After the concert, the volunteers started their final duties for closing up. The ushers went through the rows of seats, checking for lost items and trash while other workers checked the bathrooms or waited with the children who needed to be picked up. As Marcie passed through the lobby with her collection of paper airplanes to toss into the trash can, she spotted Carlton arriving to pick up his cousin, but Lucy was nowhere in sight.

Maybe waiting in the car or something, she guessed.

At last the volunteers were dismissed. After Marcie grabbed her purse from the office, where she had stored it for safekeeping, she found Schroeder in the theater, down on the floor in front of the stage, gazing hungrily at the majestic concert piano. He had already returned his volunteer badge, and with his official regalia gone, his whole demeanor now seemed to be that of a little kid.

"Did you hear the tone on that darling?" he beamed when Marcie joined him. "Coupled with the acoustics in this theater? I could get used to that sound!"

"I like your piano at home too," she told him. "With your skills, you can make an out-of-tune harpsichord sound wonderful."

"It's nothing, really," he said modestly, scratching his cheek. He cast a longing glance at the glossy instrument. "I guess they don't let volunteers play…"

"Unfortunately, no," she admitted, "but maybe next time I can introduce you to the conductor, and he might let you try it then."

He turned, smirking. "Marcie, is that a bribe to make sure I come back to do more volunteer work?"

"It could be," she said with an innocent smile.

He shook a finger at her, his eyes glittering. "Sneaky."

She laughed, gesturing for him to follow her up the aisle. As they headed toward the double doors, she asked, "Are you heading straight home, Schroeder?"

"I don't have to."

"Well, how about I buy you a late lunch?" she suggested. "As thanks for helping out today."

"I rarely turn down free food," he declared amiably.

"Allons-y," she grinned back.

Her good mood soon vanished, however. Near the entrance Floyd waited, trying to catch her eye, but Marcie pointedly stepped closer to Schroeder.

"Schroeder," she said out of the side of her mouth, "would it be okay if I held your arm while we walked out? Just so that jerk I told you about doesn't try to bother me. He's the lanky one by the door."

"Sure," he answered, frowning. He bent his elbow like a gentleman, allowing her to take it. "Do you need me to talk to him?"

"No, I don't want to make a scene," she answered, deliberately, looking up at Schroeder's profile to avoid making eye contact with Floyd. "He's not worth the energy."

They reached the door in silence and walked out. Schroeder briefly turned his head as they started down the sidewalk, then faced forward again.

"You sure that guy only sarcastically asks you out?" he asked. "He looked pretty disappointed,"

She snorted. "He's just a good actor. I really don't know why I've been on his radar for so long."

As they rounded a corner, Marcie finally released his arm and tucked her hands behind her back, trying to maintain some dignity despite her annoyance. Schroeder slipped his hands into his pockets, thoughtful.

"Like I said," he reflected, "you could be his type."

"You sound like Peppermint Patty." She kicked at a pebble lying on the sidewalk, shooting it forward like a marble. "I know you're trying to be a good pal, Schroeder, but do you honestly believe boys trip over themselves for girls like me?"

He shrugged. "Not all attraction is physical, you know. Emotional attraction goes a long way."

"The only hope some girls have," she returned dryly.

He shook his head. "You're always gonna encounter jerks who only want a girl for her looks, Marcie, but they're not the type of person you'd want to be around in the first place. I'd rather have one okay-looking girl I got along with than fifty department-store models with icebergs for hearts."

Because you're a rare breed, she felt tempted to say, but she gritted her teeth and remained silent. Things like this were not an area which a boy like Schroeder could understand; he had been the object of multiple crushes over the years, not just Lucy's, and he had never suffered a shortage of valentines. If he were ever turned down for a date, it would not be for his looks.

They reached the end of the block in silence. As they waited at the crosswalk, Schroeder turned to her.

"Speaking as a friend," he said slowly, "have you ever considered maybe 'sarcastically' accepting a date from that guy, in order to 'call his bluff'?"

"Why give him the satisfaction?" she scowled.

"Well," he said, shrugging, "it could make him feel guilty if you accept and act sweetly to him — show him he can't get to you. Turn the tables on him. You can even insist that you won't accept unless it's a double date, so then you can bring along two friends to be in your corner."

"That would be useful, if it came to blows," she considered, touching her chin.

"Came to…" Schroeder shook his head. "Always the quiet ones."

"You should know."

He touched his forehead, making a face before he continued: "And on the chance he is sincere, no matter how slim" — he held up a diplomatic hand at her sharp look — "then at least you'll know whether he's a genuinely nice guy who means well but just doesn't know how to talk to girls."

"If only we could all live in such fantasy worlds, Schroeder," she deadpanned.

"I'm serious," he returned. "Some guys do dumb stuff when it comes to the girls they like."

"Even you?" she challenged.

He looked straight ahead. "I plead the fifth."

The diner was on the corner of a block of shops and dance studios; inside sat a huge counter with tall stools and rows of booths with red seats along the large windows. After asking Schroeder to order her a root beer and a turkey melt with fries and a fruit cup, Marcie excused herself to go to the pay phone over by the restrooms.

Fishing for another quarter, she took a deep breath before she dialed Charles's number. Once again, Sally answered.

"Hey, Sally," Marcie said. "Just checking on Charles again. How's he feeling? Is he near the phone now?"

"No, he's busy losing another checkers game to Peppermint Patty — I call 'em like I see 'em!" she shouted, sounding as though she had lowered the phone. A pause, then Sally said, "It's Marcie."

Marcie recognized Peppermint Patty's happy cry on the other end, and the next moment her best friend was on the line.

"Hey, Marcie! How was the concert? Did ol' Schroeder enjoy himself?"

"I should say so," Marcie answered truthfully, trying to mask her disappointment.

"Really, really enjoyed himself?" Patty hummed.

"He was practically drooling over the piano," Marcie replied. She glanced over at their booth; Schroeder had taken the side facing the entrance, so his back was toward her; as he read the menu, one hand absentmindedly conducted in the air, as though he heard music other than what was softly playing on the nearby jukebox.

"You sure music was the only thing he was interested in?" Patty asked slyly.

Marcie looked heavenward. "I can honestly say I don't think I'm his type."

"You're too hard on yourself, Marcie," Patty chided. "You're a lot prettier than you give yourself credit for, and your love for that stuffy concert junk gives the two of you lots to talk about. You could sweep Schroeder off his feet in no time!"

"Again, I'm not his type," Marcie returned patiently, though she had the feeling Peppermint Patty might not be listening. "More importantly, he's not my type."

"Sure, sure. A sophisticated boy who isn't hard on the eyes and who likes the same music as you do isn't even a little bit interesting. You are so uninterested, in fact, that you called me while I'm still at Chuck's house to tell me about your date."

"It was volunteer work, not a date, Sir," Marcie reminded her calmly.

"And he couldn't wait to leave practice today to go meet you — the sly dog!"

"It was a Beethoven concert. Of course he was excited."

"A Beethoven concert with a girl he likes."

Marcie resisted a sigh. "While I am certainly amiable toward Schroeder, Sir, I could never enter a romantic relationship with him, and I doubt he could with me. Besides, I prefer guys who are more upfront about their feelings."

"Unless their name is Floyd."

Marcie narrowed her eyes. "I said 'upfront,' not sarcastic.'"

"Don't sell yourself short," Patty insisted. "Floyd has liked you since we were kids."

"So he claims."

"And Beethoven Boy has known you even longer, so I think your chances with him are pretty high."

"Once again, I'm not his type—"

But a shout from Peppermint Patty cut Marcie off.

"Hey, hey, hey! Don't think I don't see you touching that game piece, Chuck! …You were too! …Okay, you asked for it!"

A scratchy, thumping noise followed as though she had tossed the phone in the air. Another thumping sound, and Sally spoke next.

"Gotta go, Marcie. She's hitting my brother with a couch cushion and tickling him. She may need help."

Before Marcie could form a reply, a click followed, then the loud hum of the dial tone. Marcie slowly returned the receiver to its place on the pay phone and trudged into the ladies' room. She spent several minutes splashing her face with cold water and taking deep breaths. When she felt she could maintain her usual air of equanimity, she straightened her shoulders and returned to the booth.

The food had already arrived, but Schroeder had not touched it, only sipping his root beer while he waited for her to return. Schroeder had ordered a club sandwich with — to no one's surprise — a double portion of macaroni instead of two different sides. Marcie could not resist smiling, shaking her head.

"Maybe we should call you 'Yankee Doodle' for your fondness for macaroni," she joked.

He chuckled. "When I was a kid, I got into the habit of eating it with everything because I wanted to be like Beethoven. Now I can't stop."

"Maybe a Macaroni Eaters Anonymous exists out there."

"I sure hope not."

He raised his root beer in a playful toast, thanking her, which she returned before they dug in, but Schroeder had barely taken his first bite when he laid his sandwich down again and sat up, squinting toward the entrance. Chewing, Marcie turned her head, but she nearly forgot to swallow, staring at the pair who had just entered.

Lucy had changed out of her casual clothes and into a blue top and white shorts, but instead of auburn-haired Carlton, a boy with dark hair had his arm around her shoulders. They went up to the register and spoke to the server, who rang them up. With the order completed, the boy moseyed over to the jukebox to wait, but Lucy turned her head, casually scanning the diner. Her eyes lit up when she caught sight of Schroeder and Marcie, and she hurried over.

"Talk about a coincidence!" she beamed. "David and I only stopped for a carryout order before we headed over to the roller rink, but I was kinda hoping to run into you guys again while I'm downtown."

"Where's Carlton?" Marcie asked, bewildered.

"Oh, Carlton was my post-lunch date," Lucy explained matter-of-factly. "David is my pre-dinner date."

Marcie blinked a few times. "Busy day, huh?"

"You're telling me!" Lucy wiped her forehead playfully, making a whew! sound. "And I still have to meet Joey Walters for a scoop of ice cream, then Eric Rivers for my dinner date!"

Marcie stared at her. "Are you sure you'll have the energy?"

"That's why I'm getting a snack now," Lucy replied. She turned and flexed her arms, parodying Rosie the Riveter. "Gotta keep my strength up!"

"I could never keep track of so many," Marcie said, feeling a sense of awed bemusement toward her.

Lucy planted her hands on her hips. "It's like I used to tell Schroeder when we were kids. I just knew I would be popular with the boys in high school. Right, Schroeder?"

Schroeder rolled his eyes, lifting his straw to his lips.

"And does that make you happy, Lucy?" Marcie asked, watching her.

Lucy blinked once, then smiled. She poked her finger into a dimple in her cheek, acting coy. "I've always been a one-man woman, to tell you the truth, but naturally I have to give each boy a fair chance before I decide which one is going to take me to prom. It's only right to give them a little taste of my company before I leave behind so many broken hearts."

"How magnanimous of you," Schroeder drawled.

"Thank you, sweetie."

"Well, Marcie and I have just been hanging out this afternoon," he deadpanned. "One Marcie. One companion. A whole afternoon."

He gave her a significant look before he sipped his root beer. If Lucy noticed the dig, she gave no indication.

"And it's so healthy for you to get away from the piano and enjoy some sunshine, instead of only going outside for baseball season," Lucy returned lightly. She leaned over and tapped his nose, and his root beer dropped back down his straw. "Vitamin D deficiency is no laughing matter, Schroeder. I worry about you."

"Likewise," he returned, rubbing his nose.

Lucy chuckled, then turned her head, peering toward the area near the register. "Oh, David's waving me over to the jukebox. Nice seeing you guys."

"And you, Lucy," Marcie returned.

Schroeder only rolled his eyes again. Lucy gave them a dainty wave before sauntering over to the smiling David. He motioned for her to look at the song selection, jabbing at one, and she nodded, giggling. He smoothly deposited a quarter, and after a second or two, "Earth Angel" crooned from the speakers. David took Lucy by the hand, and she gently glided her in his arms, leaning side to side in an amiable dance. Lucy's face glowed even brighter than it had with Carlton, making David a serious contender for being her prom date.

But the jury is still out, isn't it? Marcie pondered. So many variables could affect the course of a relationship, yet as David swung Lucy into a dip, causing a laugh to escape from her, Marcie could see that he had a pretty fair shot.

"How corny can you get?" Schroeder snarked under his breath.

"I think it's cute," Marcie smiled, resting her chin on her hand. "It's nice when a guy isn't too worried about his image to show a girl he likes her. Being too proud to express your real feelings to the people you care about isn't a good way to live, you know."

"But sentimentality impresses you?"

"A guy taking the initiative certainly does," she replied. She absentmindedly traced a heart on the table surface and added, "Even if he's normally wishy-washy."

Schroeder took another indifferent quaff of his soda, but his eyes followed Lucy and her date as they rocked back and forth. He rubbed his ears, wincing.

"That's one song I don't need stuck in my head all night," he said, shaking his head.

"I think it's sweet," Marcie returned, turning to watch the dancers. "I've always liked that line where the singer says he hopes and prays to be 'the vision of your happiness.' It's a good message." She reached for her drink. "And when you really love someone, you want them to have their best life."

…Even if it's with someone else, she added to herself with an inward sigh.

"I guess." Schroeder's spidery fingers drummed the table. "But just once I'd like to find a jukebox that played Beethoven's Ninth Symphony or Handel's 'The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba.'"

"Right now, I think 'La Ci Darem La Mano' would be appropriate," Marcie chuckled, nodding to the dancers.

Schroeder formed a lopsided smile. He leaned back, giving her a sweeping glance. "You know, it's rather refreshing to talk to someone whose eyes don't glaze over when I mention Handel or Chopin."

"Oh, I grew up listening to my parents' records," she grinned. "I've always been partial to operas myself, especially Pagliacci. 'Vesti la giubba' reminds me of—" She stopped short and took a quick drink of her soda. "Nevermind…"

Schroeder raised an eyebrow. "Charlie Brown?"

Her skin warmed. "I didn't say that."

He waved his hand, forming a small grin.

"No, don't be embarrassed. I happen to agree with you." He touched his chin, contemplative. "I've often thought Charlie Brown resembles a real-life Pierrot character from commedia dell'arte. Remarkably so. Same tendency to fall into misfortune, yet a dogged hopefulness for a good outcome. It's not illogical to see the parallels if one knows Charlie Brown as well as the two of us do."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention it to him though," Marcie mumbled.

Schroeder laid a hand over his heart. "Your secret is safe with me."

She gave him a fleeting smile, but she quickly wiped her mouth with her napkin as an excuse to hide her flushing face. She cleared her throat, doing her best to divert the conversation to safer territory.

"Well, I for one am surprised to find another American who knows what commedia dell'arte is," she said as lightly as she could manage. "Most people I know have never even heard of it."

Schroeder chuckled, stirring his straw to send the cluster of ice spinning around his glass. "Do you know how many composers were fond of the characters and referenced them in their works? Mozart, Tchaikovsky, Schumann, Busoni. The child prodigy, Erich Wolfgang Korngold, wrote a ballet about Pierrot and Columbine when he was thirteen. Once you dive into the world of music, you start to notice how often names like Harlequin, Pantaloon, Columbine and Pierrot pop up."

Marcie found herself smiling. "Not to mention the great playwright and authors! I like to read Molière's plays in both English and the original French, and they make so much more sense when you know who Pulcinella and Scapino are. Of course, it's believed that Molière created Pierrot in the first place. And did you know that in Japanese the loanword piero means 'clown'? That was taken from Pierrot — and the name, of course, means 'Little Peter' in French."

Schroeder leaned forward. "And did you know there's an apocryphal story that Beethoven's last words were 'Plaudite, amici, comedia finita est,' which was often said at the end of commedia dell'arte performances? Of course, other sources deny this, but that's what made me start to look up what commedia dell'arte actually was. I'm always interested in learning about those mundane moments in Beethoven's life that you don't read about in biographies. Did he actually like Italian comedies? Who was his favorite character? Did he relate to Harlequin or Pierrot more?"

It was amazing seeing him smile over old Italian stock characters (even if he only saw them through the lens of Beethoven). Marcie, who had grown accustomed to apathy towards her esoteric interests, felt a rush of friendly warmth toward him, especially when he nodded along while she described her collection of French plays and poetry, along with other non-American works. In some, Pierrot was successful, gaining recognition for his poetry and winning the affections of Columbine or Pierrette, though in many he continued to be lovelorn and lonely.

"I suppose Pierrot's blunders with girls is why he appealed to so many in past centuries," Schroeder reflected knowledgeably. "Beethoven might have related to him on that account."

As he said this, his gaze shifted back toward the area behind Marcie, and that look of disapproval reappeared. She craned her head, just in time to watch Lucy and David receive their takeout order. David carried it against his chest while Lucy hung onto his elbow. Outside the entrance, they turned left and disappeared from sight. Schroeder gazed at the window a few seconds longer, then leaned back.

"I hope she knows what she's doing," he said finally, using his spoon to pick at his macaroni. "I'd hate to see her get hurt."

"Don't worry about Lucy," Marcie advised, watching his concerned features. "Sometimes Columbine chases after the Harlequins or the other boys for a while before she settles down with a sweet, dependable Pierrot who never stopped waiting for her."

"Depending on the author," Schroeder said mildly, but he shot Marcie a wary look.

"True."

Marcie gazed at her mostly untouched plate. She thought of her own Pierrot — a sweet-tempered boy, smiling his thanks whenever she did something nice for him, a little depressed at times yet a small act of kindness could make him light up so adorably — but Marcie never felt like his beautiful, charming Columbine. Sometimes, she identified with the clown girl, Pierrette, Pierrot's female counterpart who patiently waited for him to notice her, but a happy ending was not always a guarantee.

And Pierrette never had to deal with Columbine or another girl spending all afternoon at Pierrot's house and tickling him over a checkers game, she inwardly sighed.

What could she do if he chose to go down that path with her best friend?

But had he chosen yet? A part of her still wondered. Until he and Patty officially agreed to be a couple, wasn't there always a chance his heart would guide him elsewhere? Couldn't someday Charles see Marcie as the vision of his happiness?

She glanced up at Schroeder. "Hey, is your dad coming to pick you up?"

"Once I phone him," he replied, lowering his sandwich.

"Would it be okay if I catch a lift?" she asked. "I wanted to check on Charles before I go home."

"Sure, Dad won't mind."

Marcie beamed and turned her attention back to her meal, though her stomach twisted too much to allow her much of an appetite now.