Rerun could do a lot with a crayon, which he felt was an underappreciated medium. While looked down upon due to their association with little kids, Rerun found that with a steady hand he could make the crayons obey his thoughts, creating things which most people did not expect from a kindergartener. With a few crayons, he could make underground comics of Tarzan fighting Daffy Duck, detailed drawings of cows, and even a portrait of his sister as the Mona Lisa. Sometimes, Rerun felt he was a pioneer on the wave of the next artistic revolution.

Unfortunately, Mom did not share in his enthusiasm when he brought over his latest drawing. Actually, she barely glanced at it. She was on the phone with yet another member of the Society for Concerned Mothers, and she probably would be busy for a while. Rerun had hoped she might just give it a quick look and at least thumbs up, but she only patted his head, then covered the receiver long enough to say, "That's nice, honey. Now, run along and play, and try not to be underfoot."

Rerun turned, dejected, and he immediately decided to go look for his big sister, Lucy, who liked telling other people what she thought no matter how busy she got. Rerun found her frankness useful to him as an artist, even when he disagreed with her. Despite Lucy's trademark crabbiness and self-opinionated attitude, Rerun got along with her fairly well. Lucy did not badger him too much when he hid under his bed to avoid going to school, and he could share his drawings with her much more easily than with other kids, even if she had her own prejudices about what constituted art.

Knowing she had gone outside after breakfast, he checked her psychiatrist booth first, but her chair was empty, and the sign on front had been switched to OUT. He scanned the sidewalk to see if she had gone rollerskating, but that also yielded no results.

"If I were a Lucy, where would I go?" Rerun pondered, tapping his chin, and the answer came to him almost at once: Schroeder's house. Either his big sister would be there, or Schroeder would at least have an idea of where to find her.

Rerun started off down the street, eyeing with some shyness the front walk which he had so often seen his big sister stroll up and down. Although Schroeder was good friends with both his older siblings, Rerun never spent much time with the musician. Schroeder seemed nice though; he was on Charlie Brown's baseball team with Linus and Lucy, and he and Linus sometimes played marbles or tossed a football on the Van Pelts' front lawn. Lucy always spent hours at his house, allowing Rerun and Linus a chance to watch the television programs they wanted for a change. From listening to the older kids talk, Rerun knew Lucy wanted to marry Schroeder someday, but when Rerun asked Linus if she ever would, Linus had thrown his blue blanket over his own head and told Rerun to call back later.

As Rerun approached Schroeder's front door, music of a quality good enough to be on the radio grew louder. Rerun hesitated on the stoop, wondering if he should knock. He heard from Linus that hardly any of the kids knocked, because Schroeder was often so absorbed in his music to hear when he had company until they were actually standing in the room with him. Schroeder's parents often left the door unlocked after they brought in the morning paper, making it easier for their son's friends, even Snoopy, to waltz right in.

Rerun shuffled his feet before he checked the doorknob, finding it unlocked like the big kids said. He paused, gathering his courage, and stepped inside, but he still felt like an intruder when he closed the door behind him. He crept up the hall on tiptoes, half afraid that at any moment Schroeder or his parents would jump out and yell at him for being disrespectful. But no one did, and he followed the pretty music to the wallpapered living room.

Schroeder sat in the middle of the room on the carpet, his hands jumping across the keys of his toy piano. His blond head was bent with a focused expression, and his knees were drawn up almost to his chest as his sneakered feet straddled his musical instrument. To Rerun's disappointment, Lucy was nowhere to be seen, but Rerun reminded himself that she could have gone to the bathroom or gotten a drink of water. He paused again, but the longer he lingered, the more awkward he felt, because what kind of weirdo stood in the middle of a doorway of somebody else's house just staring at the bigger kid who lived there?

With a furtive glance to either side, Rerun dared to tiptoe forward until he stood across the piano from Schroeder. He had to clear his throat a few times before Schroeder finally looked up, and the blond boy did not miss a note as he regarded the younger.

"Oh, hey, Rerun," he said in a calm voice, not at all outraged to see a little kid invade his house. "Did you come to listen to some Beethoven?"

Rerun shook his head. "I was looking for my big sister. Is she here?"

"She left a little while ago," Schroeder replied, and he suddenly seemed like he was holding back a laugh. "Snoopy was here earlier and kissed her cheek, so she ran away screaming about dog germs."

"Do you know where she went?"

"I assumed she went home."

Rerun shook his head. "No, I just came from home, and I would've seen her on the way here."

Schroeder shrugged. "Maybe she stopped at one of the neighbors' houses to wash up. Patty lives next door, you know."

"It could take me forever to find her," Rerun sighed, disappointed. "I wanted to show her my picture."

He turned the page so that Schroeder could see.

Schroeder slowed his playing. "Hey, you drew that?"

"Yep."

Schroeder gazed at it, then he stopped his practicing.

"May I?" He held out his hand, and Rerun passed him the drawing. Schroeder held it up, nodding. "And you didn't trace any of it?"

"Nope." Rerun sat on the carpet, perking up to see Schroeder's interest. "It's an alien rodeo! And see? Tarzan comes in to wrangle the toughest steer!"

"I can see that," Schroeder answered with another nod of approval.

The drawing showed green aliens in cowboy hats riding orange alien horses and roping purple alien cows. Tarzan swung in from the left, one hand on his vine, and the other throwing a lasso. Rerun had added a cheering crowd and filled the sky with stars.

Schroeder handed it back, wearing a grin. "It makes me think of the space serials and Western movies I used to go to when I was about your age. Us kids in the neighborhood used to pretend to be cowboys or spacemen, but we never thought to try being both at once."

Rerun stared, incredulous. "You used to be my age?"

"I'll do you one better, Rerun," he replied good-naturedly. "I'm old enough to remember when your sister was a toddler and your brother was a baby."

Rerun fell back on his hands, turning that astonishing revelation over in his mind.

"Wow, I never realized how much history passed before I was born!" he marveled. "Did you also get to meet George Washington, Schroeder?"

"I didn't have the pleasure." He leaned back, laying his chin against his hand. "Linus and Lucy never told me you were an art prodigy."

Rerun frowned. "Proddy-gee?"

"It's a little kid with an advanced talent in a particular area," Schroeder explained, "where they can do something great at an adult level."

"Oh, like you and your piano?" Rerun guessed. "You sound like a grown-up when you play."

Schroeder scratched his cheek, looking suddenly embarrassed. "Well, I'm no Mozart… but some people call me a prodigy."

"Well, Lucy wouldn't call me that," Rerun pointed out. "If she saw this picture, she'd say it needed more alien cows and Buck Rogers in the corner before it could be considered real art."

"What does she know?"

Rerun shrugged. "At least Lucy is honest about her opinion. I like that about her. When you show her your picture, she always tells you what she thinks. She doesn't just pat you on the head, say 'That's nice, honey,' and then tell you to go play outside because she doesn't want you underfoot."

Schroeder had been about to start his playing again, but at Rerun's last words, his hands halted above the keys. He tilted his head, regarding the younger boy.

"Do grown-ups tell you that a lot?"

"Only when I get in the way," Rerun returned, gazing sadly at his picture. "Not everyone likes my alien drawings. They say I should draw normal stuff that's here on Earth, but aliens can be on Earth, can't they?"

"Sure." Schroeder's eyes flicked from Rerun's face to the paper, then back. He seemed to hesitate, but then he formed a friendly expression. "Can you draw Beethoven, Rerun?"

"Never tried before."

"Let's fix that then!"

Schroeder climbed to his feet and jogged over to a closet door. In a moment, he brought back a bust of a frowning man with wavy hair, and he set it on top of his piano. He next went over to a desk in a corner and brought back a sheet of paper and a pencil. Rerun settled on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, and Schroeder adjusted the statue until Rerun gave him a thumbs up. Rerun ran his tongue over his lips, squinting at the features of the austere man. It took him several minutes to make light pencil markings, getting the basic shapes of the head on the page, then he made darker lines, adding details. When he finished, he passed the page to Schroeder, and the older boy's eyes lit up.

"Hey! Not bad!"

Rerun pushed himself into a sitting position, crawling closer to the piano. "You're not just saying that?"

"No, it's really nice, Rerun." Schroeder held it up to the light. "I'll have to hang it next to the drawing of Beethoven your sister made for me, back before you were born." He glanced at Rerun. "Don't tell her I said this, but a talent for art must run in your family."

"Thanks." Rerun smiled for a few seconds, then deflated. "But how come you like my art and grown-ups don't? Nobody else ever called me a prodigy before."

Schroeder smiled grimly. "Sometimes adults forget to say what they really think. They get so busy with their own lives that they stop paying attention to a lot of things. But they probably mean to say something nice."

"Maybe." Rerun picked up his other picture, laying it on the piano beside the Beethoven sketch to compare. "But if they really thought I was hot stuff, wouldn't they, maybe, send my art to galleries? And try to get my comics published? And get me on daytime talk shows?"

Schroeder shook his head. "Being in the limelight at your age would probably do more harm than good, Rerun. Someday, you might be grateful your parents don't parade you around for the whole world to see."

"Lucy says that being rich and famous is what everyone should try to be," Rerun returned, surprised.

"She doesn't know what she's talking about," Schroeder insisted. "A lot of child prodigies had to sacrifice their childhoods because their parents wanted to make money off them. Look at Mozart and his sister. They didn't get to be regular kids because their father made them go on long tours, and as a result Mozart was considered perpetually immature as an adult."

Rerun was not entirely sure who Mozart was, but he thought that sounded sad. "Poor Mozart."

"And because Mozart was a famous child prodigy, Beethoven's dad got the bright idea to use his son to make money," Schroeder continued. "His father was very mean, and one of his teachers was an insomniac who dragged Beethoven out of bed to study, and poor Beethoven eventually had to be the sole provider of his family."

Rerun turned back to the bust on Schroeder's piano, and he gave into the sudden impulse to pat the frowning man on the head.

"There, there," he consoled the silent statue.

Schroeder gave Rerun an appreciative look.

"While Beethoven certainly was a genius and learned a lot in his childhood, imagine how much happier he would have been if he had been allowed to be a regular kid," Schroeder said. He ran a finger across the painted-on black keys of his toy piano. "That's why I'm grateful my parents never made a huge deal about my musical abilities. They wanted me to have a normal childhood, not pull me constantly into the spotlight and exploit me for money like some kind of organ grinder's monkey."

"At least people pay attention to a monkey," Rerun sighed, gazing mournfully at Beethoven.

Schroeder looked up from his keyboard. His steady-eyed gaze considered Rerun in silence, then he offered a brotherly smile.

"Well… maybe sometimes you can come over here when you need constructive feedback, and I can give you my honest thoughts."

Rerun looked up. "Even for my underground alien comics?"

"I don't see why not. I like aliens."

Rerun leaned forward, his eyes starting to shine. "Even alien comics about Beethoven?"

A muscle in Schroeder's neck might have tightened, and his smile suddenly looked strained. After a long pause, he graciously (if painfully) answered, "Depends on what the comic is about."

Rerun had a fecundity for inspiration, and thus he had a developing pantser style, creating detailed storylines on the spot.

"Say, an alien king has a time machine, right? And he orders that his alien palace be filled with the best music in the whole universe, so his alien scientists use the time machine to send scouts across the galaxies to find great composers. Some come to Earth, and they discover that Beethoven is a genius."

"Sounds plausible so far…"

"So, they want to snatch Beethoven out of Earth's timeline and force him to compose music for the alien king forever and ever, but Beethoven doesn't want to go. What would Beethoven do?"

Rerun looked hopefully at Schroeder's face. The older boy blinked several times, seeming to collect his thoughts.

"Well, Beethoven probably wouldn't take it lying down," Schroeder said slowly. "He'd try to fight them off if he could."

Nodding, Rerun scooted closer, like a pupil learning at the feet at a great professor. "How? How?"

Before Schroeder could reply, the sound of someone in the hall approached, and Lucy strode into the room, distractedly patting her face.

"I told Charlie Brown that if his dog kept infecting me with germs, then not only was he obligated to pay all my medical bills, but he ought to let me use his soap and water to clean off, instead of me walking all the way home—"

She stopped once she spotted her little brother. Looking suddenly sympathetic, she jabbed a thumb over her shoulder.

"I just saw Linus looking for you outside," she told him. "Unfortunately, Mom wants you to go home because it's 'B of the B' Day."

Rerun sat up, his fair cheeks turning white.

Schroeder raised an eyebrow. "You okay?"

Rerun shook his head, feeling his stomach clench. "Not Back of the Bike Day!"

"Ah." Schroeder nodded, comprehending.

"Hop to it then," Lucy advised, sweeping a hand toward the doorway behind her. "Better to get it over with."

Rerun spun toward her, grasping at any straw he could.

"Can't I stay here with you and Schroeder?" he pleaded. "I'll just draw Beethoven pictures in the corner. You guys won't know that I'm here."

"Well…" Schroeder began, but Lucy shook her head.

"You can't fight a royal order, Rerun," she reminded him.

"Didn't our forefathers fight a war over that?" he countered.

"Our ancestors were still in Holland at that time, remember?" She put her hands on her hips. "Now, either you go home of your own volition, or I am duty bound to carry you back myself."

Rerun knew she would, and he would have to suffer the humiliation of being tucked under his sister's arm like a doll while she marched him down the street in broad daylight, only for Rerun then to spend the next few hours scared for his life while Mom hurtled through oncoming traffic. Desperate, Rerun clasped his hands together, saying the first words he could think of.

"Please, big sister?" He gave her imploring puppy eyes. "Pretty please with a cherry on top? I'd much rather spend time here with you and my future brother-in-law!"

Lucy's stern face at once melted into a soft smile — and in the same second, Schroder's sympathetic expression switched to a huge scowl.

"But of course, baby brother!" Lucy beamed, ruffling Rerun's stringy hair. "I just have to call Mom and let her know you're going to play with us today. I'm sure I can get her to say yes."

"Hey! This is my house," Schroeder pointed out, shooting Rerun a dirty look. "Don't I get some say in this?"

"Oh, Schroeder," Lucy giggled, twirling prettily toward the hall, "don't be so cranky about having a third wheel today. Rerun is going to be the uncle of our future children, so you two might as well start bonding now!"

As Lucy danced her way toward the phone in the next room, Schroeder gritted his teeth, glaring at Rerun with an expression of betrayal.

"Are you crazy?" he demanded out the side of his mouth.

Rerun gave him an apologetic look. "I didn't mean to throw you under the bus like that, Schroeder, but it's better than my mom almost hitting a bus with her bike, with me on the back."

Schroeder exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That's fair…"

He glared at Rerun again, looking like he really wanted to yell at him, but his natural sympathy for a little kid seemed to be reining in his annoyance, and a reluctant acceptance eventually won out. He pointed a stern finger at Rerun's face.

"Okay, I'll let you stay," he said, "but don't you ever call me the B word again. Got it?"

Rerun nodded vigorously.

"And don't you forget," Schroeder warned.

Soon Lucy returned, skipping across the carpet. Rerun had rarely seen her so happy, even on Christmas.

"Mom says it's fine for Rerun to hang out here!" she sang. "She says Schroeder is a good influence!" She clutched her now rosy-pink face, giggling. "Did you hear that, Schroeder? Your future mother-in-law has the highest praise for you!"

"Augh!" Schroeder promptly dropped his head onto his piano, pounding a fist on the top. Funny noises made their way out between his clenched teeth.

Rerun patted his blond head. "Would it help if I draw more pictures of Beethoven?"

THE END