Schroeder crept down the staircase, hoping to get by unnoticed. His mother had never allowed him to eat sweets just before supper — they'd ruin his appetite, she'd always said.

Schroeder thought this was silly. A small bowl of Snicker Snacks couldn't hurt anything, especially considering he hadn't eaten since breakfast.

He warily placed a bare foot on the bottom stair. Creeeaaaak.

"Rats," he muttered to himself, every muscle in his body tensing. But all of a sudden something else got his attention — something that made him forget about Snicker Snacks entirely. It was a vague orange-vanilla scent. His heart rate quickening, Schroeder quietly stepped down and tiptoed toward the arch that separated the foyer from the living room.

He came up close to the arch and peeked out from behind it, half-dreading, half-hoping to see Lucy waiting for him at his piano. But the only person in the living room was Schroeder's mother, who sat on the couch, engrossed by an Austen novel.

"Mom?"

Mrs. Schroeder looked up from her book, the shift in her eyes showing that she had been fully immersed in the story of the Dashwoods, and found it a tiny shock to be pulled back into reality by the sound of her son's voice.

It was a couple of seconds before she could answer. "Yes, dear? Are you feeling better?"

"A bit," answered Schroeder with a half smile. "Mom, was Lucy here earlier?"

"She was," answered Dana. "It was only for a minute, though. She said she came to welcome us back, but it was perfectly obvious she was only here to see you."

Schroeder smiled again, more widely this time. "I was afraid she wouldn't want to come over anymore."

"Why not?" asked his mother.

"We had a fight before I left for camp last month."

"You did? How come you never told me about it?"

"Oh, it… must've slipped my mind," he answered sheepishly.

"Hmm. Well, no wonder she acted so awkwardly. You should call her, Thomas. She said she'd come around again later, but if you fought, it'd be nice for her to hear from you first."

"Yes, I suppose it would be," he answered, nodding slowly. He turned to go back upstairs, and as he did, called over his shoulder, "Thanks, Mom."

Schroeder walked up the staircase, his head throbbing lightly. He should've called Lucy, he knew it — but he didn't have the energy to talk it all over right now. The flight home from Germany had been rough, and he was a bit nauseous.

Entering his room, Schroeder let himself fall into the bed. Even now, he felt a twinge of anger at the last words Lucy had said to him:

"You'll never be anything but a third-rate musician with a fancy piano!"

That had taken him by surprise, as the fight they were having didn't even have anything to do with Schroeder's music. In all honesty, he didn't even remember anymore what the fight had been about. All he remembered was that last cutting remark: third-rate musician. And it stung.

But after that, of course, Schroeder had exploded at Lucy and ordered her out of his house. She groaned in annoyance and stomped out, and Schroeder hadn't seen her since, as he left for musicians' camp the very next morning.

After a couple of weeks, however, Schroeder's anger subsided, and he decided to forgive Lucy, as well as apologize. But every day since, he'd found some excuse not to call her, and told himself that it was okay, that it'd be better to wait until he got back in town to talk things through.

Now that he was here, however, back in his house where it had all gone down, Schroeder felt a bit of guilt — a guilt that overshadowed his traces of anger. Maybe it had been unreasonable to make Lucy wait so long to hear from him. He resolved to smooth things over the next day — or tonight if Lucy came back around.

Yes. That's what I'll do, thought Schroeder to himself. I'll apologize, and I'll forgive her for what she said, and things will be fine again.

Satisfied that things would turn out well, he played a Beethoven sonata on his record player and hummed happily as he began to unpack his suitcase and put his room in order.

Still, he suddenly thought, it would've been nice to hear Lucy apologize. I don't think I've ever heard her do that.

Hmm…

That was when an idea began to form in Schroeder's mind — a slightly devious one, perhaps, but it felt like a good one.

I'll just make her suffer a bit, he told himself. Just a few days — a week. Just to see if she apologizes. If she does, it all works out. And if she doesn't, then I'll make the first move.

It seemed reasonable. Lucy would learn a little lesson, and then they'd be as happy as before. It'd work out perfectly.

Right?

"Aww, Mom, I have to go to Schroeder's! I said I would!"

"Lucy, it's 9 at night," Julia Van Pelt pointed out. "It's too late to be going out, and I expect Schroeder is tired after the flight back. He's probably in bed already."

"But if I—"

"And you know it's your job to do the dinner dishes."

"Well, yeah, but—"

"And furthermore," her mother continued, "tomorrow is your first day of school. I don't want you to show up with dark circles under your eyes, and I'm sure you don't either."

Lucy sighed. She knew arguing was hopeless. And deep down, she knew her mom must be right — Schroeder probably was in bed by now.

"Yes, Mom," she grumbled as she took the offered dish cloth from Julia's hands.

It took Lucy a good twenty minutes to scrub all the dishes, and as she was finishing rinsing them off, Matty padded into the kitchen in thick socks.

"Matty, what are you doing in those things?" Lucy questioned as her brother opened the freezer.

"I was cold," was his simple explanation.

"Then why are you getting ice cream?" she asked, drying off her hands.

"Well, my belly isn't cold."

Lucy rolled her eyes with a small smile. "Matty, it's too late for ice cream right now. You should go to bed."

"It's not even 9:30!" protested the young boy.

"No, I mean it's too late because I'm done with the dishes and the kitchen is closed."

"Well, what if I promise to wash my spoon?"

"And also, you should also go to bed because you have school tomorrow."

Matty scoffed as he dropped onto a stool. "Says the girl who would've set off for the Schroeders' just now if Mom hadn't stopped you."

"Yeah, well, I'm almost 18. And you, my little friend," said Lucy, ruffling his hair, "are just a 14 year-old who is going to start freshman year."

Matty simply smiled with his classic baby-of-the-family charm. Lucy couldn't help but smile back. It wasn't that she had a favorite sibling — she loved both of her brothers equally — but she got along more smoothly with Matty than with Linus. Or at least, it was easier for her to find herself fighting with Linus. Still, in the last few years she and Linus had managed to get along a little better.

"Are you excited?" Lucy pressed on.

"Sure," answered Matty. "And a little nervous."

"Oh, you'll be fine. If that blockhead Linus could survive freshman year while carrying that old blanket around, you should do pretty well."

Matty laughed. "I guess so."

"And besides, with your sister as Senior Class President, you should get respect from the other kids."

"You're not elected yet," pointed out Matty.

"No, but I'm a shoo-in!" Lucy waved a careless hand. "Don't worry about it."

"If you say so," chuckled her little brother.

"Well, I'm going to bed," yawned Lucy. "If you do eat the ice cream, don't forget to brush your teeth."

"I won't."

"And wash the spoon."

"Yes, Mom," grumbled Matty.

Lucy chuckled lightly. "Good night, little Rerun," she said as she planted a kiss on his messy hair.