Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.

A/N: Thank you for the reviews! It's always nice to get positive feedback!

"How was your day, Elizabeth?" Mr. Harrison asked later that evening as he, Mrs. Harrison, and Lizzy sat at the kitchen table eating dinner. The meal had been considerably silent for quite some time, with Mrs. Harrison shooting odd looks in her daughter's direction while the seventeen-year-old stared off into space. Lizzy hesitated, opting to rearrange the food that had been piled onto her plate. She weighed her options, knowing that she wouldn't be able to tell him about the college without starting an argument.

"Good." she muttered, not finding the food all that appetizing. The room fell quiet again; the scraping of forks and knives and the clinking of glasses were the only noises heard. Lizzy let her mind wander, thinking of other things…what to wear for the concert…or what the band might be like… She was mentally going through her wardrobe, wondering what was the perfect outfit, when Mrs. Harrison broke the silence, addressing her husband.

"Liz got a letter from a college today." she informed him. Of course, she would be the one to bring that up, especially when Lizzy was trying her hardest not to get grounded tonight. She wanted to go to that concert so very badly. Frantic, Lizzy looked up to see that her father looked pleased. He had the same grin on his face that he wore whenever he was bragging about Lizzy's grades to one of his co-workers or a relative. It was a grin that Lizzy wished he'd wear when she'd bravely show him a piece of artwork that she had been proud of. She knew that smile would be wiped off his face pretty fast when her mother told him the truth.

"Is that right? Where is it from? Harvard? Columbia?" he asked, nudging Lizzy in the arm, the grin becoming wider. Lizzy swallowed hard, giving him a half-hearted smile.

"The School of Visual Arts," Mrs. Harrison deadpanned. "Apparently, it's some kind of art school in New York."

Mr. Harrison's face dropped into some kind of a confused frown. He stared at Lizzy, searching for an answer. "I didn't know you applied there." he said finally, trying to come up with something in response to that. Hopeful, Lizzy suddenly launched into an explanation, desperately seeking to sell her side of it all.

"It's a great school," she replied quickly, azure eyes alive with excitement. "One of the leading art schools in the country. It's right up there with the Ivy League colleges, only I'd be going there to study art, obviously. I read up a lot on SVA, Dad, and it sounds like somewhere I'd like to go."

"Yes, but it's art, Elizabeth," Mr. Harrison sighed. "You can't go very far with a career like that."

"Artists get paid thousands of dollars for their work," Lizzy pointed out. "Anyway, I was thinking of becoming an art teacher."

"An art teacher?" he asked. Then, sarcastically, he added, "Yeah, because you'll get paid a lot for that."

Lizzy scowled, getting to her feet, slamming her hands down on the table. She was absolutely sick of this, and she was ready to voice her opinion. She had finally gained enough courage to stand up for herself.

"Is that all you care about?" she shouted angrily. "Money? Well, guess what: it's not really important to me. I don't care. I love art; you just won't accept that, and I don't get why...but I just don't give a damn anymore. I am going to go to that school, and I am going to be an artist, so you're just going to have to deal with it."

With that being said, Lizzy stormed up to her room, tears burning in the corners of her eyes. She didn't let them fall; she wasn't all that upset. For the most part, she was extremely proud of herself for getting that off her chest. Although she was in kind of a funky mood now, Lizzy knew the concert would put her in a better frame of mind later on.

Slamming her bedroom door closed, Lizzy threw open the closet door and began sifting through her clothes, trying to find something to wear. She found her favorite pair of jeans, which, coincidentally, were the ones that her mother totally despised. They were frayed to no end at the bottom, and there was a sizeable hole in the right pant leg. Besides that, they were drawn on with marker, artwork courtesy of both Lizzy and Paul. She also took out a turquoise tunic-looking top and a dark denim jean jacket to wear with the jeans.

Once Lizzy was dressed and pretty much ready, she grabbed a small messenger bag that doubled as a sort of purse, and stuffed her sketchpad and pencils into it. She knew that most likely they'd be going back to Paul's place after the concert, and she never went anywhere without her drawing supplies. Lizzy threw in some money as well just in case, and glanced at the clock before exiting her room. It was six-forty-five. The concert started at seven-thirty; it was a short drive to the apartment building where Paul and his mother lived, and an even shorter ride to the club.

The teenager went downstairs and crept into the kitchen where her parents were talking in hushed voices while they washed the dishes. She spotted her father's car keys on the counter and swiped them quickly.

"I'm going to a friend's house to hang out and watch movies," Lizzy lied smoothly. "I won't be back until late." Lizzy guessed that her parents had said something in reply, but she was well out of earshot to hear them. She slipped out into the warm, night air and got into the driver's seat of her dad's sports car. She blasted her favorite local rock station the entire way to Paul's, trying to get herself hyped up for the concert.

Paul was already waiting outside for her when she pulled up. "You ready?" he asked, sliding into the passenger's seat.

"Hell yeah!" Lizzy answered. Paul turned up the volume a bit louder as the car sped down the street toward the club.

The Glass Onion was a retro club, hosting bands who played sixties and seventies rock music. It was for people eighteen and older; Paul and Lizzy weren't exactly eighteen yet, but one of Paul's cousins worked there and was able to get them in on a regular basis. The club definitely had a psychedelic feel to it, with the combination of the lighting, all kinds of interesting people--some of them stoned out of their minds--and the music. The walls were brightly colored and filled with posters, but you wouldn't be able to tell that by stepping inside. The large room where the band would be performing was darkened, except for the multi-colored lights glaring down from the ceiling, painting the concertgoers in red, blue, green, purple and orange.

As soon as the two teenagers were ushered inside by Paul's cousin, they were swept up in the atmosphere of the club. They felt at ease, having frequented the Glass Onion and all its hippie-esque glory. Neither one of them remembered the sixties, due to the fact that they had only been born near the end of that tumultuous era. However, they still felt an odd connection to the culture of that time.

"Let's go near the stage!" Paul hollered over the noise. He took hold of Lizzy's wrist and dragged her away from where she'd been standing, studying a poster of the band who was playing tonight. Sadie and the Po' Boys it read. On the car ride over, Paul had told Lizzy that he had heard that the band was pretty kick-ass. Paul's cousin had told him that they were a nationally touring group, so that was a big deal. Paul had also been informed that they had a wicked awesome guitar player.

"We're never going to get close, Paul!" Lizzy yelled back, but followed behind him anyway. They somehow managed to weasel their way in near the stage; it was severely crowded, and the little endeavor had been slightly frustrating, but they eventually found a good spot. Paul shot Lizzy an 'I told you so' glance, to which Lizzy rolled her eyes.

There was an overwhelming amount of applause when the band finally took the stage. A tall African American man with somewhat of an afro picked up his guitar, and took in the crowd before him. Paul could just tell that he was the amazing guitarist his cousin had told him about. The front man--or rather, the front woman--stood in near the mike, smiling at the large multitude of people as well.

"Are you guys ready to rock?" The woman Lizzy had perceived as Sadie said into the microphone. Her voice was very laid back and kind of sassy. Again, there was a tremendous roar of applause and screaming; Sadie shared a positive glance with her guitarist, and the drummer counted them off into their first song.

"Well, come on pretty baby, won't you walk with me?
Come on, pretty baby, won't you talk with me?
Come on pretty baby, give me one more chance.
Try to save our romance!
Slow down, baby, now you're movin' way too fast.
You gotta gimme little lovin', gimme little lovin',
Ow! if you want our love to last…"

Sadie's melodic voice was rough and bluesy, and sent everyone moving to the music. Lizzy started dancing beside Paul, all the while trying to figure out why she thought the woman's voice sounded so damn familiar.

The guitarist took the next verse, singing in response to Sadie's words. His voice was smooth and soulful in comparison to hers:

"Well, I used to walk you home, baby, after school,
Carry your books home, too.
But now you got a boyfriend down the street,
Baby what you're tryin' to do?
You better slow down!"

Then, he and Sadie sung together, their chemistry onstage very apparent.

"Baby, now you're movin' way too fast.
You gotta gimme little lovin', gimme little lovin',
Ow! if you want our love to last.
Well you know that I love you, tell the world I do.
Come on, pretty baby, why can't you be true?"

" I need your baby, oh so bad,
The best little woman I ever had…"

The guitar player sung, his Stratocaster wailing. Lizzy admired them in a way, because it was quite obvious that they were good at what they did, and had a lot of fun doing it, too. Sadie and her guitar player finished, two amazing voices blending together:

"Slow down, baby, now you're movin' way too fast.
You gotta gimme little lovin', gimme little lovin',
Ow! If you want our love to last."

The rest of the night was filled with powerful rock songs and dancing. Lizzy and Paul thoroughly enjoyed themselves, even though Lizzy still had that nagging feeling in the back of her mind telling her that she swore she'd heard Sadie's voice before. The guitarists' voice also sounded familiar…

"You think we can meet them?" Lizzy asked her best friend after the show was overConcertgoers had begun to exit the club, and she had noticed that Sadie and her band mates were by the end of the stage shaking peoples' hands and signing autographs.

"We can try," Paul answered, gesturing for her to follow him again. "I don't know how much longer they're gonna stick around." They got in the line, which was fairly long; a lot of drunk guys were in said line, hoping to get a chance to meet the sexy front woman Sadie.

Lizzy stood waiting as patiently as she could, periodically getting on her tip toes to catch a glimpse of the band, hoping they would stay long enough for her to at least say hi. She got really anxious when the guy in front of her was talking to Sadie, and asked for her autograph on his shirt. Once Sadie said a goodbye to him, Lizzy and Paul stepped forward. Lizzy didn't know what to say in the presence of someone who'd just totally rocked the club. She had never met anyone famous before. Nevertheless, the kind smile Sadie was giving her made her feel at ease.

Lizzy stuck out her hand for her to shake, noticing that Paul was now chatting it up with the guitar player. "I just wanted to say that you guys were awesome…your voice is amazing, and your guitar player rocks."

"Well, thank you, sweet thing," Sadie laughed, observing the teenager with a hint of curiosity. Even in the dim light, the singer could make out her striking, blue eyes, and a grin that reminded her of one of her friends back in New York. Sadie shook the sudden thought from her mind, thinking that it really couldn't be possible--just a strange coincidence. "I'm glad you liked the show. Make sure you come back when we play here again."

"I will." Lizzy replied, nodding. The seventeen-year-old managed to tow Paul away from the guitarist--who's name was JoJo, as Paul later informed her--that he was continuing to talk to about guitar riffs and some other related stuff. Paul ended up receiving one of JoJo's guitar picks, which her friend found particularly thrilling. Lizzy laughed as they walked back to the car, when he told he was going to frame it.

"My house?" Paul questioned once they got into the car.

"Of course."