As he rode the bus home Monday afternoon, Schroeder reflected that Lucy still had not said two words to him. In fact, she had not even looked his way at all. After the final bell he had seen her in the crowd of kids heading toward the entrance; he had tried to say something to her, but she had marched right past him without noticing him and had disappeared up a stairwell, probably headed to her debate-team meeting.

Starting from their altercation on Thursday, that gave Schroeder four Lucy-free days. Four days without her constant nagging, her crabby scowls, her flirtatious smiles, her daydreams of them getting married and living in the suburbs with five kids and a kitchen full of saucepans. Four days of having some real breathing room to focus on his concert, of having the living room to himself when he played the piano, of enjoying complete silence except for Beethoven.

Thrillsville.

What do I care if she refuses to speak to me? he frowned to himself, watching the rows of telephone poles and one-story houses passing outside his bus window. He sat by himself near the back of the vehicle, a refreshing change of pace from trying to get one of his guy friends to take the spot beside him so that Lucy would not try to latch onto his arm and chatter in his ear the whole ride home. Even so, he briefly considered going over to Linus, who sat by Charlie Brown, and just asking if Lucy was okay, but he decided against it. That might get back to Lucy and give the wrong impression.

After all, why would he want to make up with Lucy anyway? She was more distracting than helpful, and she did not care about Beethoven. Being Lucy-free for a few days should have been the happiest time of Schroeder's life thus far, but he kept feeling stabs of guilt whenever he remembered her hurt, angry face after he had said he had not noticed her long absence.

Yet it was hard sometimes to tell when she meant something or was throwing an outlandish statement out there to get him to react — like that time when she had tried to tell him her dad was being transferred to a different town and that she would be moving away. He had thought she had just been presenting one of her many ridiculous, hypothetical scenarios, but he had not learned she had been sincere until after he saw the moving van drive away.

To tell the truth, he still was not entirely sure she had been missing for as long as she claimed. Surely, he would have noticed his unbroken practice time without her bugging him to go on a walk with her in the sunshine or to eat his vegetables or whatever other condescending complaint she could throw at him. Surely, he would have relished her leaving him alone so that he could perfect Wellington Victory's and uphold Beethoven's honor.

Of course he would have noticed if she had been gone. He was not a machine after all.

He reached home and shrugged off his backpack, retrieving the barely touched leftovers of his lunch, which he carried into the kitchen. His mother was at the counter with the big mixing bowl, stirring a cream-colored glob flecked with green that smelled of Chicken Divan casserole. As Schroeder tossed his paper lunch bag into the fridge, Mom turned to smile at him.

"Have a good day at school, sweetheart?"

"So-so," he answered with a shrug. "Nothing a few hours of Beethoven can't fix."

"Mmm-hmm." His mother paused to sample a small spoonful of her concoction. "Wellington's Victory again, or something different to spice things up?"

"Wellington's Victory," he replied with a slight sigh. "It's still not perfect."

"I enjoy it, sweetheart."

"Sure, any musician's mom can enjoy his playing," he said with a frown, shoving his fists into his pockets, "but I have to get the average Joe to like it too."

"Like your friends?" Mom guessed.

"Among others."

"Hmm." Mom shook a few seasonings into the mixing bowl. "Speaking of which, I don't think I've seen little Lucy in a while. Is everything alright?"

Schroeder shot her a pained look. "You noticed that?"

"I'm a mother. I pick up on these things." She continued to stir the batter, but she watched Schroeder out of the corner of her eye. "That girl has been visiting you at least twice a week since you were both three. When she doesn't show up for a while, I like to make sure there isn't an epidemic breaking out in the neighborhood."

Schroeder slumped against the refrigerator, taking that in.

"So, she has been gone," he realized, troubled. Why hadn't he noticed?

"Well then, do we need to pick up a get-well card for her?" his mother wanted to know.

"Hmm?" Schroeder jerked back to the present. "Oh, uh, no, Mom. She just joined the debate team."

Mom brightened. "Well, good for her then! She's a driven little thing and remarkably assertive. She'll do well as a debater."

Schroeder scoffed softly. "That's a lot of words to say she's a crabby fussbudget."

Mom dropped the long spoon handle against the bowl and whirled around to face him, planting the clean side of her hand on her aproned hip.

"Schroeder David…" she warned, slipping in his middle name.

Schroeder raised his hands in a defiant shrug. "What? Her parents call her that all the time. Her mother used to blow a whistle that only fussbudgets can hear in order to call Lucy home for supper."

"Just because they do, doesn't mean you're allowed," she scolded. "I raised you better, young man."

Schroeder frowned, feeling that was unfair. "What else am I supposed to call someone who is crabby and bossy and complains all the time?"

"You simply keep your mouth shut and remember that you have a lot of blessings which Lucy doesn't."

"Her dad makes more than we do," Schroeder pointed out.

Mom shook her head. "Not all blessings are material, sweetheart."

"What do you mean?"

But Mom spun back to the mixing bowl with a frown.

"I didn't raise you to be a gossip either," she told him. "Run along now."

Schroeder tried not to roll his eyes. Sometimes, mothers could be just as hard to understand as girls.

He meandered his way back to his backpack, retrieving his folder with sheet music, then headed into the living room. He settled on the piano bench, arranging his papers like usual, but he had barely played half a measure before he stopped. He glanced around him, taking in the large, quiet sofas and chairs, the wide, roomy floor plan with lots of unused space, the shade falling on the windows as the sun moved toward the other side of the house.

...It sure was cavernous in the living room when it was just him. Usually, he did not notice, but like the centipede and his dilemma, it was now hard to ignore the empty armchair which Lucy had favored ever since he had upgraded to a wooden piano.

He promptly shook his head at himself and began his piece again from the top.

Shouldn't he be happy Lucy was leaving him alone at this crucial time? He had a concert to prepare and his hero's honor to uphold. While there was some debate as to whether Beethoven really saw Wellington's Victory as his worst composition, it was enough that people thought it was his worst. If Schroeder did not do this concert, who else would step up to defend Ludwig van Beethoven?

Besides, it was not like Lucy had died. She had just found a new hobby. Probably she would turn up again that weekend or the next to gab and gloat about her victories, and everything would go back to normal without either of them acknowledging any rift between them.

…Unless she stayed super mad at him.

He stopped once more, knitting his brow. He wiggled his fingers above the keys, but he did not play, and he at last hung his head in defeat.

Despite all the times Schroeder got frustrated and sarcastic with her, he really did not like hurting her feelings. The truth was that he did care for Lucy (as a friend), and he valued her companionship while he practiced (when he could share his thoughts or focus about Beethoven and when she didn't talk about them being married). Like Linus had told him, Lucy usually meant well, like that winter when she knocked on doors to tell people about celebrating Beethoven's birthday (even though at the time she had thought that the composer's first name was Karl).

"So, the question now is," he sighed to himself, "do I let her stay mad at me and get my practicing done, or do I apologize and have her come back here to bug me?"

It was not a hard question — but he was not expecting his answer.

Tuesday morning, Schroeder still did not know exactly what he wanted to say to Lucy, but he was determined to say at least something friendly to her. He got to their bus stop early, passing the time by practicing how to say good morning to a girl in a way that could not be construed as anything but platonic, yet it proved to be unnecessary. Her brother arrived alone (with a corner of his blanket sticking out of his backpack), and he told Schroeder that Lucy had gone to school early in order to meet her teammates from the debate club for a study session. Schroeder shrugged it off, ignoring a prick of disappointment. He at least had homeroom with Lucy; he could greet her before class started, maybe ask her how her debate club was going. That ought to get things rolling towards an adequate reconciliation.

At the school, he followed the crowd of his busmates into the building, trying to ignore the balloon-like feeling in his chest, which only seemed to enlarge by the time he reached his locker. He opened the metal door and felt a tiny bit better to see one of his smaller Beethoven busts perched on the top shelf. He patted the plaster shoulder like he was greeting a protective big brother and began to pull out his books.

A familiar laugh echoed down the hall, and Schroeder shot straight up, whirling around to see Lucy herself over by the drinking fountain. She had a ring of kids around her, including Linus, Charlie Brown, Frieda, Violet Gray, Patty Swanson, and the ever dusty Pig Pen. From her gestures and glowing expression, she seemed to be sharing something exciting.

Schroeder closed his locker, considering how he would begin once he got a private word with her. It would be a tightrope walk to express a sincere apology without unintentionally leading her on with false hopes — assuming she would even speak to him right away. She might grow cold once she spotted him and call him a blockhead a few times first, but maybe just the show of friendship would be enough for things to go back to normal between them. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and started toward her.

"…And not only am I on the same team as the captain and co-captain this week," she was gushing, gesticulating with her free hand while she held a textbook in the other, "but the captain picked my idea for this Friday's debate! Can you believe it?"

"Congrats, Lucy," Patty grinned.

"Finally, you've found a club where you can argue and not get in trouble for it," Violet smirked.

Linus brightened, beaming with the pride of a little brother. "Actually, she did a great job at her first practice debate last Friday! She kept calm and collected like a pro."

"Did you expect less?" Lucy grinned, hugging her book against her chest. Her wide eyes danced as they did whenever her grandmother visited. "The captain says I'm a natural! And I thought it would be a few weeks before he'd use my idea for a topic, but I'm certainly glad to be on a team where our leader recognizes talent — unlike in baseball."

She made a point of turning toward Charlie Brown when she said this. He rolled his eyes but wisely chose not to comment.

"So, what was your idea, Lucy?" asked Violet.

"You'll never guess," Lucy snickered like a mischievous child, hiding her smirk behind the top of her book. "I just put it on an impulse, you know, and I meant to go back and put in a real suggestion, one to give our debate team an actual challenge, but Sebastian thought it was good enough!"

"So, what was it?" asked Pig Pen.

Lucy tossed her head back, making herself look grand. "Drum roll, Linus."

Her brother dutifully began to slap his thighs.

"The topic to resolve will be" — she paused for dramatic effect — "'is Beethoven overrated?'"

Schroeder jolted, clutching his chest. Linus's stringy hair shot straight out. A wave of mixed emotions swept over the rest. Violet and Patty both gave incredulous laughs, then fell silent. Charlie Brown and Freida exchanged worried glances. Pig Pen wore a polite but strained smile.

"Be careful with how you break the news to Schroeder, Lucy," he cautioned sagely. "He might take it as a declaration of war."

"Yeah, I never thought I'd live to see the day where you deliberately pushed the Beethoven nut too far," Violet remarked.

"I figured you'd at least wait until after he turned you down for senior prom to do something drastic," Freida commented.

"Oh, haha," Lucy retorted. "I don't think Schroeder will come down from Planet Beethoven until the debate is long over. Anyway, he probably won't care so much once he finds out that I'm on the negative team."

Schroeder blinked several times, his shocked mind struggling to start again.

Lucy was on the negative team for a debate about Beethoven?

…On the negative team?!

His blood boiled.

"Et tu, Lucy?" he cried, causing her and the others to jump.

Lucy whirled around, her eyes wide. "Schroeder, when did you get here?"

He marched right up to her, clenching his fists.

"Lucy, how could you?" he demanded. "I know you're upset about me skipping the occasional lunch, but to badmouth Beethoven publicly in a debate just to get back at me—"

"I'm not going to, you blockhead!" she cut him off. She poked his chest. "The negative team says he isn't overrated. I'm defending your stupid hero."

Schroeder's rage at once vanished. He straightened, staring at her. "You are?"

"Maybe next time you shouldn't just jump to conclusions about my character, huh?" she threw back, folding her arms. "On the debate team, we have to put aside our personal opinions and argue with facts and logic — and as I intend to become the first woman president, I'm going to do my best at all my debates even now."

"That's the spirit, Lucy!" Linus cheered. "If anyone can hold her ground during a debate, it's you."

"I know," she smiled, patting her hair. "I'm more than just a pretty face, after all."

The others offered words of support, but it was cut short due to the warning bell. As everyone dispersed for their respective homerooms, Schroeder fell into step with Lucy, who did not look at him. He grimaced to himself, remembering his initial plans to smooth things out with her, yet his first words to her today had been rude and antagonistic.

"Hey, Lucy?" he ventured to say.

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry for flying off the handle like that," he said. "When I thought you were going to attack Beethoven, I guess I saw red."

"And you get on my case when I'm crabby," she muttered, tucking her textbook under her arm.

"Yeah, sorry." He winced and rubbed his neck. "Anyway, how about I make it up to you? You'll need to research for the debate, right? Fortunately, you know a walking Beethoven encyclopedia."

He formed a helpful smile, inwardly bracing himself for a nauseatingly sweet response, but Lucy calmly turned her head and leveled her gaze with his.

"Thanks, Schroeder," she answered, "but I don't need your help."

He blinked twice, slowing. "What."

"I don't need your help," she repeated, holding up her free hand in a shrug. "Thanks though."

She faced forward and continued walking down the hall. Schroeder watched her, flabbergasted, before he recovered and jogged after her.

"Maybe you misunderstood," he said, cutting in front of her and causing her to halt. "I want to help you. I have several biographies about Beethoven — even in comic-book form — and I have a whole library of record albums. Basically, anything you need to argue that he is not overrated will likely be at my house, so I don't mind if you want to swing by this afternoon to start researching."

Lucy merely stepped around him.

"It's a nice offer," she replied over her shoulder, "but our team captain is well versed in all those famous dead composers. His dad is a professional musician who sends his students to Julie's Yard."

"You mean Juilliard?" Schroeder returned, following her.

"I've heard it pronounced different ways." Lucy said with a shrug. "Anyway, I'm meeting the captain and the co-captain later during my study-hall period, so I don't need you to help me this time around. But thanks," she added. "I appreciate you trying."

A frown tugged at Schroeder's lips. He quickened his pace and caught up to her again, walking shoulder to shoulder. "With all due respect to your captain, I can save you hours of research."

"I don't disagree with that."

"So how about I just bring my books over to your house later?"

"Don't need them," she replied calmly. "Captain Sebastian probably knows a lot already. He was playing a Beethoven piece on his accordion just yesterday."

Schroeder staggered, clutching at his lurching stomach. He groaned, "Lucy, please, never say 'Beethoven' and 'accordion' in the same sentence ever again."

Lucy slowed, frowning. "You're not a snob, are you?"

"You know I'm not," he mumbled back, "but accordions playing Beethoven…"

He violently shuddered. Lucy rounded on him, tilting her round chin up.

"It's not like Beethoven intended his works to be played solely on a piano, you know," she retorted. "Your precious Wellington's Victory was played on his buddy's Pan-harmony-thingamagig, right?"

"Panharmonicon," he replied automatically, right before he gave her a double take. "...Which I'm surprised you know about in the first place."

Johann Nepomuk Mälzel's mechanical orchestra was not the sort of thing which Schroeder usually brought up in a casual conversation with Lucy, and he could not recall talking about it even while preparing for his concert.

Lucy tossed her head, smoothing back her black hair. "Yesterday after our meeting, Sebastian told me about it when he walked me home. So I guess that proves I'm in good hands, right?"

They had reached their homeroom before Schroeder could reply, and a few kids stepped between them to get into the door, and Lucy slipped inside. Once his path was clear, Schroeder followed her to her desk. She pointedly did not look at him, arranging her notebook and pencils.

"Look, Lucy," he tried, "if this is about what happened last week in the music room, I'll admit I could have handled that better. I know you meant well—"

"Oh, I'm over that," she answered, waving her hand dismissively. "Again, I appreciate the offer, but it won't be necessary. Maybe next time."

"Exactly how often are you expecting to have a debate about Beethoven?" Schroeder countered. "With my help, you're sure to win."

"Oh, I'm certain Captain Sebastian wouldn't be opposed to reusing Beethoven as a topic," she answered, beginning to flip through her handwritten notes. "And don't forget he's an eighth grader. That means he's a whole school year smarter than you. A year more mature, with more knowledge and experience. I'm sure he'll be able to steer me through all that Beethoven stuff."

Schroeder felt a flash of annoyance which he could not put exactly into words, except for three.

"The accordion player?" he spat, making a face.

She narrowed her eyes but still did not look at him. "I happen to like accordion music, Schroeder. Didn't I always say that if I didn't marry you, I'd want to marry an accordion player?"

He straightened his shoulders, mustering up as much dignity as he could.

"Listen, Lucy, the day an accordion player knows more about Beethoven than me—" he started to say, but their teacher stepped into the room just then, calling everyone to go to their seats. Schroeder reluctantly obeyed, and as he shot a final look at Lucy, he wondered if he had found himself in some kind of alternate reality.

Oh, the things I do for that man, Lucy sighed to herself, resisting the urge to cast a longing glance toward Schroeder. On a normal day, nothing would have delighted her more than for him to seek her out, to offer his help for one of her school projects, to extend an actual invitation for her to hang out at his house for a change instead of merely tolerating her presence.

It had taken all her willpower not to accept, though. As long as the Western Union Effect (or whatever it was called) separated her and Schroeder, then any quality time would only be counterproductive and just serve to solidify Lucy as a sister in her beloved's subconscious.

To be with Schroeder, she would have to give up any chance to be near him, just for a while.

Short-term loss, long-term gain, she consoled her lonely heart.

A/N: I mentioned it back in Chapter 2, but if you're familiar with the older comics, you'll know that Schroeder does NOT like accordion music, at all. In the April 9, 1956 strip, he didn't even like Charlie Brown asking whether Beethoven had written anything for the accordion.

While probably not the full list, other notable examples of his distaste for the instrument include:

2/8/52

7/23/52

1/13/53

9/12/53

12/1/55

5/9/62

5/10/62