One day, Lucy walked into Schroeder's bedroom with a frown.

It wasn't her normal frown. This was a different frown Schroeder hadn't seen her wear in a very long time. It was paired with something charged behind her eyes.

He raised his eyebrows at her in greeting, and she didn't respond. This was unusual for her.

However, Schroeder had learned long ago not to question Lucy when she was frowning, no matter what kind of frown it was, so he didn't protest when she wordlessly sat next to him at his piano bench. She wasn't in his way, anyway; he could reach all the keys he needed, and she wasn't being noisy.

He suspected her mood might have had something to do with the fistfight she got into at school that day. It had been with Violet – Schroeder wasn't sure what started it, since he hadn't been around to see it, but she'd been sent home with a bloody nose. It was probably over something stupid. Not his problem.

Satisfied that Lucy would talk when she wanted to, Schroeder's focus returned to the song he was playing: one of Haydn's Piano Trios, a relatively lively tune.

The two of them sat in each other's company for several minutes. He regretted that she missed the beginning of the composition; he was over halfway through it now, but the first movement was his favorite.

He was within two minutes of the song's end when he heard a sniffle coming from his left.

His eyes quickly glanced up and sideways towards Lucy. Was it allergy season? Surely, that couldn't have been her.

Just to confirm what he heard, she sniffled again. It wasn't a loud sniffle, either, not the exaggerated kind she would have done when she was pretending she was going to cry to get his attention. No, it seemed like she was trying to hide it.

Schroeder looked towards her, just slightly, and she subtly turned her head away from him, wiping an unseen eye with the base of her thumb.

Lucy was crying. Or, at least, she was trying very hard not to cry.

Schroeder suddenly recognized where he knew that frown from. The last time he had seen Lucy cry was at her father's funeral.

Other than that, Lucy Van Pelt didn't cry, not for real. It just wasn't what she did. She sulked, she got furious, she screamed, she hit things, but she didn't cry.

Schroeder felt a twinge of panic. He knew how to handle an angry Lucy, but he had no frame of reference for how to handle a crying Lucy.

He didn't have the slightest idea what to do, and the song was less than a minute away from being over, and they'd be met with real silence, and he'd have to do something.

A finger slipped and he fumbled a note. If Lucy noticed, she didn't react.

His brain scrambled to try and think of what to say as he carried out the finale with no further errors. The echo from the final key's note vibrated deeply for a few moments, and then dissolved into the thick, heavy air. He stretched his fingers out and sighed.

Lucy stared at the keys, and made a quiet sound like she was about to try and comment, but it never escaped her closed lips, which trembled for a moment.

Schroeder blinked, thought for a moment, and folded his hands in his lap. "Any requests?"

Her watery eyes met his, and all she managed was, "Huh?"

"Requests. A song you wanna hear." He pursed his lips. "I haven't really got anything in particular I need to practice, so I might as well let you pick something for me to play."

They stared at each other for a very long three seconds.

Her eyes widened, her lip shook again, and tears finally spilled over the rims of her eyelids. Her entire face contorted in an upsetting way and she began sobbing.

Great job, Schroeder.

He grimaced. "Oh, Lucy, I –" He quickly stood up. "Hold on, we have some tissues, just hold on –"

She did not hold on. She was wailing now, emitting the same kind of high-pitched whine that puppies use when you step on their tail by accident.

Once he had retrieved the tissues, Schroeder offered them to Lucy, and she took them with shaky hands. He stood awkwardly for a little bit, fidgeting with the button on his shirt. Eventually, he decided that sitting back down was what he needed to do, so he did. She didn't cling to him like he apprehended she might, but she did take his hand. He allowed her to do so because he was the one who offered it in the first place.

It took her several minutes to compose herself. Once she was able to, she croaked: "You've never asked me what song I wanted to hear before."

Schroeder frowned. "That's not why you were crying, is it?"

"Not completely." Lucy blew her nose. "Just a little."

"What's wrong, then? Was it the fight with Violet?"

She barked a bitter laugh. "No! Well, kinda."

"What was that even about?"

"She was talking about my dad."

"What did she say?"

"I can't even remember now. It had to do with her father. She had the nerve to pretend that she has it worse than me just because her father's always on those stupid business trips. But I don't care what Violet Gray has to say about fathers."

"Sure. That's why you gave her a black eye."

"Shut up. There's a difference between letting someone really get to you, and teaching them a lesson about how to talk to people." She exhaled. "It's my mom. She yelled at me when I got home."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

He really was sorry. Mrs. Van Pelt was a cold, intimidating woman. She had always been a little strict, but since Mr. Van Pelt's death, Schroeder hadn't had a single pleasant conversation with her.

Lucy shut her eyes and her mouth twisted again. "She told me that dad would be disappointed in me for getting in a fight. She said that he would have been so disappointed."

Schroeder sat still and looked at his and her hands, still joined.

She continued, "He would have been upset, sure, but he was never disappointed in me. She only said that to hurt me. She only told me that because she knew it would hurt."

He repeated, "I'm sorry." His throat was dry.

"Do you know why I signed up for so many honors classes?"

Any other day, he would have replied, 'because you're a try-hard?', but today, he just shrugged.

"I have to get into a decent college somewhere outside Minnesota. I have to go somewhere where I can get away from her."

It was the most depressing thing he had ever heard come out of her mouth. He nodded. "I guess that makes sense."

"And it has to be somewhere that she can't make smartass comments about. It has to be somewhere impressive, like an Ivy League school." She huffed. "So I have to work and get straight A's and join all these stupid clubs so I have things to put on applications. And I have to try and stop giving people black eyes and getting bloody noses."

She chuckled for a moment, and he gave her a weak smile. Her breathing and her speech were both more even now. She had calmed down a lot, but her face was still flushed and her eyes were still red.

Lucy gave Schroeder a grave look. "Do you think I can do it?"

"Do what?"

"Get into Harvard or Yale? Just to show her I can?"

"If there's one thing I can say about you, Lucy, it's that you're the most stubborn person I've ever met. If any of us are going to get accepted to Harvard or Yale, it's you."