Disclaimer: Once again, I don't own anything besides Lizzy...and other characters of my creation.

Palm Beach, Florida

December, 1985

Bright sunlight filtered through the blinds of Mr. Henderson's second floor art studio while his twelfth grade students filed in for his fifth period class. The classroom was now buzzing with conversation, nearly drowning out the record of his favorite rock band playing in the background. It was a pleasant day outside, and since he gave his art classes a lot of freedoms, he decided it would be only right to take advantage of the nice weather. Mr. Henderson crossed the room and quickly turned off the record player as his senior students moved around, gathering their portfolios and art supplies.

"Listen up," he called, standing by the blackboard and commanding their attention, "We're going out to the courtyard today to work." Some of the teens cheered, happy to be let out of the confines of their school, if only for about forty minutes. "Hold off on your latest project for now, sketch whatever you feel like. But I expect to see some sort of work done; if I catch anyone slacking off, this will be the last trip outside. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes." the class answered automatically.

"All right," Mr. Henderson replied, "Let's head out."

Mr. Henderson's senior art class dispersed themselves throughout the back courtyard of the school, settling on the lush, green grass under the shade of the trees. Some sat down on the sides of the large water fountain and began sketching out the statue in the center of it, and others situated themselves on benches. The usual cliques formed, working together while chatting about the upcoming Christmas holiday. Mr. Henderson walked back and forth among the students, periodically glancing at their sketch pads to see what progress they'd made and giving them some sort of encouraging comment.

One of his best students was perched atop a huge boulder in the grass, well away from the rest of the group; she usually chose to work alone, so Mr. Henderson had expected this. She was sitting cross-legged, balancing her sketch pad on her lap. She was minding her own business, drawing quietly, totally absorbed in her work. Mr. Henderson approached her, peering over her shoulder at her current sketch. It was abstract; whatever she was feeling poured out onto that page as a medium of expression. She viewed it as freedom. A blank page had no restrictions or limitations or rules, unlike her own life.

The art teacher smiled at the design. There were intricate flowers drawn in the corners of the page--daises interlaced with roses--and measures of music notes flowing beautifully in the center. The shading was excellent, proof of an artist who was very meticulous about her work. In the four years he had taught her, she'd always been a perfectionist, painstakingly making sure every piece of artwork was done to her satisfaction.

"That looks wonderful, Lizzy." he praised. Lizzy Harrison looked up, a bit surprised, tucking a strand of chocolate brown hair behind her ear. She hadn't known that he had been standing behind her.

"Um, thanks." Lizzy stared down at the page, tilting her head slightly. It wasn't her best work, but then again she was always humble whenever someone gave her a compliment. Maybe because she didn't get them too often. The only people she knew who praised her work was Mr. Henderson and her best friend, Paul.

"You know, I wanted to talk to you about college," he said. Lizzy groaned inwardly. It seemed like everyone wanted to talk to her about college. Her parents were particularly relentless. "Have you given any thought to it?"

"Plenty," Lizzy stated, rolling her sapphire eyes, frustrated. "Unfortunately, what I want and what my parents want are two completely different things."

"Well, what do you want to do?"

"Major in art." Lizzy told him, as if it wasn't obvious already.

"It's your choice, Liz. It's your future. You're the one who has to decide."

"Yeah," she laughed. "Try telling my parents that."

"I'd really hate to see talent like yours to go to waste." Mr. Henderson said, taking one last look at her artwork. He left the teenager to once again ponder her future.

Lizzy had filled out five or six applications to some of the best art schools in the country; colleges that she would give anything to attend. However, the Harrisons would never dream of sending their daughter off to be an artist. Of course, they knew she liked drawing and all that, but God forbid Lizzy ever take out a sketch pad in front of them. Mrs. Harrison would scold her, telling her it was a waste of time. So, Lizzy took to doing her artwork alone in her room while her parents weren't home, or when she was with Paul.

The fact of the matter was, Mr. and Mrs. Harrison were controlling and overbearing. They told Lizzy what crowd of people to hang out with--they wanted their daughter to be popular, and date sophisticated boys from respectable families. They pressured her to apply to all the Ivy League schools, to become a doctor, or a lawyer, or some other scholarly career that she had absolutely no interest in.

Of course, she told them what they wanted to hear. She lied and said that she was one of the most popular girls in her class (a total understatement), and that her Ivy League applications had already been sent out. In reality, she was a more of a loner, all of the applications they'd given her had been thrown away, and she had secretly applied to her dream schools.

Mr. and Mr. Harrison were gullible enough to actually believe all of it. They were convinced that whenever Lizzy went out on the weekends, she was going to parties with rich kids or studying for upcoming tests. Her parents were too busy with their own jobs and social lives to really pay attention. Truthfully, she was spending her time with her best friend, Paul.

To Lizzy, Paul was the sweetest guy she'd known. He'd been there for her since they were about four years old; they'd been inseparable ever since. When she was around her best friend, she could be herself, without having to worry about restrictions or her parents' rules. They could do whatever they wanted. Lizzy could sketch to her heart's content, sing at the top of her lungs to the best classic rock songs, and not be concerned with her parents. In return, Paul was constantly telling Lizzy to do what she wanted, and rebel against her parents for a change. And Lizzy knew that just by hanging out with Paul, she was rebelling.

Neither of Lizzy's parents could find out that she was still hanging around Paul, because they were never very fond of him in the first place. They considered him a "bad influence" on her. He was from a working class family, and was being raised by his mother alone, whereas Lizzy was wealthier because of Mr. and Mrs. Harrison. Those details didn't matter to her, but apparently it was an important factor to her parents. Lizzy absolutely hated the way they judged Paul, like he was the scum of the Earth just because he didn't have all the luxuries that they did. Her parents talked about him as if he should be pitied, and Paul didn't see his life as something that someone should show sympathy for. He loved his mother, and he liked living simpler. He always told Lizzy how he didn't really need much.

Lizzy defended Paul on numerous occasions; she couldn't stand by silently while her best friend was picked apart by them. She nearly pulled her hair out every time her parents made some joke about his lack of money. It was one of the ways that her parents managed to agitate her on a daily basis. It had been so much better when she was younger, because she had nothing to argue about. She was a kid--if she had a couple of Barbie dolls and a few Sesame Street tapes, she was a happy camper. Then, Lizzy hit her teenage years and she butted heads with her parents all the time. They put more restrictions on her, and she finally saw how stuck-up they could be. If she could trade places with Paul, she would. She didn't need this lavish lifestyle. As long as Lizzy had her art and music and her best friend, she was perfectly happy.

"The bell's about to ring," Mr. Henderson announced suddenly, tearing the teenager from her thoughts. "Start packing up your stuff. I'll see you all in two weeks. Have a nice holiday, everyone."

Lizzy picked up her sketch pad, tossing her pencil into her backpack before hoisting it onto one shoulder. Art was her last class, so she made her way into the building and up to her locker, both dreading and anticipating Christmas vacation. It was going to be hell spending it with her mom and dad, but hopefully she'd be spending a lot more time with Paul. She weaved her way through the crowd of students eager to hightail it the heck out of there, dodging backpacks and people's elbows. The noise was so loud that she could barely hear her own thoughts.

When Lizzy arrived at the correct hallway, she spotted a familiar guy with shaggy, dirty blond hair standing by her locker. He had her locker door already open, and was leaning against the locker next to it, waiting, picking at a loose thread on his severely frayed jeans. Lizzy approached him, grinning.

"Hey, Miss Lizzy." he greeted, as the young girl dropped her backpack down onto the floor by her feet.

"Hey, Paul." Lizzy answered, punching him playfully in the arm. Paul pretty much towered over her, standing a good seven inches taller. Lizzy began placing her books back into her locker, happy that she had been lucky enough not to receive any homework over the break.

"So, where's the latest masterpiece?" he asked. Paul bent down and grabbed Lizzy's sketch book from her backpack and started flipping through the pages. Once he saw her drawing of the flowers and music notes, he smiled. "Music notes...you draw those a lot. You know, for someone who likes music so much, I've never actually heard you sing."

"Yeah, well, I tend to do that when I'm alone. When no one can hear me."

"Well, what's the point, then?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. What's with these questions, anyway? Since when are you interested in my singing?"

"I was getting to that," he said, handing her the sketch book, which she tucked back into her book bag. "There's a new band playing at this club near my place tonight. You wanna go?"

Lizzy always went to see rock bands with Paul without her parents knowing. Her mother and father, among other things, hated the type of music she listened to. Loud rock music--wailing electric guitar riffs, lots of energy, powerful lyrics and such. She needed a little rebellion to start off her vacation. Hearing a new band seemed like fun. The lie she was going to tell her mom and dad was already forming in her mind.

"Sure," she replied. "What my parents don't know won't hurt them, right?"

Paul smirked mischievously. "Exactly."

Lizzy picked up her backpack and slammed her locker door shut before she and Paul started down the hallway. Things had quieted down quite a bit since Lizzy had entered the school after art class; many of the students had cleared out.

"So…what're you doing now?" Paul asked once he and his best friend stepped outside onto the front lawn of the school, where some of the students were sitting enjoying the warm sun. Lizzy shrugged, adjusting her backpack slightly.

"Not much," she said. "My parents won't be home for a bit, so I'll probably just sketch or something…"

"I was thinking about the beach," Paul suggested, "but if you're gonna play the whole 'lonely artist' card and sit home on a day like this, that's fine by me."

"The beach sounds good." Lizzy suddenly agreed, eyes lighting up with interest.

"Great," Paul replied, "'Cause that's kinda the answer I was looking for."

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Lizzy sat on the hot sand, jeans rolled up to her knees, worn Converse sneakers tossed behind her. She was seated on the shore near the edge of the water, toes digging into the dampened sand. The waves rolled in and out, soaking her legs each time. She welcomed the cool water, feeling relaxed, as she always did when she and Paul spent afternoons on the beach. Paul kicked off his sneakers and peeled his shirt off, running into the surf eagerly with his shorts still on. Lizzy laughed, watching as Paul dove under the water and surfaced moments later.

"C'mon!" Paul yelled, running back to her. He kicked some water her way, causing Lizzy to throw up her hands in order to protect her face. "Get up!" The teenage girl shook her head in protest, squishing her toes deeper into the moist sand. All of a sudden, a rather large wave swept the shore, soaking Lizzy's jeans and spraying her in the face. Paul started laughing like it was the funniest thing he had ever seen, while his friend gave him a narrow-eyed glare. "Well, now you have no choice." he pointed out. Reluctantly, Lizzy let Paul pull her to her feet.

She kicked water in Paul's direction, and Paul kicked water back; soon, they were chasing each other back and forth in the shallow water, getting completely drenched. At one point, Lizzy jumped on Paul's back once they were farther out, trying to bring him down. The plan backfired, and Lizzy slipped off, landing with a particularly ungraceful plop into the water.

Once the two of them were tired out, they laid down on the sand, letting their clothes dry off somewhat. Resting there under the warm sun brought a grin to Lizzy's face. She felt at peace, almost able to fall asleep…until she remembered that she had to get home. She sat up sharply, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear. Noticing Lizzy's sudden movement, Paul opened his eyes; he was half-asleep, drunk from the effects of the sunlight.

"Wha' is it?" he asked, as Lizzy got up and began pulling her shoes on.

"Gotta go," she replied. "My mom's probably already home from work. And I'm soaked…ugh…"

"Who cares?"

"My mother," Lizzy answered dryly, "that's who cares."

Paul propped himself up on one elbow. "You're absolutely sure that you can't stay just a little longer?"

"I'm sorry, Paul," she said, making her way over to where they had stowed their bikes. "I'll see you later!"

The seventeen-year-old maneuvered her way to her house, pedaling fast and hard, hoping that her clothes would dry some more before she got home. Her mother was going to scold her for being all wet, and not having enough common sense to bring a bathing suit. Lizzy could tell her the truth--that it had been spontaneous--but that would lead to her telling her mom that she had been hanging out with Paul. Which would, in turn, lead to a whole lecture about how much of a bad influence he was, introducing Lizzy to loud rock music and scruffy looking clothes. And such rebellious things as swimming with your clothes on, which wasn't that big of a deal anyway.

Lizzy trudged up the front steps of her beautiful, spacious house, groaning. Throwing her backpack over one shoulder, she turned the door handle and stepped inside. She would've made it safely upstairs to her bedroom if her mother hadn't been lurking in the living room, waiting for her arrival.

"Elizabeth," she said tersely, using Lizzy's full name, which was not a very good sign, "Why on earth are you all wet?"

Lizzy rolled her eyes and turned around. "I went to the beach." she replied in a 'no duh' sort of tone. To the teenager's surprise, her mother didn't question it any further. She was about to retreat up to her room when Mrs. Harrison called her again.

"Something came in the mail for you today," she stated, producing an envelope. A lump immediately formed in Lizzy's throat--this wasn't good. By the looks of it, the envelope was very official-looking, which meant that it had most likely come from a college. And it wasn't a college that her parents had pressured her to apply to. Mrs. Harrison scrutinized the piece of mail, glaring it with a certain look of disproval. "The School of Visual Arts in Manhattan, New York. Sound familiar? Funny…I don't remember you filling out an application for this college. Care to explain yourself?"

Mrs. Harrison handed the letter over to Lizzy, who only stared at it. She couldn't help but smile inside. The School of Visual Arts was one of the nation's leading art schools, and it was her first choice college. She had sent in an application and a portfolio of some of her work a few months ago. Of course, she didn't answer her mother's question.

"Fine," Mrs. Harrison said, crossing her arms over her chest. "We'll discuss it later." Eagerly, the teenager ran up the stairs, ignoring her mom's last shout of, "But you're not off the hook, missy!". Lizzy dashed into her bedroom, flinging her backpack onto the floor. She sunk down onto the bed, holding the letter in her now shaking hands. She wanted to open it, but on the other hand, she was afraid. If she was rejected, Lizzy would be heartbroken. If she was accepted, she didn't know how she'd get herself enrolled into the school, what with her parents' controlling ways. That envelope held more than a letter--it was Lizzy's future.

With trembling hands, Lizzy tore it open, pulling the folded pieces of paper out. There was more than one sheet of paper, which was usually a good sign. She unfolded the first one, which she guessed to be the letter. Heart pounding rapidly in her chest, Lizzy read it.

Miss Elizabeth Harrison,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the School of Visual Arts for the 1986 fall semester…

Everything else after that didn't matter. Excitedly, Lizzy jumped up to a standing position on the bed, re-reading the letter over again to be sure that it was really happening.

"Holy shit," Lizzy said aloud, unable to contain her enthusiasm, "I got in!" She wanted to pick up the phone and tell Paul the great news, but decided it would be even better to tell him tonight after the concert. Dropping back down onto her bed, Lizzy stared at the paper, overjoyed. She was going to that school, no matter what her parents said.