Disclaimer: I do not own Waterloo Road, only my OCs, artwork and this story.

Chapter 1

There was something about the air that signified change. Perhaps one might say that this didn't count as a premonition, because I already knew that today was my first day in a new house, but I've always been one for the dramatics. I exhaled deeply, sinking back into the bed and rolled over to stretch my spine until it popped. It felt heavenly.

Three things that Scotland has taught me in the journey up here.

1. It is cold.

2. There are a lot of sheep in the countryside.

3. I should never agree to sit next to Marcus in a plane ever again.

I've always been a morning person, and was well aware that I was in a minority. If I had my way, I would sleep through the grey British days and live in the night, but not in a 'look at me, such a party girl kind of way'. My converses and brogues were far more worn in than my heels. Something about the stillness at 3 o'clock, and the swooping chill of the silent air appealed to me.

I'm sure you've gathered by now that I'm a little odd.

But at least you know now why it's perfectly normal that I was awake before 3am and quite happily so. My shower was long and scalding, and brushing my teeth took almost as long because of my paranoia (I used to having horrible teeth before braces. Even though I'm free of them now, I'm still cautious). Usually I would be scrolling through the internet, packing my bags for school or reading something until 6am came around and I could go for a run with Marcus, but I decided to leisurely stroll around my new home instead.

Marcus and I were the sole siblings to our parents Isabella and Damian Murdoc, my brother being two years older than myself. We were fiercely close, and I thought of him as a twin more than anything else, though we clearly weren't. My mother and Marcus were both albinos, which I was envious of even if I did enjoy looking like my father. Mum was short and had long white hair that used to remind me of a spider's web when I was a child. Like Marcus, she had blue eyes that were slightly lilac because of her prominent blood vessels from their condition, and was a geneticist.

Marcus was loud and full of life like Mum, however his hair was shaven close to the skull like a boxer with a few curls of silver growing on top. We possessed similar features; voluptuous lips, pale skin and the same brow shapes. But Dad and I were always recognised easily as father and daughter. Because of him, Marcus and I were tall; I was 5'9, while he was closing in on 6'6 like the giant he was, but Dad still had an inch on him. Dad had dark brown eyes and sharp features that made him look like an angry wolf, and for all that Mum was bubbly and carefree, he was stoic and honesty quite menacing. I attributed my observational skills and enjoyment of solidity from him. His hair was always combed simply to the side in thick curls of brown.

As I finished unpacking my clothes into my wardrobe, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror on the inside of the door. While I had my mother's eternal baby face, Marcus had Dad's face, but when he wore his manic smile it always reminded me of The Joker. My hair was the same as my Dad's, thick and curly like a mane that fell to my hips. Mum used to call me Simba when I was a kid after my brother and I became obsessed with The Lion King. When I was younger it used to constantly be pulled, and I used to always get in trouble for punching whoever did so.I was curvy and had only recently decided that I preferred my hourglass shape to anything else, even if I was more muscular than most boys my age. My family had always been obsessed with being fit and strong; Marcus and I had been in dance classes and martial arts classes since we were young. I had pursued the latter while Marcus was currently enrolled in a performing arts conservatoire in London. He would be starting his first year in October, and so was staying with the family in Scotland while we settled in.

It may seem strange that us Murdocs have moved all the way to Greenock when Marcus is about to start performing arts school in London, especially since we're a close family (as different as half the family is to the other in both looks and personality). However Mum had taken a job as a professor at Edinburgh University, and so our parents decided that now Marcus was independent it would be a good time to take the pay rise. Currently, she was renting a small flat in the city to be close to work and would come home on the weekends. I thought it was silly that we were closer to Glasgow than Edinburgh, but the house we now lived in was my grandfather's (the father of my father) home, and Dad never could bring himself to sell it.

Birds were waking now. I had circled the maze of boxes in the otherwise empty rooms on the top floor, and now slid down the thick wooden staircase. Everything about this house was old and antique, which I adored. There was a heavy scent of wood and brick, as well as the dust we still needed to get rid of. The walls had been peeling of the rotting wallpaper and needed to be painted over. Upstairs, the floor was creepy and wooden while on the ground floor my bare feet slapped against stone slabs. The bathrooms and the kitchen were the only modernised areas if you ignored any electronics. Everywhere else was furnished with mahogany displays, dinning tables and the like, all covered with grey sheets.

My favourite room so far was the library. Fuck, it was glorious. I had never seen so many books in one room before, and I couldn't understand how Dad could have ever left them behind. If it wasn't for his dream of the arts, I don't think would have ever left to go to the West End (and in the process meet Mum). In his youth, Dad was a stage actor, and had even worked for the Royal Shakespeare Company. Now he wrote plays, and I was proud to say that some of his work was well known and critically acclaimed.

By 9am, the rest of the family was moving about. Marcus was running like somebody half his age in the overgrown land on our property. Mum was shouting at him to stay on the path, only half serious. Dad was lazily finishing off his toast while I read the other side of his morning paper as he held it up to read.

"If you've got nothing to do Valentina, get ready to leave." Dad said in his rumbling voice that reminded me of Ian Mckellan. His Scottish accent was nonexistent unless he was angry; like the rest of the family, he spoke like a southerner after so many years.

I was reluctant to move from my seat. "What for?"

"Your mother wants to visit the town, and drive past your school. Get dressed appropriately." I pouted, and he smirked back without taking his eyes from the paper. With a huff I pranced back up the stairs.

My room had not yet been turned into a personalised space, but I had high hopes for it. There was a door to the bathroom that I shared with Marcus. A curved window in the corner was close enough to the trees for the branches to scratch against it in the wind. There was a large bed with red curtains and sheets, a wardrobe made or the same dark type of tree, a vanity and an old fashioned writing desk with a leather study chair. The floor was bare, but I planned to layer a few old persian rugs we had found in the attic to keep my toes warm (I hated wearing shoes or socks unless necessary).

The majority of the floorspace was filled with unpacked boxes and a large black suitcase that was propped open against the window. Since I had not bothered going on a run with Marcus this morning, I didn't need to shower again, so I quickly pulled on a pair of distressed boyfriend jeans and a purple shirt left open over a black top. I hung a necklace with a pocket watch hanging from it and wrapped a knitted scarf around my neck tightly, throwing on my military style red winter coat as I went down the stairs. Half way down them, I groaned and went back up to retrieve my forgotten socks and converses.

Dad drove us into the town and walked to meet us on the main high street after parking the car. It was cold, and busy as expected for any Saturday. As the house was next to a small woodland, it had taken 30 minutes to drive here, and the difference was distinct. The pretty countryside bled into an urban town by the sea. Most of the buildings were from the 70s or were more modern. Marcus rose a condescending eyebrow at a group of stereotypical chavvy teens mulling around the town centre, but in all honesty, it seemed nice. Certainly not rundown, like I had been worried about. Mum found a cafe that we decided to revisit after walking around the area, and Dad occasionally pointed out places he remembered, and what had changed since he had grown up in Greenock.

I was being optimistic. Sure, it wasn't the richest place to live in, but it had a good few streets of shops, several parks, and was close to the sea. My family was well off, what with my parents both in well paying jobs and Dad coming from an old established family. I had been brought up with a good work ethic, and wasn't planning on rubbing my financial situation in anybody's faces. Besides, this was only for two years until I finished my A levels.

Marcus spotted a group of girls my age walking past. I nudged him playfully. "Eyes up, or you'll walk into a street lamp."

Marcus grinned without apology. "The girl in the middle had nice legs."

"Are you objectifying women again?" Mum said in a warning tone. "How would you feel if a boy looked at Valentina liked that?"

Immediately his face morphed into a scowl. "Valentina's not a girl, Mum. She's my sister."

"You didn't answer the question." I prompted, a bounce in my step.

"And you're not allowed to be in breathing distance of a boy."

"I second that" Dad added with a smirk.

Lunch at the cafe was satisfying. I had a ham and cheese panini that I had to protect from Marcus even though he had his own, and was amused as usual at the open staring my brother and Mum got for their albino features. Most people may have become defensive, but the honest truth was that they were beautiful, and I liked being the smug little sister. More than one of my friends had harboured crushes on Marcus (his ego relied on his fans).

On the way home, Dad stopped in front of a public school with a red sign announcing it as 'Waterloo Road'.

"Here we are!" Mum cheered in a way that no other mother could without appearing to be having a midlife crisis.

Marcus nodded mockingly. "Look at how they colour coordinate the green doors with the red roof. Its like an all year Christmas celebration!"

"Marcus, don't be a bigot." Dad snapped. "This is a perfectly adequate school, and its location is the closest to home for your sister."

"It looks the same as any other." I agreed.

Marcus curled his lip a little. "I googled it. Waterloo Road takes in all the troubled kids you know."

"Oh honestly it's not like a juvenile centre." Mum said with mild irritation. She turned to me and kissed my temple. "Valentina is a good girl. I'm certain that she'll be fine."

"Yes, at least with your sister we don't have to make sure you haven't snuck out to some sort of rave every night." Dad snarked.

I sighed, but couldn't help smiling with fondness as they continued to bicker about the future of education. How bad could Waterloo Road be?