This story is that of a band called Platinum Weird. It is an extremely remarkable tale. It's romantic, it's mysterious, and it's comic. Its too good too be true, it's hard to believe it could have really happened. Don't base the story on the beggining cause it gets very interesting in the end.

Chapter 1: The Embryonic songwriter

17 year old Troy Bolton sat alone in his London flat, playing notes on his guitar, in deep thought. He looked up and examined his dingy apartment. The walls were a discolored green, and the wooden floors faded of mildew. The grungy kitchen looked like it hadn't been touched in months.

Troy dreamed of room service in the Hyatt Hotel in Los Angeles, were he would be whisked to the Greek Theater in a Limousine, with champagne and obliging female companions, but didn't see much beyond the dirty, uninviting walls.

The boy got up, and changed into a tight fitting vintage shirt, and jeans, and began his daily trek to Camden Lock Market, in which he rented a stall and sold classic vinyl records.

"Troy! Come! Let me see what is in the cards for you today!" Yelled Madame Monet, a strong willed woman who read Tarot Cards for a living. Madame Monet was an extremely petite woman, but you wouldn't be able to tell she was as old as she really was. When most women in London her age were walking in the park, feeding the pigeons, Madame Monet lived as if she were twenty years younger.

"No thanks." Troy replied. "I have to open shop." "It would be a waste of time anyways." Troy mumbled.

"Fine. For you, I will read your cards for half price. That's my final offer." Madame Monet announced after Troy.

"No really, I can't"

"Fine. Your wasting my time as is. Leave me, I'm busy."

Troy walked up to the stall door, were a boy close to his age stood waiting.

"What took you so long?" Zeke inquired.

Troy took out his keys and unlocked the door, letting his employee in.

After placing his second hand jacket on the ground, Troy made his way to the back of the store.

A young girl walked into the store and began browsing through the collection.

"Can I help you find something?" Troy asked the girl.

"No." She replied, and then held up a record. "But could you tell me how much this is"

"Oh, I'm sorry. That's not for sale." Troy said, noticing that the CD she was holding was one of his favorites. Troy could hardly ever bring himself to sell most of the records in the store. It was great music in a sea of crap.

"Dude, you gotta sell at least some of these records!" Zeke reprimanded after the girl left the store. "Six records and you couldn't even let go of one."

"Oh well." Was all Troy could say as he popped the lid of a coke and began drinking.

"I'm starting to think about dropping this whole music thing. I mean, look were it's gotten me." He announced as he put the soda down and sat down in a bright purple bean bag chair.

"Dude, you can't do that. I've heard your stuff. It's awesome." Zeke replied.

"It's really frustrating you know. I'm starting to consider some other careers you know. Philosopher, monk, bank robber,"

"Well, keep working on it. You'll get somewhere." Zeke retorted.

At the end of the day in the market, Troy made his way back home. He usually spent his days there, and his nights righting songs, living on Mars Bars, Chips, and Frozen Fish Fingers.

When he arrived, he immediately called Zeke.

"Yea, Zeke? Don't come to work tomorrow, I'm going to Amsterdam again. Hopefully ill make a few bucks. Those hippies are too high to notice how much they throw me. I just finished a song this morning. Yea. Ok. I'll see you Monday. Bye."

OK I made this one short because I need to know if I should keep writing. I still probably will since this is a really remarkable story. For my own pleasure. Reviews would still be nice!