh,” said the girl, losing all interest. “Thanks for the heads up.”

Clary turned back to the stage, and was stunned to see that sitting on the couch in front of her was Jace, the blonde guy from the Pandemonium Club.

Darn, she thought. I was kinda into him, but he likes poetry? Well so much for that.

But a moment later, Jace stood up and left.

Cool, he hates poetry! thought Clary. And he’s so rude he’ll just walk out in the middle of a poem rather than waiting two minutes for it to end! I like him even more!

Clary didn’t normally chase after guys, but this guy seemed like such a jerk she couldn’t help it. She ran out of the café after him.

Clary spotted Jace in the alley behind the coffeehouse, sipping his coffee. She thought about just walking up to him and saying hi, but she knew that with the type of hot guys she was into, playing hard to get was even more important than her actual personality. So she went with the “pretend you don’t like him” approach.

“Stop following me everywhere!” said Clary. “If you don’t stop stalking me, I’m calling the police.”

Jace laughed. “The only thing I was following was my hankering for a mochaccino,” he said, and took another sip. He frowned slightly at the mug. “Hmmmm, could use a little more milk.” He pulled out what looked like a glowing metal pen and drew a cartoon cow on his hand. The air above his hand shimmered, and a small cup of milk suddenly appeared in it.

Clary gasped. “How’d you do that?” she said.

“It’s called a tramp stamp,” said Jace. “It’s a symbol that has magical powers.”

“Oh, so you’re like a magician?” said Clary.

Jace shook his head. “I’m a Shadowhunter,” he said.

Clary cracked up.

“What’s so funny?” said Jace.

“Shadowhunter?” said Clary. “Talk about pretentious.”

“We kill demons, you know.”

“Then why don’t you just call yourself ‘Demon Killers?” said Clary. “‘Oooooo, I’m a Shadowhunter, I hunt shadows. I’m soooo coooool.’”

Jace eyed her, looking confused. “I just don’t get it,” said Jace. “You’re annoying like a mundie, but unlike mundies you can see us.”

 “Maybe I’m a ‘Shadowhunter,’ too!” said Clary. She looked down at her shadow. “Prepare to die,” she said to the shadow ominously.

 “Nah, if you were a Shadowhunter, you’d have a mark on your hand like this.” Jace held out his hand, and Clary looked at it.

“Remember to pick up dry cleaning?”

“Oops, wrong hand,” said Jace, and held out his other hand. Clary examined it and saw what appeared to be a dark tattoo that said, “SHADOWHUNTERZ 4-EVA.”

Clary’s cell phone rang, and she looked at it. “It’s my mom,” she said.

“You can get it,” said Jace.

“Nope, she’s never gonna learn to text if I pick up the phone,” said Clary. “I’ve shown her how to do it 50 times. It’s not that hard.”

Jace drained the final sip of his mochaccino. “Come on,” he said, “Let’s go back to the Institute.”

“You mean your place?” said Clary.

“Uh…yeah,” he said. “But it’s more than my place, it’s an Institute!”

“Are you trying to get me back there to hook up with you?”

“No!” said Jace. “Hodge said he wants to talk to you.”

“Who’s Hodge?” said Clary.

“A guy…who wants to talk to you.”

Clary’s phone rang again.

“Ohmigoddddd!” said Clary, and angrily answered the phone. “T-E-X-T, Mom. Text!”

“Clary, thank goodness you answered!” said her mom, sounding panicked. “Listen to me: don’t come home!”

Clary rolled her eyes and put her hand over the receiver. “She’s with a dude,” Clary whispered to Jace.

“Clary! Go somewhere safe and call Luke!” shouted Clary’s mom. “Tell him they found me—”

Her words were drowned out by the sound of a giant crash and things falling to the floor. Clary rolled her eyes again.

“Mom, if you’re with a guy you can just tell me,” said Clary. “You don’t have to go through all this trouble of making up some crazy scenario. Mom? Hello?”

The line went dead.

“Crap!” said Clary, and she frantically dialed the phone again.

“What’s wrong?” said Jace.

“I forgot to tell her to not hook up with the guy on the couch,” said Clary. “I have to sit on that thing!” Clary got a busy signal and redialed, but her hands were shaking so much she dropped the phone, and it hit the ground and split into several pieces.

“Dang it!” said Clary. “Hey, give me yours for a second.”

Clary pointed to a black device that was protruding from Jace’s pocket.

“Um, you can’t really make calls on this,” said Jace, holding up the device.

“Does it have Internet?” said Clary.

“Well, yeah, but…”

Clary grabbed the device and started typing a message on Facebook. “Hey peeps,” she said, reading the message as she typed. “My phone died so I’m borrowing my friend’s phone for the day. Reach me here!”

“Borrowing?” said Jace.

“Gotta rush home, kthanksbye!” said Clary, and she ran off.