Marcie knew from experience that if someone she cared about got seriously hurt, it would leave her shaken, but when Peppermint Patty had called to inform her that Charles had crashed during his driver's test, she did not even remember to return the telephone receiver onto its holder before she bulldozed her way over to Ace Memorial Hospital.

"Not again, not again," she murmured. Back in elementary school, Charles had been in the hospital following a baseball game, and Marcie had stayed on a bench outside the hospital for days, prevented from visiting him. Yet a nameless malady in childhood was one thing; a car crash evoked images of crumbled metal and horrible injuries which made Marcie choke with panic.

She met Peppermint Patty in the waiting room; Sally Brown kept them updated while her parents took turns staying with her brother. Having been born in October, Charles was one of the oldest kids in their grade. He had been looking forward to being the first of their friends to get his license, but a bizarre series of delays had kept him from taking the test until the beginning of spring, and after that long wait, the accident-prone youth had rolled the car on the first turn. Fortunately, the accident had been fairly minor and only the driver's side had been damaged; his driving instructor had completely walked away from the accident without a mark. Charles had only a broken arm and leg.

"And my pride might be a little wounded," Charles managed to joke in his understated way when the two girls were finally allowed to visit him. He lay with his leg elevated and his arm in a sling over his hospital gown; he had a few bruises on his other side, but seeing his friends seemed to make him forget his discomfort.

Peppermint Patty reached for his free hand, patting it while giving him a joking smile. "That serious, huh, Chuck?"

"Yeah, yeah, kick me while I'm down."

"Poor sweet baby," she cooed, touching an unbruised portion of his cheek.

Marcie, who sat on his other side, wished she had been able to grasp his hand for as long as Peppermint Patty did, but the opportunity to be close to him did not arise until they were leaving at the end of visiting hours. She gripped his warm hand and added a friendly peck on the cheek.

"Get well soon, Charles," she wished him softly.

He smiled and thanked her, but his eyes did not look nearly as content as they had when Peppermint Patty had been near him.


"Leave it to Charlie Brown to be the first kid in Ace County to crash his car during the driving test!" Lucy Van Pelt declared, exasperated, when she heard the news, but she personally made sure everyone in their friend group chipped in to get Charles a card and a bouquet of flowers. She also organized the others into preparing a welcome-home party with pizza and a few packages of cookies (at least, those that escaped Snoopy's voracious appetite), and she convinced Schroeder to transport his precious console piano to the Browns' house in order to play for the occasion.

While touched by their efforts and glad to have survived his ordeal, over root beers Charles voiced his main displeasure. He had had the misfortune to injure himself the week before spring training began for his junior baseball team. Although the original members had aged out and had gone on to pursue other hobbies, Charles had kept the team intact with the next wave of neighborhood kids, coaching them diligently and mentoring them. (Everyone, even Charles, agreed that once he moved to the sidelines and let another kid pitch, his team noticeably began to win more games — in that, they actually won games).

With her good friend in need, Peppermint Patty at once volunteered to substitute for him.

"I can whip all those rowdy kids into shape by the time ol' Chuck gets his casts off, right, Marcie?" she grinned, lightly punching her best friend's arm.

"You're reminiscent of a bulldog, Sir," Marcie agreed, wincing.

Of course, that meant Peppermint Patty dragged Marcie to each practice as her assistant, ignoring all protests regarding homework and deadlines, but at least she soon stopped forcing Marcie to participate in demonstrations. Marcie's talents lay in making diagrams of plays based on what Peppermint Patty told her, keeping tabs on the statistics of each player, and ordering new equipment.

What further made things bearable was Schroeder, who acted as the part-time assistant coach. Of Charles's original team, Schroeder was the only one who stuck around to help his lifelong friend, juggling practices with his own schedule of AP music classes. With Schroeder around to run drills and demonstrate pitches, Peppermint Patty had no need to involve Marcie in anything other than her existing administrative duties.

Best of all, after practices, Peppermint Patty insisted they all sit down and discuss the progress of the players, which meant going to Schroeder's house down the street, and Schroeder and Peppermint Patty would pour over the data sheets which Marcie had compiled. While Marcie had little else to contribute to these meetings, she looked forward to the moments when Schroeder, now a teenage prodigy, would sit down at his piano and give them a small taste of Heaven.

Peppermint Patty nearly got them thrown out the first day they had visited Schroeder. After thirty minutes of discussion, they took a snack break, and Schroeder entertained the girls at the piano while they munched on crackers. Thanks to all the Tiny Tots Concerts she had gone to with Marcie back in elementary school, Peppermint Patty had a passing knowledge of the great pieces to which Schroeder treated them, and she nodded along, respectful and quiet.

Once he started playing the famous portion of "Pomp and Circumstances," however, she smilingly sang, "My fishy swims sideways. Your fishy swims upside down. My fishy swims sideways, and your fishy is dead. My birdie flies sideways…"

Schroeder immediately stopped playing.

Marcie managed to calm him down by saying, "Don't take it personally. To this day, she can't listen to 'Ride of the Valkyries' without singing, 'Kill da wabbit! Kill da wabbit!'"

"I can't help it if I enjoy the classics," Peppermint Patty sniffed, but she listened to the rest of the march in silence (though she mouthed, "My birdie flies sideways. Your birdie flies upside down…")

Since then, their meetings went smoother, although Marcie got into the habit of bringing a book or homework to pass the time. Even so, the chance to hear Schroeder play something by Brahms or Chopin was well worth any boredom she might otherwise endure.

At their fifth or sixth meeting, during a lull in the conversation, Marcie had a sudden recollection.

"Oh, Schroeder," she said, laying down her Jane Austen novel, "I wanted to get a little advice from Lucy recently, but I couldn't reach her. Do you know what she's up to these days?"

Although she no longer ran her psychiatric booth, many still went to Lucy out of habit, whether to seek advice or just to vent. With Charles still recuperating, Marcie found she had a few things to get off her chest, and who better than Charlie Brown's childhood friend and psychiatrist to offer some respite for this situation?

Unfortunately, Schroeder shrugged without looking up from a data sheet. "Hanging out with one guy or another, I'd imagine. I can't keep track of her boyfriends."

Peppermint Patty raised an eyebrow. "Plural?"

He lifted his hands in a more elaborate shrug, rolling his eyes. "All I know is a bunch of guys gave her valentines this year, so she's going out with each of them in turn to find out which she likes best before prom."

Peppermint Patty laughed, slapping the table. "I never pegged Lucille for a teenage dream, but if you got it, you got it!"

"If you say so." Schroeder replied in a monotone, but Marcie thought he might have grimaced at the words "teenage dream," as though it had never occurred to him to associate Lucy Van Pelt with that image.

Marcie remembered Charles's welcome-home party, where Lucy had spent much of it in the company of a good-looking boy with auburn hair. At the time, Marcie thought he must have been a friend of Charles, but now it seemed logical to suppose that he had been Lucy's date as well.

Perhaps Lucy's finally over her crush on Schroeder, she considered. She had suspected as much in recent years, considering how many extracurricular activities Lucy had joined since the fifth grade, all to round out her future college applications. (Lucy Van Pelt had a reputation for ambition, even as a child.) The steady claims on her attention and the meeting of so many new people, particularly of the masculine variety, had meant less time for her to spend lounging beside Schroeder's piano, so it was little wonder her old infatuation had seemed to cool off. When Marcie saw her around Schroeder, the two had a more cordial relationship now that Lucy did not slip in a flirtatious comment every other sentence, allowing Schroeder to rest his eyes from rolling heavenward constantly.

"How do you feel about it, Schroeder?" asked Marcie, checking his face.

"All the more power to her," he said calmly, standing. He strode over to his wooden console piano near the open window and lifted the cover. "It gives me a chance to practice for the school's spring recital without interruption."

His skilled fingers, stretched like spider legs, at once flew over the keys, barely seeming to touch the black-and-white surfaces, and "Für Elise" echoed through the downstairs with abandon. With a sense of respect, Marcie noted that, rather than playing the popular 1810 version, he tapped out the more complicated 1822 revision with ease, a testament to his prowess as a performer.

Pepper Patty, on the other hand, did not share in Marcie's admiration.

"And a chance to focus on baseball," she reminded him. She pointed to the chair beside her. "Park yourself over here, Wolfgang."

Schroeder gave her a friendly smirk.

"Can't you sarcastically call me 'Ludwig' instead?" he asked innocently, but he closed the cover.

"I'll call you 'fired,' if you're not careful, Mr. Assistant Coach," Peppermint Patty warned.

Schroeder smiled pleasantly. "Well, that would let me focus on the piano—"

He had to duck to avoid the rolled-up stats sheet which Patty swatted at his head, but he continued to grin, which made Marcie titter into her hand. Although Schroeder had a reputation for being serious and exact when it came to music, he really was a normal boy once he stepped back into the mundane world, and he had a sense of humor to boot.

Even so, he hasn't smiled like that in these past few months, even when we're all hanging out, Marcie reflected.

Of course, Marcie had to remind herself that Schroeder was an introvert, like her, and he would not expend his precious reservoir of mental energy as easily as the others in their group.

But even introverts need someone to smile with every once in a while.

Maybe it was none of her business; although she had known Schroeder for years, they were not particularly close. If she misread the situation, she risked offending him, but even so, the new hypothesis would not quite leave her as she returned to Emma and Mr. Knightley.


Marcie and Peppermint Patty stayed only for another thirty minutes; even though the days were getting longer, neither of them wanted to risk walking home in the dark. Schroeder saw them to the door, but it seemed the girls had barely reached the end of the front walk before "Für Elise" once again resounded from within the house.

"That Schroeder isn't too bad a guy," Peppermint Patty commented, tossing her baseball mitt up and catching it while she walked. "You'd think the deeper a child prodigy dives into music, the less he'd want to do cool stuff like sports — musicians are funny when it comes to their hands, you know; I got a cousin who worries he won't be able to play the guitar if he arm wrestles with me — but Schroeder's kept his priorities straight. Never skips baseball practice for Beethoven. 'Leave room for sports' — that's my motto."

(Peppermint Patty's idea of a well-rounded man was anyone who dedicated part of his overall existence to athletics.)

With her bag on one shoulder, Marcie walked in deep thought, touching her chin.

"Sir," she said after a few minutes of her friend tossing and catching her mitt, "do you ever get the impression that Schroeder is a little lonely these days?"

"What, the wonder boy?" Peppermint Patty laughed. "Between music and my tough training regime, the guy has no time to feel lonely, Marcie."

"Maybe so," Marcie conceded, "but I was just thinking that Schroeder's best friends are Charles and Lucy. Right now, Charles only leaves his house for school, so he can't come over to visit while Schroeder is practicing like before, and Lucy now has all her admirers."

"I think I've seen Linus and Franklin hang out with him sometimes," Peppermint Patty pointed out.

"Oh, really?" Marcie blinked in surprise. "Then forget I said anything!"

She had been wrong before, after all.

Her friend chuckled. "You shouldn't worry so much, Marcie. Schroeder's a big boy. Besides, he always has baseball practice if he really needs to interact with people." She paused, glancing back down the street. "Speaking of baseball, we should check on Chuck before we head on out."

"I concur wholeheartedly," Marcie said softly.

Charles was pleased to see them when they strolled into the Browns' living room. He lay stretched out in a recliner with a TV tray bearing a glass of root beer and a small bell within reach, but unfortunately Snoopy snoozed with his head on top of his master's good arm. The television showed some sitcom, but Charles did not seem to be really watching it.

"What word do you bring from civilization?" he asked as the girls sat on the couch. "Who's the president now?"

Peppermint Patty smirked. "You've been sitting in front of the tube all day and don't check the news?"

"Sally keeps changing the channel to her programs," he returned. "I haven't seen any sports in days!"

"Poor sweet baby!"

Peppermint Patty laughed, getting to her feet. From the way her eyes twinkled, and the way Charles returned her smile, Marcie wondered if they had just enjoyed a private joke. Patty hummed as she reached for the old dials, but her hand went straight past the channel changer and shut the television off.

"You shouldn't watch TV while you have company anyway," she teased at his protest. "You need to give girls your undivided attention, Chuck, especially when they're taking care of your baseball team while you're out."

"I'm a prisoner in my own home," he sighed, wiggling his arm and Snoopy for emphasis, but his beagle only stirred long enough to snuggle his wet nose further into his master's shoulder. Although still lively and adventurous when he was awake, Snoopy slept like a rock now, and it was a cardinal rule of pet owners that they must stay put if their pet fell asleep on any part of their body.

"But how can you feel like a prisoner when baseball is being discussed?" Peppermint Patty smirked.

"This is a valid point," he returned, already cheering up.

Knowing she could be useful elsewhere, Marcie pushed herself to her feet. "If you need something from the kitchen, Charles, I don't mind getting it."

Charles thanked her and requested a roast-beef sandwich and refill on root beer. While Marcie hunted around the kitchen for ingredients, she half-listened to the conversation in the living room — not so much as the words themselves but the tone in which they were delivered. Peppermint Patty's voice had her usual forthwith manner, occasionally slipping into that sweet, sly note when she made a flirtatious comment. Charles spoke in an increasingly comfortable cadence, so much so that one might not think he felt any physical discomfort.

The power of baseball? Marcie wondered as she put the finishing touches on the sandwich, but deep down she knew she was only kidding herself.

She took a deep breath and forced a neutral expression on her face. On a sudden inspiration she grabbed three aromatic sugar cookies from the large ceramic jar and laid them on the plate. As she carried Charles's snack into the living room, neither of her friends looked up, too focused on their discussion.

"See, now, I really think Little Jerry should be moved to third base while Big Jerry has the chops to handle center field," Peppermint Patty was saying. "That kid is like a bullet, and Little Jerry kept stopping kids from stealing home."

"I suggested third base when he first tried out," Charles said in amazement, "but he insisted on being a shortstop like his older brother, Medium Jerry, and he wouldn't budge on the issue."

"That's because you need to have a firm but understanding way when dealing with little kids," she chuckled. She tapped his nose. "Otherwise, if you ever have kids of your own, you'll be the type of dad to let them walk all over you."

"Like your dad does with you?"

"Maybe," she smirked.

Marcie meanwhile laid the plate and glass on the TV tray. Charles glanced at it hungrily, but when he tried to wiggle his good arm, he could not move it far from the armrest.

"I might have to eat it later," he sighed, giving his slumbering dog a wry smile.

"Oh, I took that into consideration," Marcie smiled, picking up two of the cookies.

She carefully waved them in front of Snoopy's black nose — and at once the snout twitched. The white, furry lips smacked, and the pink tongue licked the air. The head moved toward the cookies, which Marcie slowly pulled out of reach, and finally the tiny eyes opened, and the black ears lifted in eager interest. At once Snoopy leapt off the chair, freeing his owner, and he jogged up to Marcie, clasping his forepaws together imploringly. She obliged him, and Snoopy headed over to an armchair to munch on his treat.

"You're a genius, Marcie," Charles grinned, "and once my arm wakes up, I'll no doubt say you're an excellent sandwich maker."

"I can help with that, Chuck," Peppermint Patty said, getting to her feet. She gently took his free hand in hers and used her other one to rub his long arm, up and down. "Just need to get the ol' circulation going."

Charles stayed still for her, looking far from disapproving.

Marcie closed her eyes briefly, then turned to grab her bag from the floor by the couch.

"I think I'll head home early, Sir," she said in a monotone.

Still massaging Charles, Peppermint Patty turned to her, surprised. "Hey, I can go with you."

"No, you and Charles still have baseball stuff to talk about, and I don't have much to contribute on that," Marcie pointed out.

"Stay safe out there then," Charles said.

"Give any muggers a good kick in the shins," Peppermint Patty advised.

"Yes, I remember self-defense class," Marcie assured her, slinging her bag around her shoulders. She gave a last wave, but Charles had to raise his broken arm to return the gesture because his other hand was still clasped in Peppermint Patty's.


As she stepped into the fading sunlight, Marcie removed her glasses, rubbing her hot eyes. She inhaled deeply to calm the sunken feeling in her chest, but it took several tries before she could put back on her mask of neutrality.

You can't force love, she told herself, yet again. If one could snap one's fingers and get the round-headed boy one has longed for since elementary school to notice one, then one would not have real love, just a puppet-like imitation. Love had to be a complete act of free will, and if Charles's freedom of choice led him to Peppermint Patty, Marcie had to try to be happy for them both.

Just keep busy, she told herself as she started down the front walk. That had thus far been her best strategy: school, homework, volunteer work at the theater, clubs, and just filling up her hours to overflow so that she did not have a spare moment to mope. If she paused too long and thought about Charles alone with Peppermint Patty…

She sucked in a shaking breath, halting on the sidewalk. Down the road and across the street, strains of the 1822 version of "Für Elise" floated through the open window at Schroeder's house. Despite her resolve to get home as fast as possible, Marcie paused to listen, resting her hands on the Browns' white fence.

Many claimed, as though it were proven fact, that "Für Elise" had been written for Therese Malfatti, a woman Beethoven wanted to marry, but once he discovered she was engaged to another man, he deliberately made it more complicated so that she, a mediocre pianist, would never be able to play it. Marcie had trouble believing that hypothesis, however. For one, no one actually knew the identity of "Elise," so no one could produce a solid, primary source to back up the claim that Beethoven had made it more complicated in retaliation for a broken heart. Secondly, Elise could have just as easily been the soprano singer, Elizabeth Röckel, or the then thirteen-year-old child prodigy, Elise Barensfeld, which poked further holes in the unrequited love/revenge narrative.

Even so, it's a good song to listen to when you're dealing with a broken heart, Marcie sighed inwardly.

If only she could be like Lucy and let her heart look elsewhere! Yet even with all her activities, Marcie did not make a lot of close guy friends, and the boys in their regular friend group were usually too busy to hang out with, even platonically…

Inspiration struck, and her eyes lit up. With a laugh of triumph, she pushed off the fence and jogged over to Schroeder's house. She paused long enough to smooth back her brown hair before she made three quick raps. The piano at once went silent, and seconds later, Schroeder's curious face peered out at her.

"Oh, hey, Marcie. Did you leave something?"

"Actually," she smiled, "I had an offer for you. Did you ever go to those Tiny Tots Concerts downtown when you were a kid?"

"A few," he answered, shrugging, "but you can only listen to Peter and the Wolf so many times."

She chuckled. "True. I don't know if I ever told you this, but I've been volunteering at the theater on weekends, and we always need extra hands. Have you ever considered getting a little experience in a real theater?"

He touched his chin, thoughtful. "Say, there's an idea. What's on the schedule this week?"

Marcie blushed. "Well, Peter and the… but next weekend they're doing highlights from Beethoven's best works," she added.

His dubious expression altered to a look of interest. "Aren't they all the best?"

"I was hoping you'd say that," she grinned. "Most of what us volunteers do is fold programs, help kids find seats, clean up the theater, and stuff, but we get our own section to sit in during performances. Does that interest you?"

"Did Beethoven beat Steibelt without hardly trying?" he beamed as though Marcie had suggested they visit an amusement park instead. Then he rubbed his neck. "I mean, I still have to practice for the spring recital, but I should be able to spare a few hours to help the next generation appreciate great music."

They exchanged numbers, and Marcie said she would call her supervisor to let him know about a new volunteer. As Marcie jogged back down the street, she was amazed to realize how quickly she had forgotten her previous desire to cry.

Keep busy, she told herself, and now she added an addendum, and hang out with friends with common interests!