Hey guys, so my friend and I decided to write a teenlock fanfiction and I'm posting it on my account because she doesn't have one. :'D

This chapter was written by her and not me and I'm sure you can all tell because she has more writing skills than I do. :p

Prologue

"I find you, Angela Mcclair, and you John Mcclair, guilty of the murders of Sam Kennedy, Elouise Sanderson, Rachel Gibbs and Paul Carrick. I herby sentence you both to life imprisonment. Case dismissed," the judge had said banging his gabble on the desk.

Bile had risen to the back of my throat as my stomach churned and my head pounded.

"No! Please no! You have it wrong! Just look at the facts!" I'd shouted as they were pulled out of the room separately by police men.

My desperate plea was unheard through the loud clamour of voices, by all except two, my parents.

Their eyes had locked onto me in shock. I shouldn't have even been there, but how could I not have been? It was only too easy to slip out of the second storey window of my temporary accommodation and catch the tube to the court, where I disguised myself as a member of the press and slipped in.

'Ivy...' My mother had mouthed silently.

She froze after that, not doing anything except staring at me.

A door was opened, and she was pulled through it. Her gaze not faltering for a moment.

"No..." I whispered silently as they disappeared from sight.

"Ivy?" The voice of my social worker snaps me out of my reminiscing.

"Yes?"

"Look out of the window," I obediently look up to see a massive Georgian house standing in the middle of a field.

It has approximately one hundred windows, twenty of which belong to staff quarters.

The house isn't divided into apartments, judging by the topiary which is incredibly ostentatious and not at all universal, indicating personal taste. Then there's the garage to the east, which is too small to hold the number of cars there would be if it were a shared accommodation.

So, in short whoever lives here is incredibly rich.

I resist the urge to say this aloud, my parents disapproved of me saying these things. Apparently it offends people, these people clearly have an issue with the obvious just because they don't observe it.

Still, it's what they want, so I should keep quiet and pretend to be normal. I guess it's just easier to blend in, after all, what's special about noticing the obvious? What's special about me? Nothing, is the short answer.

"That's your new home," Home? This isn't home, this is anything but home. Where's the battered old swing set in the garden? Where's the barbecue? Where's the home made curtains?

This isn't a home, it's a show home.

The sound of tyres on gravel fills my ears as we pull up.

"Isn't it usually customary for someone to meet their foster parents before they go to live with them?" I state. The social worker sighs as she unbuckles her seatbelt and turns to face me.

"Sweetheart, because of your parents people weren't exactly willing to take you in. And this family were... Keen, to say the least." Great, I'm some kind of publicity stunt.

I gaze at the house again, it probably belongs to a mayor or MP.

A tall woman in her fifties emerges from the house, followed by a small, fat, bald man.

She clearly married him for his money. By the looks of it, family money because of his expensive dress sense. I inwardly groan as I open the car door and inelegantly fall out. Oh the joys of making first impressions.

I stand up and brush the white chalk dust from my knees.

"Oh goodness, are you alright dear?" The woman asks, rushing over to me.

"I'm fine thank you," I say curtly, clenching my fists slightly.

"I'm Eleanor, and that old fart over there is Henry," she says enthusiastically.

"Nice to meet you," he says in a bored tone.

"Henry! Show some manners!"

"How do you do?" I ask, shaking his hand.

"I'm very well thank you," he says letting go. He wanders over to the social worker and shakes her hand, speaking in hushed tones. Well, they certainly have an unhappy marriage.

I turn to Eleanor and offer her my hand as well.

"I'm Ivy, it's lovely to meet you." She dismisses my hand and hugs me warmly. I hug her back lightly.

She obviously has a son judging by the red sports car outside the garage that's being cleaned by a chauffeur. She wanted to have a daughter, but got stuck with a son, hence her sudden affection towards me. The fact she hasn't tried to have another child suggests IVF and a high level of infertility.

She pulls away and smiles, keeping both of her hands on my arms. I smile back awkwardly.

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry to hear about your parents. You must be heartbroken... Still! Don't worry, Henry and I will drive you to visit them whenever you like. And in the meantime I'm sure we'll all get along like a house on fire. We've enrolled you into the local school, which you'll start on Monday. Oh! Don't look frightened dear, James will be with you- Oh goodness! You haven't met James yet have you? One minute dear," She runs into the house, shouting for James her teenage son who's around my age I presume.

She emerges with a tall, dark haired boy who has a cheerful smile painted on his face.

"Ivy, this is my son James. James, this is Ivy,"

"Jim," he says with emphasis, scowling at his mother.

We shake hands briefly, keeping eye contact.

"Well, if you'll excuse me for a minute I'm just going to go and have a quick chat with the social worker. Won't be a minute dear!" She says skipping away.

"So... How old are you?" He asks, breaking the silence I return my gaze to him and smile falsely.

"Sixteen... You're seventeen, right?" He nods.

"As of next week," I look back towards my new foster parents who seem to be engrossed in a conversation with the social worker.

I sigh tearing my gaze away and go round to the boot of the car, grabbing my suitcases. Jim's hands grab the handles and push mine away.

"Here, let me," Blimey. He's keen to make a good impression. Still, I'm not complaining, it's nice to have someone my age be nice to me and not 'beat me up' as they so eloquently put it.

"Thanks," I follow him into the house with my overnight bag slung over my shoulder which is full of all my books, so is consequently really heavy.

"So, you're parents are murderers then?" He asks as he sets the cases down in the hall. I slide my overnight bag off my shoulder and dump it on the marble floor next to my cases.

"They were wrongly convicted," I whisper.

"Oh, I believe you." He says. I snap my head up and study his expression.

"Really?" He smiles warmly at me.

"Yeah! Of course I do! I mean, judging by the article they've completely overlooked some of the facts," I smile at him in shock.

"Nobody else seems to think that. I had loads of problems with everyone at school when they found out..."

"Well, I believe you. So that's something," I smile again.

"Yeah, I suppose it is," He strokes my arm lightly, making my hairs stand on end. His hand drops and I shrug it off as Eleanor and her husband come through the door and close it.

"Where's Sally?" I ask, referring to the social worker.

The sound of a car driving away comes in answer.

"She had to go and finish some paperwork. She said she hopes you settle in well, and that if you have any problems to just call," Henry mutters. I nod and look at the floor sadly, screw social services.

"Right! Now, let me show you your new room! You'll love it, you've got a balcony just like that girl in that Shakespeare play, oh what's she called? Ophelia? No, that's not it... Helena? No... Juliet! That's it! It has a beautiful view of the lake and gardens, oh you'll just adore it I'm sure!" Eleanor says as she pulls me up the stairs, a maid following us with my possessions.

Well, that's a plus. I've always wanted a balcony. Maybe I can throw myself off it if school goes hideously on Monday.

I gulp slightly, Mondays tomorrow. I hope it goes well, I don't think I can take being bullied again.

Maybe I can find some kind of way to camouflage myself... God, I wish I was a chameleon.

A/N so yeah, any opinions are greatly appreciated. ;)