The music's rhythm pumped through my veins like a flood. I tapped my fingers absentmindedly against the dashboard of my Mothers pre-owned Ford Eclipse. Outside, the humidity had risen drastically, making Mom's frequent super-market outings more uncomfortable then necessary. I flipped through the radio stations, having a difficult time choosing between Elton John and Madonna. The air conditioner roared on high as I hummed along to the music, forgetting my surrounding.

Knock, knock, knock, came a tapping against the opposite car door window. My Mother glared at me through the window, befuddled but amused. I turned down the radio and unlocked her door.

"Dammit Ray, I could fry an egg on that pavement. It's too hot to even think straight." She wiped the sweat off her brow, and threw the groceries uncaringly onto the backseat.

"So..." I prodded, "Does that mean I don't have to go to the concert tonight?"

"It means," She laughed, "That we woman have to load on the deodorant."

The car engine purred as we backed out of Shop Rite's parking lot. I contained the urge to roll my eyes. Paying to see a retro sixty-something-year-old-man swing his hips and sing to mellow hippie music was not my ideal concert choice. My Mother, on the other hand, hatched a devious plan to squash my fine taste in music, and convert me into a member of the Brady Bunch fan club!

"What kind of crap are you listening to these days?" She frowned, turning up the radio. Green Day's American idiot came blasting through the car's surround sound. Her frown melted into an obvious grimace.

"So what?" I revoked, angered by her negativity, "You've never had good taste in music." That made her raise an eyebrow to question my sanity. "You've always listened to this crude," I proceeded in turning on 104.8, the local soft rock station that played non-stop seventies and eighties music.

A song was playing that I was naturally unfamiliar with, but Mother knew it word for word. "I think I love you, so what am I so afraid of? I'm afraid that I'm not sure of, a love there is no cure for..."

When the song ended, the radio announcer gave a brief commentary: "Well folks, I'm sure glad ol' Keith Partridge decided to make an appearance in our small little town. You may remember him as a young teen heartthrob from the band "The Partridge Family". Since his success in the early seventies, Partridge has done little, preforming only occasionally in Vegas. Partridge is known to have cut off connections with other members of the family, such as Brother, Danny Partridge, and Sister, Laurie Partridge. He now tours alone as a solo act accompanied by a small band. Tonight is your chance to let out your boxed-up teenage fan girl, and come see Keith Partridge at the local Bayside Amphitheatre. Tickets are on sale beginning at eight 'o'clock sharp..."

I flicked off the radio, not wanting to here anymore detail about this "Keith Partridge". A teenage heartthrob? No wonder my mother wanted so badly to go.

"Trust me," She smiled as we pulled up in front of our house, "You'll enjoy yourself." But in my heart, I knew I wouldn't, for I made a promise to myself not to enjoy it.

** Note **

**Ray is a GIRL**

This is just a short epilogue for chapters to come, I'm rating this T for language, smoking, drugs, and physical abuse, in later chapters. I know, alot of violence to put into a Partridge Family fanfiction, but just trust me on this one. I'll update soon, so please review. I'm new to the whole "David Cassidy/Keith Partridge" pandamonium vibe. Actually, I just recently saw him preform on August 14th in Pennsalvanyia. He was wonderful and I really enjoyed his sense of stage presence. You guessed it... I'm younger then the regular David Cassidy fan, but who knows, I might just produce a good story. Stay tuned for more.

I do not own the Partridge Family or any of its character.