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June 18, 1964 12:48 AM
The summer night was still buzzing in their veins, a hazy blend of cheap beer, loud music, and half-forgotten conversations. The party hosted at Violet’s thinned out hours ago, people slipping away into the dark, leaving behind quiet echoes of laughter and music that still clung to the air. Lucy and Schroeder stayed a little longer than everyone else, lingering at the edges, nursing the last of their drinks and talking about nothing—about everything.
The night had been long. Violet was known for throwing elaborate parties, and her twentieth birthday was no exception. The living room buzzed with energy—cigarette smoke curling in the dim light, laughter spilling from the kitchen, and the warm crackle of vinyl filling the space as My Girl by The Temptations spun on the record player. Lucy twirled across the living room floor, her dress flaring at the hem, whiskey sour in hand, the bassline thrumming beneath her feet as she danced with the birthday girl. David Ruffin’s smooth tenor carried through the air, and she mouthed the words, smiling as she sang about sunshine on a cloudy day.
Schroeder could still see her from across the room—laughing, spinning, her hair catching the dim glow of the overhead lights. He had watched from the kitchen, sipping his drink, comfortably perched at the edge of it all. She was a streak of chaos, radiant and untethered, while he was content to observe, to remain on the outskirts, swirling his drink in quiet amusement. Even now, as they walked away from the remnants of the party, her presence still felt like an echo, the lingering warmth of a song long after the record stopped spinning.
The cool night air brushing against their skin as they left the dim glow of the house behind. The porch light flickered faintly as the door shut, cutting them off from the chaos of the night. Lucy stumbled slightly, her feet sore from hours of dancing in heels, the sharp clack of them echoing off the pavement. Her steps are unsteady, the buzz of alcohol clinging to her system, it made her feel a little lighter, a little more carefree.
Schroeder, ever the steady one, kept her arm draped across his shoulders, holding her close in case her wobbling turned into a full-on fall. It’s a quiet sort of familiarity, the two of them, far removed from the buzz of the party, surrounded by nothing but the cool night and the sound of their footsteps.
Schroeder frowned as he watched Lucy sway slightly on her feet, grinning like a fool.
"You've had way too much to drink," he said, his voice edged with concern. "You're gonna regret this in the morning."
Now, barely keeping her balance, Lucy rolled her eyes. She glared at Schroeder, thick brows knitting together as she lazily draped an arm over his shoulder, using him as support.
“I’mmm... fuh, fine...” she slurred, words blending together more than intended. She waved him off with a loose flick of her wrist. “Don’t worry about it.”
Schroeder shook his head, exhaling sharply. “Good grief...”
Then, without warning, Lucy teetered forward, the narrow edge of her heel catching on a groove in the sidewalk. It happened so fast that she barely had time to react. Her body pitched forward, but Schroeder’s grip instinctively tightened around her waist, yanking her back just in time.
“Watch it!” he yelped, more startled than anything. His arm tensed, holding her steady. For a brief moment, they remained frozen—cautious, unsteady, caught in the aftershock of a near calamity.
Lucy was the first to break. “Gosh, I almost ate it,” she muttered before an undignified snort escaped her lips.
Horrified, she slapped both hands over her mouth, her face burning red. But Schroeder, still holding her, let out a snicker. Then another. Until he couldn’t hold back anymore, unable to contain the laughter spilled out at her expense.
Lucy’s mortification deepened. "Shut it! I’ll slug you!" she warned, attempting a swat at his cheek. She tried to appear stern, but the dimples digging craters at the corners of her cheeks proved her efforts futile. It was sluggish and poorly aimed, and he dodged it with ease, grinning all the while.
“Wonderful, Lucy. That snort was noteworthy.” He teased.
“Oh ha, ha.” She grumbled, “You think you’re sooo clever.”
He huffed, a slight smile tugging at his lips.
It was always like this with Lucy—conversations that bounced between teasing jabs and quiet sincerity, never lingering too long in one place. She had a way of making even the heaviest moments feel light, of filling the spaces between them with something effortless, something steady. And somehow, no matter how much time passed, talking to her never felt strange or forced. It was as natural as a familiar melody, one he could play without thinking, the notes always falling into place, like a song written by Beethoven.
The moment drifted away like rain on warm pavement, and they fell into step beside each other, the silence between them easy, unspoken. Their path home was familiar—each turn instinctive, each step tracing the same streets they had walked since childhood. Past the old alleyways and flickering streetlights. Every memory etched into the pavement beneath them. The night air sobered them slightly, cooling their flushed cheeks, offering a moment of quiet in the wake of laughter.
Somewhere along the way, they strayed from their destination.
Lucy’s idea, of course.
‘We should go to the old baseball field.” She declared, nudging his arm.
Bemused, Schroeder shot her a look. “At this hour?”
“Oh, come on,” she pressed, grabbing his wrist tight before he could protest further.
“Are you gonna help Sally Brown start another revolution?” he snarked, “Find flowers for me to serenade?”
She rolled her eyes, “if that’s what it takes.”
He studied her no-nonsense expression, his gaze lingering on the way her glossy, red bottom lip jutted out as she waited for his response. Maybe it was years of conditioning that made it so easy to follow her lead—or maybe it was the lingering warmth of alcohol, softening the edges of his usual restraint. Either way, he found himself nodding, unable to muster an excuse to refuse. Her face lit up instantly, and before he could reconsider, she was already pulling him forward, her sheer determination guiding them into the night.
‘Beethoven forgive me.’
June 18, 1964 1:26 AM
Lucy dropped to the ground first, lying down on the grass, unbothered by the way loose foliage clung to the soft fabric of her baby blue dress. Her kitten heels landed on the field with a soft thud, discarded somewhere behind her. The cool breeze brushed against her skin as she craned her neck, staring up at the sky and arms stretching out as if she could touch it.
Schroeder followed, settling beside her. The baseball field stretched around them, familiar yet distant. The infield dirt was freshly smoothed, the outfield dotted with dandelions—a ghost of past games, of childhood protests fought on behalf of Sally Brown’s beloved flower on the pitcher’s mound.
Lucy spoke, voice a little hushed, tone light. “It’s been a while since we sat here, huh?”
A noncommittal grunt, he understood. These days, none of their friends play baseball on this field — opting for the one at their high school, much more spacious and suitable for their age. Sometimes he’d pass by, watching younger kids take their place, echoes of their past selves running bases in the summer heat.
“We never won a single game.” Lucy grinned, “It was fun, though.”
Schroeder nodded solemnly, lost in thought. Peppermint Patty’s team dominated back then, thanks to her natural talent for sports and Marcie’s sharp strategic coaching. His team never stood a chance.
Schroeder exhaled a soft chuckle. "Peppermint Patty’s team crushed us every time."
Lucy scoffed. "Excuse you, I hit a home run once."
The memory surfaced instantly. A childhood bet, a foolish promise. Seven-year-old Schroeder had told her if she pulled it off, he’d give her the biggest kiss of her life. He’d been certain she wouldn’t make it. She had proved him wrong.
Embarrassment crept up on him, and he quickly feigned denial. "Oh? I don't remember. Pretty sure you were much more focused on pulling footballs away from Charles."
And on your interest in me, he thought, recalling the satisfied grin she wore after swinging that bat—but he kept that part to himself.
The tips of Schroeder's ears turned red as Lucy’s grin widened. "Oh, I remember it just fine," she said, her voice playful. "You promised to kiss me."
He looked away, disconcerted. “I didn’t think you’d actually make it.”
“It’s okay, sweetie.” She shook her head, laughing at the memory, patting his shoulder in mock-sympathy. “I wouldn’t have kissed you anyway. It was terribly unromantic, you looked so scared .”
He rolled his eyes—he wasn’t scared. He just didn’t want to face her, couldn’t bear to admit that she had been right all along. It was childish, immature even, but that’s how it was when you were seven years old—certain that cooties were real and just as convinced you had everything figured out.
She let him stew in his silence, taking his lack of response as a quiet victory. He could hear the words in her head now, “Another step forward for women’s lib,” she’d call it, smug as ever.
The words lingered between them, playful yet familiar, before Lucy’s gaze drifted upward. A quiet sigh left her lips as her expression softened. “I swear, the stars looked so much brighter when we were kids,” she murmured, nostalgia threading through her voice.
Schroeder folded his arms over his chest, though his gaze stayed fixed on her face. He watched the way her black hair fanned around her like a halo, some strands stray and frizzy, framing her face in a way that should have seemed unkempt but somehow felt endearing.
His eyes lingered, taking effort to drag his attention away to the night sky. The stars were bright, sure, but it was the quiet glow of Lucy that caught his attention—the moonlight kissing her flushed skin, tracing the sharp angles of her features.
“You think everything looks brighter when you’re younger,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. Lucy hummed thoughtfully, shifting so she faced him. Schroeder remained still, aware of the way her eyes lingered on him, sharp and probing. It was an intensity he’d grown used to over the years. Another memory surfaced—her youthful face, the soft contours of her cheeks as she sighed, leaning against the plastic of his toy piano, watching him play Moonlight Sonata with a wistful longing.
He could feel her gaze now, persistent, like the tickle of a buzzing bee. She paused, then teased, “Yeah, you’re right. You looked so much more sparkly as a pudgy little kid.”
Schroeder scoffed, offended. "What do you mean by that?”
Her smile stretched into a dorky, toothy grin that she’d never quite outgrown. “What do you think?”
He rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress the small smirk tugging at his lips. It’s Lucy, always getting under his skin, always pushing and pulling, always getting her way. ‘I feel it might have been the opposite for me.'
A breeze rustled through the field, stirring the dandelions around them. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the quiet settling between them like the soft pause between movements in a sonata—unrushed, expectant. As much as he hated to admit it, her presence had become a familiar refrain, a melody that no longer grated but settled into the rhythm of his days.
Beneath her pushiness and wild fantasies, he could acknowledge that Lucy Van Pelt had become one of his closest friends—someone whose cadence matched his own, whose presence filled the rests in his composition rather than disrupting them. She was the steady, recurring motif woven through the measures of his life, an unmistakable sound in the background of his every season.
They’re inches apart, the heat of her skin grazing his shoulder, a quiet warmth that feels like home. It’s a comfortable closeness, one that crept up on him without warning, like the gentle unfolding of a familiar melody. He couldn’t pinpoint the moment it started, nor when it became as natural as breathing, an effortless rhythm between them that felt as if it had always been there.
From here, the stars shone at their brightest—pinpricks of glowing white scattered across the vast night sky. If he squinted hard enough, he could almost see them as musical notes, strung together like a melody waiting to be played. Absentmindedly, his fingers moved against the air, ghosting over invisible keys, mapping out rhythms only he could hear.
Then, just as he thought she might let the conversation fade, Lucy sighed, rolling onto her back once more. "It's unnerving, isn’t it?"
He glanced at her, “What is?”
She exhaled, twirling a strand of black hair around her finger, contemplative. “I mean, it’s our last year of high school. We all graduate and then what? Poof? Everything changes?”
Schroeder didn’t respond immediately, staring at her with a blank expression.
“I’ve been accepted into Columbia University,” she whispered, the words like a soft chord breaking through the tension. “I’m leaving town.”
“Oh.” The words didn’t catch him off guard, though they should have. He’d always sensed this moment would come. She’d always seemed destined for something beyond the small town they both had outgrown. “Congrats, Lucy. I always knew you had it in you.”
She nodded, but there’s something in the way she looks away, stilted, eyes tracing patterns in the grass, it grabs his attention.
“When my parents found out, they had a fit,” she said, as if the words were nothing, slipping out like an afterthought. “They don’t think I can do it. My mom doesn’t want me to leave, says it’ll be a waste.”
Her voice trembled just enough for Schroeder to hear, a delicate shift in her otherwise steadfast demeanour.
Lucy looked up, "I was just looking at the course catalogue for Columbia," she muttered, the words coming out like a confession. "I swear, it’s like they expect you to be perfect from day one. The prerequisites, the honour classes… every syllabus looks like a mountain, and I’m standing at the foot of it, wondering if I’m even going to make it halfway up."
She paused, her breath catching for a moment. Schroeder watched her, sensing the shift in her mood, the familiar intensity replaced by something more fragile.
"You know, I always thought I was ready for something like this. But looking at all these requirements... I feel like I'm going to fall short." She exhaled sharply, eyes shifting, mind focused on scrolling thoughtlessly through the courses. "What if I’m just... not enough? What if my parents were right? That I can't handle it, that I'm not cut out for this?"
Her voice grew quieter, as though she was speaking to herself more than to him. "I’m not going to be the best there. I’m just going to be another face in the crowd, another nobody. I’ll prove them right. Maybe I should have stayed here, in this town, where things make sense… where I don’t feel like I’m about to drown."
Schroeder didn't respond immediately, watching her, unsure of how to fix something that felt so deep, so tangled in her thoughts. Lucy Van Pelt, afraid? It didn’t feel right. She had always been the one to push forward, charging through every obstacle with that unshakable confidence of hers, like a sailor battling the fiercest storm. Still, the weight of her words settled between them, and he could feel her tension like a chord pulled too tight.
“You think too much.” It’s just about all he could offer.
She looked at him, a flicker of irritation crossing her expression. “I can’t help it!” she muttered, “I’m just trying to be realistic, that’s all. It’s not like I’m you, Schroeder. You’ve always known what you’ve wanted, where you’re going.”
He shifted awkwardly, her words making him uneasy. “It might look like I do, but sometimes I’m just playing it by ear, like the rest of us.”
She raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, “Come on, you always knew you’d end up at Juilliard, haven’t you? Everything you do, it’s always been painted in that direction.” And she would know—she had been there, perched at the edge of his instrument, watching him practice tirelessly, was there every step of the way, starting with that god-awful toy piano.
“Cut me some slack, Lucy. I don’t even have my letter yet,” Schroeder retorted, frustrated.
Lucy crossed her arms, a skeptical look still lingering on her face. “Yeah, but you’re Schroeder. You’ve always been the one with the plan. Me? I’m just... guessing my way through it all.”
Schroeder's gaze softened, and he leaned back slightly, watching her with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "I think you forget who you are, Lucy."
She raised an eyebrow, a bemused twinkle in her eyes.
He leaned forward slightly, his voice steady. “You were the one who marched around school, practically blackmailing kids into voting Linus for student body president.” He paused, letting the memory hang in the air. "You were always the boss of the neighborhood, picking fun at Charlie Brown, and spinning those wild fantasies about when we’d get married. You were headstrong, always pushing for your way."
“Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?” She snarked.
Schroeder blinked, caught off guard by her sharp response. His usual confidence faltered for a moment, and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I—well, I didn’t mean it like that,” he mumbled, his words tripping over themselves. “I just meant… You were always so sure of yourself, you know? You had everyone’s attention, and you still do. Hell, you even had your own psychiatry booth! And kids listened to you, looked forward to your advice." he paused, "In other words, you’ve got this... uh, thing.” He can’t believe he’s saying this, “People gravitate towards you."
Lucy stared at him, eyebrow still raised, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "A thing, huh? That’s deep, Schroeder."
His face flushed, and he quickly backpedaled. "I—I mean, it’s just... you’re always the one with the ideas, the plans. You’ve got this... natural way of making things happen. I don’t know. I don’t really know how to say it without sounding... weird." He trailed off, his voice dropping lower in frustration with himself.
Lucy’s smile softened, and she let out a small laugh, shifting to rest her head on his shoulder. “Well, when you put it that way, it’s hard not to appreciate the compliment. I guess I do kind of have a way of getting what I want.”
Schroeder shifted uncomfortably, his awkwardness growing as he tried to settle. He scratched the back of his neck, his voice a little strained. "Yeah, well... I don’t know about all that."
The sharpness in Lucy’s gaze lessened as she absorbed his words, her lips curving into a faint smile. “You really know me, don’t you, Schroeder?” she murmured, her voice gentler than before.
The tips of his ears flush, because, yes. Yes, he does.
Schroeder shifted again, the feeling of her head resting against his shoulder sending a strange warmth through him. He swallowed, trying to find the right words, but they never seemed to come out quite right. Instead, he muttered, “Well, I’ve known you long enough to at least... try.”
Lucy chuckled softly, her breath warm against his skin. “Try, huh?” she teased lightly, but there was something comforting in the way she spoke, like she didn’t need more than that.
“Yeah,” he replied, feeling the quiet settle in between them, not uncomfortable but... different. “I guess I’ve had a lot of practice.”
Lucy didn’t respond right away. Instead, she just let out a contented sigh, her fingers lightly tracing patterns on his sleeve. “Well, you’re doing a pretty good job.”
A beat.
Schroeder breaks the stillness, voice soft, almost unsure. “Lucy… have you talked to anyone else about this?”
Lucy hesitated, her fingers pausing on his sleeve. “Not really,” she said quietly. “Who would even get it?”
Schroeder furrowed his brow. “You don’t have to do this alone, Lucy. I’m surprised you didn’t talk to Linus—he’s always been the wise one.”
“Linus?” she laughed lightly. “That blockhead’s got enough on his plate as it is. He’s always got his head in a book or lost in some project of his own. He’s working hard, and I wouldn’t want to add to his stress. I’d just be a burden, honestly.”
Schroeder clicked his tongue in frustration, his gaze steady on her. “He’s your brother, Lucy,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I’m sure he’d want to help, even if he doesn’t say it. You’re not a burden to him. Family doesn’t work that way.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, her lips pressing into a thin line as hesitation flickered in her eyes, likely holding back a quip about Schroeder being an only child. Instead, she looked downward, a tactic of diversion.
“Hey, humour me Schroeder.”
He raised an eyebrow, “Hm?”
“Since you know me so well, why don’t you give me some insight?”
Schroeder shifted slightly, his gaze flickering over the stars, his thoughts running in circles like a fugue, each question building upon the last with no clear resolution. He understood Lucy’s uncertainty—he felt it, too. But where she was a melody caught in suspended tension, unsure of its next movement, he was the chord that had already been struck, resonating with the quiet certainty that comes after the storm.
“Well… You think everything’s going to change,” he said, his voice low, as if the words themselves might break the fragile silence of the night. “But sometimes, change is just a rest between phrases. A pause before the next part. It doesn’t always have to resolve the way we expect.”
His fingers drummed lightly on the grass, tapping a rhythm that echoed in his mind. "You’re not stuck, Lucy. You’re just... transitioning. Like a key change. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s necessary to move forward. Even if you can’t hear the next note yet, it’s coming."
“Huh.” Lucy replied, “That was.. surprisingly wise. Taken from your dear Beethoven, I presume?”
He huffed, making her grin. “I can think for myself, Lucy.”
“But, anyway, it won’t be so bad.” Schroeder reassured, meeting her eyes. “You’ve always wanted to get out of this town, haven't you?”
She shook her head, a wistful laugh escaping her, picking on blades of grass. “I don’t know. I thought I had it all figured out, but it... sort of crept up on me.”
Schroeder shrugged, “I wouldn’t worry about it." He continued, "It’s okay not to be perfect, you know? Columbia, or whatever fancy place you’re heading, isn’t going to change who you are. You’re still the same Lucy—smart, stubborn, and yeah, a little pushy, but I’ve always admi- I’ve always known that about you."
She scoffed lightly, eyes shifting away from him again. "That’s the thing, though. What if it’s not enough? What if who I am isn't enough there?"
Schroeder leaned back slightly, his tone soft but firm. "You’ve been carrying around this idea that you have to be the best. But you don’t need to be the best at everything. You just have to be yourself. And you’re a damn good version of that, Lucy."
For a moment, the silence stretched between them, the weight of the conversation settling. Lucy didn’t respond immediately, her gaze fixed on the ground in front of her. But when she looked back up at him, there was something different in her eyes—uncertain, but with a spark of the old resolve she used to carry.
“I guess I don’t know how to be anything else,” she murmured quietly.
“Good,” Schroeder said with a small smile. "Don’t change."
Lucy chuckled softly, her lips curving into a resigned smile. “You know, Schroeder, if I wasn’t already over you, this really would’ve made me fall harder.”
His words catch in his tongue, and he can only look at her, eyes softening into something he doesn’t know how to name. He didn’t press it, couldn’t press it, but there was a quiet understanding between them — a silent acknowledgement of things that shouldn’t be put into words.
Schroeder didn't really know where he and Lucy stood. She’s way past that puppy-love infatuation with him, their relationship growing into something more amicable. These days, he found himself looking forward to her company. Right now, all Schroeder knows is that they’re friends, they’re together, and that’s all that matters.
“When you get that Juilliard letter, maybe we’ll see each other.”
“What happens if I don’t?”
She leaned closer, the soft rustle of the grass beneath them a quiet accompaniment to the night. He didn’t pull away, letting her head settle in the crook of his neck. “Well, it’ll be a transition, for sure. But I know we'll figure it out.”
The weight of everything—graduation, the future—was still there, but it felt distant now, like a lingering note fading into the background, softened by the warmth of the night and the quiet harmony between them. He let himself savor the moment, the cool breeze brushing past them like a gentle melody, the stars above them twinkling like distant notes in a celestial composition. And beside him, Lucy, a steady rhythm in his life, keeping time the whole while.
“Right.”