A/N: I can't get Mal out of my mind. The thing is, there's a lot of fanfics on here pairing him with Zoey. I am a firm Zoke shipper and refuse to ship Zoey with any of Mike's alternate personalities...although, to be honest, I'm a devoted Aleheather shipper too and I don't mind pairing up an OC with Alejandro...but I digress. However, I have no problem with giving Mal a relationship – in fact, I totally ship Mal/Scarlett, but that's not what this story is about. I need to explain, that I don't see Mal as being able to develop genuine affection and love for anyone. He's not a person – he's a personality that was written to be pure evil and nothing more. I see him as a guy who can channel his sadism, lust, and desire for power into a relationship, and that's what the fic will centre around.

Plot: Bailey Young is a fourteen-year-old girl with an addiction to vandalism. When she is sent to a mixed-gender juvenile detention centre, she meets two boys – a punk who's a lot of fun to be around, and a dark mysterious guy who seems to be stalking her...

Disclaimer: I own nothing from Total Drama. Fresh TV, Cake Entertainment, whatever – they own it, not me, so don't sue. Oh, and I DO own Bailey. BTW, there will be more than two TD characters in here, and one of them...I know she probably didn't go to juvie, just imagine she went a little bit crazy earlier in her life and pleaded guilty of assault.

"Go away! I can't stand to look at you! I don't think I'll ever be able to look at you again, you little..."

"Fine, I'm going! You'd think I could do something you did to your ears several times over."

"Don't talk to me like that, you worthless little girl! You're still my flesh, and you tainted it!"

I slammed the door on her words, stalking out of the apartment and stepping into the elevator, spray can hidden under my hoodie. I admired myself in the reflection of the mirror in there. Honestly, so much drama over a little nose piercing with a sparkly stone. It looks good, it doesn't hurt that much any more, and it was my money. But then, what did I expect? Everyone reacted the same way when I dyed my hair black and had it cut to just below my chin. And the time that I refused to wear little girl clothes and wore a black sequinned top with one sleeve and black skinny jeans out. What, did they expect me to be happy with looking like a mousey little schoolgirl forever?

I tried not to care about it. I really did. But what was I supposed to do? Not care that my own parents threw personal and painful insults at me every time I did something I felt like doing to my appearance? That wasn't the worst part, though. As they did that, my two younger sisters, Sophie and Lucy, would just watch, pleased that it wasn't them. So I tried not to be at home. Otherwise, I'd just get in the way.

Yeah, yeah, I know, I haven't explained who I am. Bailey Young, age fourteen, brown-eyed, black-haired, hailing from the closest Ontario has to ghettoes with apartment buildings. But I do have a secret identity. I'm also the Queen of Graffiti Art, spray-painting the neighbourhood with whatever I feel like. And right now, I felt frustrated and angry that my family wouldn't just accept that maybe the synthetic diamond on my nose suited me, and that they'd get used to it.

I decided that I'd paint the back of our apartment building – it was easy. Of course, I'd been there, done that several times, but there was still a few metres just begging to be filled.

I shook my spray can and sprayed a sentence in shocking neon pink: Voldemort likes to touch fourteen-year-old boys. I'd seen the quote on the internet and wanted to write it somewhere. Then I tagged it with a cherry, because that was my middle name – Cherry. This was all routine stuff for me, things I did regularly. It was one of my least offensive spray-painted sentences yet, in fact. No one had confronted me about it, so I assumed no one knew it was me. And it was fun, so I kept doing it, even if it wasn't exactly the most lawful hobby.

As for school...well, I had a reputation. The school went up from kindergarten to twelfth grade, so most of us had known each other since we were five years old. I hung out with a bunch of guys, but I got the sense that all of them were a little scared of me. Understandable. I was smaller and skinnier than all of them, but back in third grade, I saw a couple of them beating up on some kindergartener. So I jumped on one of them and started beating on him. I wasn't that strong, but he was so surprised that I knocked him down.

When I realized that I had scared them and won a fight, I kept to the same tactic. If anyone beat up on someone who didn't deserve it, I'd use the element of surprise and a tiny bit of strength to attack them. I was so small and looked so non-threatening, they never saw it coming. Now, my new piercing, dyed hair and black clothes made me look threatening, but by that time, people knew not to mess with me.

I didn't really have a social life outside school. I spent every hour trying to avoid my family – if my parents weren't yelling at me, seven-year-old Sophie would be whining at me to play with her, or I would be chasing down Lucy, who was twelve and kept borrowing my makeup without asking and not giving it back. It wasn't that she forgot. I could ask her to give it back and she'd make a point of hoarding it away somewhere I didn't know about and giving me a smirk that totally said "It's mine now, ha-ha."

And then, the day came. The day that changed everything. I was outside, wandering around, as usual, my lighter in my pocket (no paint can this time, I didn't have my hoodie on, just my sequinned top and black jeans). Thing was, it was summer by that time, and I'd just finished eighth grade. I was turning fifteen next January, but it was just at the start of July right now. So I went out, and bought a few fireworks from the nearby convenience store. Mainly rockets, but some other stuff, too. It was early evening, and the sky was already darkening, presumably ready to rain before it got properly, so if I was going to do this, I'd have to do it fast.

As a warm-up, I lit a sparkler, writing the words "screw you all" in the air. Then, I ran behind the back of the buildings and found the trash cans.

One by one, I carefully emptied the contents of most of them into one can, that overflowed so much that about half the trash ended up on the ground. Whatever. Who cared? I wasn't picking that stuff up. Ugh, there was even an obviously used condom in there. Ick.

I carefully placed a single rocket inside the other cans. Then I ran upstairs, sneaked into the apartment to grab a water bottle without being seen (and succeeded), then ran back down and lit each rocket, standing back.

Boy, was there an explosion! Even in the semi-dark sky, it was impressive. As it turned out, the fireworks were pretty harmless, and there was only one mini-fire that my water bottle could handle. Yeah, the trash cans looked kind of blackened and smoky, and two of them melted, but it was no big deal, not really, was it?

Apparently, the courts didn't agree. I'd been cautioned for graffiti a year ago (but I'd stopped only long enough for it to be forgotten, then became the mystery graffiti artist again), and this time, I was found out and done for vandalism, safety risks, and, according to them, I could've been done for arson if I hadn't pleaded guilty for what I had done and hadn't been seen with the water bottle in hand.

I was sentenced to six months in juvie.

Sorry, a rather slow first chapter. But hopefully you have some idea of Bailey and what she's like! Please review.