Warning: heavy mentions of Pride and Prejudice in this chapter, but there are no spoilers.

Lucy could hardly believe how quickly the first week of school had gone by, even despite the agonizingly long student council meetings of the last two days — plans for Homecoming and the class president elections being the subjects at hand. And of course, there was the fact that Schroeder had missed those same two days of school. She could feel her spirits lifting as she finally saw him at his locker on Friday morning.

She approached cautiously, weighing in her mind potential conversation starters. Her heart rate quickened with each step, beating even more wildly than it had on Sunday as she'd stood on the front steps of his house.

Should I be nonchalant? Flirty? Shy? Should I apologize? Oh, I don't know— And suddenly, before she could think it through, Schroeder turned and saw her, and she blurted out, "Hey, Schroeder! Long time, no see!"

Schroeder looked at her in surprise and simply answered, "Hello, Luce."

Everything Lucy might've considered saying to Schroeder abandoned her as their gazes collided — all she could do was bite her lip in embarrassment.

She hated this feeling of losing her nerve. It wasn't like her at all to be nervous about talking to Schroeder (heck, she'd flirted with him shamelessly for years, even on occasions when he was furious at her), but this week it seemed to be happening a lot.

Just as she'd done when Dana had unexpectedly opened the door on Sunday afternoon, she found herself resorting to small talk. "Um— how was Europe?"

"It was great," he answered casually. "We got to see the Fifth Symphony performed live at Beethovenhalle, which was pretty fantastic."

"Oh. That's nice," Lucy replied. Schroeder's blatant nonchalance might've been a cause for her to worry, but her mind was otherwise too busy, frantically searching for something else to say. "Um… I— I was just wondering if you, um…" Good grief, she internally groaned. I must sound pathetic.

But suddenly inspiration struck her: "Oh! I was wondering if you were going to Vi's party tonight! It's the first one of the year."

"Oh, Vi's party. Um… Sure, I guess. Why not? If I finish my homework."

"Great," said Lucy, sounding a bit overly enthusiastic for her taste. "Can I pick you up?"

"Um, I don't know. I don't mind walking. The Grays are only, like, ten minutes' walk from my place."

But Lucy, now starting to regain her confidence, wasn't about to take no for an answer. "Actually, Linus is using the car tonight, so I'm walking, too, but —" she shrugged and smiled — "do you wanna walk together?"

She nearly squealed in delight when Schroeder finally half-smiled back. "Sure."

"Okay," she said, her smile growing every second. "I'll see you around 7:00, then!" And with that, she dashed away to her English class before Schroeder could change his mind.

With her and Schroeder's first meeting out of the way (and not having gone down in flames and smoke), Lucy's first two classes went by with a light, Friday kind of ease.

As she walked into Mr. Benson's classroom (which she somehow kept managing to only very narrowly avoid being late to), she received her second pleasant surprise of the day: an empty seat in the front row — and even better, it was only two desks down from Schroeder. Hoping the seat's usual occupier wouldn't show up later and make her move, she happily settled into the spot and prepared to listen.

Lucy couldn't contain a smile as she glanced over at Schroeder. An actual conversation with him (okay, sort of), and now a seat with a view of his? Things were most certainly looking bright today.

Lucy's adorable frantic moment by the lockers had been enough to convince Schroeder to finally abandon his silly "teach-Lucy-a-lesson" scheme. But stubbornness — and just a hint of pride — kept him from simply dropping the charade of indifference then and there. A few cool remarks and tiny smiles effectively shelved the inevitable conversation until later.

It's all good. We'll fix things tonight at the party, Schroeder promised himself. And everything will be fine. Now all I have to do is think of what to say to her. And with that positive mindset he breezed through the first few hours of school.

But although he was excited to get things back on track with Lucy, he couldn't help but notice that Nancy's seat in Calculus was empty — empty, that was, until Lucy came in and filled it.

It wasn't that he minded having Lucy near — of course he didn't mind that —, but on the other hand, Schroeder couldn't help but be a bit concerned — and curious — about Nancy. Finally class ended and, avoiding Lucy for what would be the last time, he headed to his locker.

Just as he reached it, he saw Nancy coming down the hallway from the opposite direction.

"Hey, Nancy," he called out.

Hearing his voice made Nancy smile as she came up to him. "Hey, you're back."

"I am." He nodded. "How about you? I noticed you weren't in Calc."

"I was in the nurse's office," she answered with a slightly annoyed eye roll.

Schroeder's eyebrows shot up. "Why? Is everything okay?"

Nancy sighed loudly and rolled up her left sleeve. "Bee sting," she huffed, pointing at the wound. "Can you believe it?"

"What— how did that even happen?"

"I have no idea," she answered. "Somehow it got into the band room and…" She shrugged. "This happened. And I'm allergic to bees, so I had to go to the nurse."

Schroeder shook his head. "Goodness."

"So if that's not rotten luck," she added as she opened her locker, "I don't know what is."

"Gee, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," sighed Nancy, rolling her sleeve back down. There was a brief silent moment as she sighed again, tension almost visibly leaving her body. Finally she looked back up at Schroeder with a smile and asked, "So, what'd I miss in Calc?"

"Oh, a couple of pages of homework, basically."

At this she sighed once more and lamented over already missing assignments in the first week of school, but Schroeder pointed out that the homework would be shared on the class Dropbox.

"Oh, good. That saves me the trip, then," she said with a chuckle.

"Right." Schroeder smiled politely and nodded. "Well, I'd ask if you want help with the homework, but honestly, you'd probably be better at it than me."

Nancy laughed. "Well, that's really only because my mom was a Calculus professor back in Phoenix, so…"

"Ah," he said with another nod, "that's why you're good at math?"

She nodded. "Exactly."

"Gotcha." He looked around quickly and said to Nancy, "Well, I have to get going. But I'm glad everything's okay."

As he began to walk away, however, he was stopped by the sound of Nancy's voice: "Although…"

He swiveled back around. "Yes?"

"Well, on the subject of homework, there is something you could help me with."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." She took a step closer to him as she asked, "You took Miss Sanchez's English Lit class last year, right?"

"So, am I ever gonna hear the long story?"

Schroeder looked over his shoulder at Nancy as he unlocked his front door. "What do you mean?"

"When I asked if you could help me with my book report, and you said you could because you were an Austen fan, you said it was a long story."

He laughed as he stepped into his house with Nancy cautiously following. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe I'll tell you at some point. But the short version is that my mom is a total Austenite, and she got me into it."

Nancy clucked her tongue and nodded. "Gotcha." A comment about Schroeder being a man of mystery might've followed, but soon her attention was taken up by something quite different. "Oh, my goodness," she gasped. "What a beautiful piano!"

"Oh. Thank you," he answered, motioning for her to follow him to the instrument. "I've had it a couple years."

"Hmm." She nodded as she ran a hand over the hard maple and admired the shiny black finish. "Lovely. I have a piano at home, but it's… you know… white and small. It fits in a corner of my room. Nowhere near as pretty as this."

"Ah." Schroeder sat at the bench and gently lifted the cover, after which he proceeded to play a few stray notes with care. "You wanna try it?" he suddenly asked.

Nancy looked up in surprise. "Oh— um… I— I don't know," she stammered. "I don't know if, uh…" She glanced over the top of the piano at Schroeder and the keys before her face began to break into a smile, and she replied, "Well, after the events of Tuesday, I don't wanna shock you again."

Schroeder's mouth dropped open in sarcastic shock. "What exactly are you saying, Miss O'Donnell? That I can't handle a bit of jazz?"

"Well, you certainly didn't handle it very well on Tuesday," she replied with tongue in cheek, twirling a loose strand of auburn hair.

"For your information, Miss O'Donnell, I rather happen to appreciate jazz."

"Oh? Just not jazz-classical fusions?"

"Actually, I don't mind fusions per se, just as long as they don't mess with Beethoven."

"Ah." she nodded as she eyed the Beethoven bust positioned on the top of Schroeder's piano. "So Mrs. Lowery was even more right than I realized."

He looked up from the keys. "What about?"

"That you're a Beethoven purist."

Schroeder laughed out loud. "Yep, I guess I am." A pause followed before he added, "I used to be super touchy about music in general, but I have lightened up in recent years."

"Hmm." Having nothing more to add, Nancy simply nodded once more and rested her chin on her thin hand.

The silence was broken by Schroeder. "Here's one fusion piece I do like," he said to her, and began to play a pleasant little jazz rendition of the Skater's Waltz.

Nancy smiled as she heard the tune, and sat by Schroeder on his piano bench to see the notes being played.

Some ten smile- and laughter-filled minutes of music followed, in which Nancy made a light attempt to imitate the notes Schroeder had played, until finally a moment of giggles was cut short by Schroeder's sudden exclamation, "Hey, wait a second! I thought we were here to work on your Pride and Prejudice book report!"

Nancy broke into a full-blown guffaw at this, and stood up from the bench to get her laptop out of her backpack. "This is exactly why you can't put two musicians together and expect them to get anything done."

At this statement they shared another lengthy bout of laughter, but at long last the two had settled down and the laptop was turned on.

"So where are we sitting?" inquired Nancy, folding her arms atop the piano.

"Oh, you can sit on the piano if you want."

"Uh— really?" she asked with disbelief in her tone.

"Sure. That's usually where my friends sit when they come over to hear me play. Just take off your shoes so you don't scuff it, and it should be fine."

Nancy hesitated a moment, then shrugged. "All right, if you say so." She pulled herself up onto the edge of the instrument and kicked off her shoes, then laughed in delight as she crossed her legs and looked around. "Great view of the house from up here! Have you ever tried it?"

"'Fraid not," answered Schroeder, looking up at her.

"Hmm. Well, you should one day."

"Maybe I will." The two smiled for a moment before Schroeder decisively continued, "So, Pride and Prejudice. You've already read it, correct?"

"Oh, yes. Many times. But I don't know how to, like, approach the report, you know? I don't know how to analyze whatever it is that reports analyze—" She caught herself and smiled wryly. "I sound like a blockhead, don't I?"

"No, not at all," he replied with a smile and a shake of his head. "That's exactly how I felt before I started high school."

"Really?" Nancy asked with curiosity. "But Miss Sanchez showed us your book report from last year, and it was so good! Deep but understandable; you know what I mean?"

Schroeder reddened slightly at this. "She showed you my report?"

"Yeah. She read it to the whole class. She also read us a report on War and Peace by, um… who was it? That wrote the top report from last year?"

"Ah, that would be Marcie."

"Yes. Exactly. Marcie Carlin. Hers was really good, too."

Schroeder nodded. "It really was."

"So how do you do it?" Nancy continued. "How do you take a story like that and write such a complex report on it?"

"Actually, it's not that complex," he said to her. "The key is to— Well, I'm gonna tell you something my mom once said to me that's really helped me with my essays and reports."

Nancy leaned forward in interest. "Oh?"

"She said that the first thing you always have to do is ask yourself, 'What is this story — or issue — really about?' What's at the heart of it?"

"At the heart?" she repeated.

"Yeah. So for example, this book. As an Austenite, you know that Jane Austen's works are usually an analysis of human nature. How does she do that in Pride and Prejudice?"

"How does she do that? Hmm…" Nancy leaned back on her arms to ponder the question. "What is it really about?" she softly muttered to herself as she considered.

Her contemplation was briefly interrupted by Schroeder, who began to play Für Elise. "You don't mind if I play while we work, do you?"

"No, not at all," she answered, but momentarily her gaze had again landed on the Beethoven bust, and she sat up straight. "Hey," she said to Schroeder, "you're a Beethoven fan. I have a question."

"Okay…"

"Well, you know that scene in Pride and Prejudice where they're at Rosings and Lady Catherine demands that Lizzy play the piano for them?"

"Yes."

"Would it be historically accurate to assume that she might've played Für Elise in that scene?"

Schroeder stopped playing. "When does the book take place, again?"

"Well, it was published in 1812, so around that time."

"Right." He nodded slowly. "Then the answer is no."

Nancy raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Really? Hadn't Beethoven's works reached England yet by then?"

"No, they had, but — little known fact — Für Elise was never published during Beethoven's lifetime. It wasn't discovered until after his death."

"Really?"

"Yep. However, it would be conceivable that she might've been playing Beethoven's Sonata Number 14."

"Moonlight," smiled the girl.

"That's right, although it wasn't known as Moonlight at the time, but by the name Beethoven gave it — Quasi una fantasia."

"Mmm." Nancy nodded and looked down at her lap, the beginnings of a sentence on the same subject on the tip of her tongue, before her gaze darted up in what could only be described as a flash of inspiration. "I've got it."

The music, which by now had resumed, stopped again. "What?"

"What Pride and Prejudice is really about. I mean, underneath the comedy and the romance and the glitter of the perfect Mr. Darcy — it's really just about how our interactions with other people are, shall we say, the medium through which we come to know ourselves."

A few seconds of contemplative silence.

"Nancy," Schroeder slowly began, "write that down immediately. The wording and everything. That is a much better start than anything I ever came up with."

She smiled and blushed. "You really think so?"

"Absolutely. If you take that idea and expand on it, you should have an A-worthy report in no time at all."

And with these words they launched into the task. Schroeder's observation had been entirely truthful — the ideas flowed quickly, and in only 90 minutes (or to quote Sally Brown, "in nothing flat") a 1,000-word book report was almost completely drafted, and only the conclusion remained when Schroeder interrupted the work — and a rendition of Mozart's Turkish March — to get some water bottles for the both of them.

Between sips of water and with her legs dangling over the edge of the piano, where she was still sitting, Nancy further probed the earlier subject. "So you say you are into jazz?"

"Yeah. I started getting into it about four-ish years ago. Eighth grade, to be exact. Do you know Vince Guaraldi?"

"Mmm." Nancy nodded as she lowered her water bottle. "'Cast Your Fate to the Wind,' right?"

"That's the guy."

"Yeah, I know him — I mean, I haven't heard that much from him, but he has really nice simple renditions of a few songs I like, so I've listened to those."

"Ah," Schroeder answered. "Well, that's my personal favorite jazz artist."

"Oh, nice."

"And actually —" He paused a moment and began a sly smile reminiscent of the one Nancy had given him earlier — "well, you know how you said before that you didn't wanna 'shock me'?"

She gave him a curious look. "Yes…?"

"I have a shock for you now."

A more heavily accentuated glance of intrigue. "Really?"

"A little song I composed," he replied, words overlapping with the opening notes of a jazz tune.

A smile graced Nancy's features — small at first, and perhaps a bit confused (shocked, if one will pardon the expression), then bigger. Finally her position relaxed as she allowed herself to settle into the sound of the pleasant notes being played.

The tune tended to have that effect on people, Schroeder had noted. As he played, his mind couldn't help but wander back to the first time he'd played it for an audience, about a year and a half earlier.

The premiere had been at Lucy's sixteenth birthday party — the song had been her gift, rendered particularly special as it was also the first real gift Schroeder had given her since they'd begun dating. Recollections of the writing process danced through Schroeder's mind as well: how he'd intended to compose a sweet, Beethoven-esque tune (with the title Für Lucille, incidentally) — something romantic. Something memorable.

Instead Schroeder had found himself sitting idly at his piano, strolling for hours on end — for days on end — down memory lane. Nothing came to mind but memories of Lucy sitting across from him at his little toy piano; of Linus toting his blue security blanket (not that he didn't still do that); of Charlie Brown's familiar "AAUGH!" as Lucy pulled out the football from under him, year after year (after year); of the typical autumnal sight of Linus sitting in his pumpkin patch waiting for the Great Pumpkin.

And somehow, all those memories, all those sights and sounds and feelings collected in Schroeder's mind spilled over onto the piano keys, and a song came out. A song that was jazzy, pleasant, simple, and — yes — memorable.

Of course, the title Für Lucille would not do anymore. It seemed to Schroeder that the Van Pelt siblings were in virtually every memory that had inspired the tune, so he named it accordingly: "Linus and Lucy." Perfect.

Lucy loved it. It became her theme song, and by extension, the whole gang's as well. Schroeder smiled fondly at the recollections, and just then, just the way everything felt at that moment, he could have sworn it was still the middle of the summer, and he was playing Lucy's song for her like he had done so many times before.

… Before the fight.

It had been the sight of Nancy's auburn braid falling on the piano keys that abruptly snapped him out of the daydream. He looked up, startled, and his fingers slipped onto the wrong notes for just a moment when he saw before him Nancy's freckled face and dimpled smile instead of Lucy's jet black hair and tinted red lips.

Schroeder looked back down and kept playing. How odd, he thought. Both of the times Nancy has listened to me playing, I could have sworn she was Lucy.

He glanced up at Nancy again, simply to make sure he had seen correctly and it wasn't Lucy lying there.

It was Nancy, all right. But there was something about her. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on, but that felt vaguely reminiscent of the times Lucy would come over to listen to his music. Schroeder frowned lightly and directed his focus back to the piano.

And suddenly, somewhere between the bridge and the conclusion of his song, he noticed it: the orange-vanilla scent.

Oh, good grief… It's her perfume, he realized, simultaneously wanting to laugh and facepalm himself. That's why she keeps messing with my head — why it feels familiar.

The realization was both pleasant and unsettling — somehow it made him realize, more than ever, how much he missed Lucy after six weeks of turmoil in their relationship.

New, worrying, thoughts flooded his mind: he realized he hadn't put any thought whatsoever into what he'd say to Lucy tonight. And immediately that became his main concern. He knew the song well enough by now to easily play it without paying much attention, anyway, so he shifted his mindset into deep thinking, into searching for an explanation worthy of Lucy Van Pelt.

Meanwhile, Nancy was absorbed in some thoughts of her own. Nothing too profound — she was trying to pay attention to the song, after all — but just deep enough that she could appreciate both the tune and the pleasing appearance of its performer at once.

In this position were both teens — just a bit disconnected from the world, each lost in their fondness of certain someones — when the back door of Schroeder's house opened.