A/N: Ok, for Beck, i've kind of done a mix of his character(from Victorious obviously) Danny's character from Twisted Ben's character from Virals. There will also be Virals characters coming into it later on, so sorry if that confuses anyone... Feedback would be really appreciated, or i probably won't be continuing this story. I'd love to hear what your guys think of it, so please review! Thanks :3

White.

For the first three years of what Scientists love to call 'Adolescence' that was the only colour i saw. Well, except the very fetching orange jumpsuit i was forced to wear every day, which only ever served to remind me of why i was thrown in that God forsaken hell hole.

Juvenile Detention Centre, for 'juvenile delinquents'.

I'd long since given up trying to appeal to the guards there, they condemned me as a sociopath, a psycho. After all, who else would kill their own aunt? I tried telling them i was innocent, that it was a set up. But i was just a kid, only 10 years old, and after all. I'd been caught at the scene.

So much blood.

Sometimes, when i was sat alone at night, i could still feel the thick cold settling over my skin, a cruel reminder of the blood that coated me that day. I still tried to argue, but my fingerprints were the only ones on the knife. I began to believe the rumours that i truly was a sociopath, after i heard the definition anyway. Someone who doesn't feel human emotions or empathy, and never feels guilt for what they do.

Well, apparently that was me.

The day i left Juvie was both the best and worst day of my life. The best, because i finally got out into the open air, not surrounded by electric fences and nine year old crack whores. But the worst, because the second i broke out of the entrance my mother drove us to an airport. We were leaving the country. I was changing my name back to it's legal one, not the nickname i was known as in America. It was also the worst, because that was the last time i saw my dad.

Tom Blue, my idol. My best friend. I thought i could count on him for anything, to be there when i needed him. But that day, he spat at my feet and disowned me, told me that he never had a son and that i should disappear.

Three years previously, I would've cried.

Now, i merely gritted my teeth, bowed my head and ducked into the car. I didn't speak on the whole trip to England, my mother never tried to strike up a conversation.

The house we bought was nice, my mother was a well-paid screenwriter so we didn't have to live on bare essentials. On my first night, i almost called my friends back home. Remembered their faces when i was convicted.

My phone ended up in the pond in the back garden.

I spent the first few months between schools. i had to show my record to the head every time and every time they suddenly 'had no places available'. During the time when i wasn't being judged by total strangers, i did something creative with myself. During my time behind bars, I'd discovered that i had an intense love for the arts. Singing, Dancing, Acting, Drawing. I loved it all. I sat on my bed for hours on end, writing and re-writing scripts, drawing pictures, acting out scenes from films i liked. Mother bought me a surround sound system for my room, and i spent most of my time listening to loud, harsh music. It helped channel my raging emotions.

Then, one day, my mother burst into my room, a huge grin on her face like i hadn't seen for years. She thrust a piece of paper in my face, an application to a school called 'Hollywood Arts'. I frowned at it, not understanding her excitement, until she gushed that it was a school dedicated to Performing Arts, and that she'd booked me an appointment to audition.

Unfortunately, i didn't share her enthusiasm.

I tried to tell her that i wouldn't get in, that as soon as they found out i was a convict i'd get rejected like everywhere else. She just shook her head, and demanded that i make myself look presentable.

The audition was the opposite of what i expected.

Hollywood Arts was a huge school, and the second i stepped through the doors i was assaulted with a barrage of bright colours and dancing people. I almost took a moment to comment on the ironic naming of the school, considering this was Oxford and therefore the polar opposite of Hollywood in almost every way. But i contained myself, and mother guided me through to the head master's office. Principal Eikner was about as welcoming as a head master could get, adjusting her glasses and smiling broadly as he gestured for me to come fully into the room. I handed him my record, already anticipating the shock and disgust that would no doubt register on his face.

It never did.

He read it over, the whole thing, then simply placed it face down on his desk and smiled at me, gesturing for me to start the audition. I hid my dumbfounded expression easily and nodded, closing my eyes before getting into character. I performed a scene from one of the play's i'd written at home, about a child who grew up alone because his parents abandoned him. Eikner watched me attentively, then when i'd finished asked what other creative skills i excelled in aside from acting. Overwhelmed with excitement, i hurriedly told him about the dancing lessons i'd taken, the instruments i'd learnt to play, all the different artists that inspired me. The head master grinned broadly, then asked me if i could get all my equipment for Monday.

A new start. Finally.

When i first started Hollywood Arts, i was ever conscious of the amount of stares i recieved the second i walked through the door. I immediately worried that someone had found out about my past and leaked it to the whole school, that i'd become a social outcast before i even had a chance to make an impression.

I had never been more happy to be wrong.