nine-five

Step three: Schroeder makes his way to his most prized possession. Although technically not in his possession, the grand piano sits dormant unless he is in the room. It’s as if the piano agrees, she never reaches her full potential unless the tall blonde boy guides her. The sight of the beautiful instrument is nearly enough to make Schroeder forget why he has created this routine– nearly. His audition for the Boston Conservatory of Music is persistently at the forefront of his thoughts, and if he isn’t practicing, then he is wasting precious time. 

Marked papers are carefully removed from a manilla folder and placed precariously on the piano’s attached stand despite the paper’s curled, worn edges. Each trill, each crescendo and accent follows his fingers like a puppy. At this point, Schroeder knows he doesn’t need sheet music to play the piece. If muscle memory and strong pinkie fingers counted as athletic talents, Schroeder is sure he would have made varsity by now. The written notation now serves as simply a confirmation of Schroeder’s skill. Its reassurance confirms what he has been told a thousand times before– no one in their right mind would reject a talent like his.

Anyone walking past the door to the band room at this time also follows routine, save for a few exploring freshmen. The choir students, music directors, and teacher’s pets are familiar with Schroeder’s song and more familiar with the unspoken agreement to not interrupt the musician in his focus. Only two people have made this grave mistake. One is now known as the only person to ever be afraid of Schroeder, and the other is the well-intentioned, slightly hot-headed class president. 

“Hey, Stranger.” 

Schroeder’s fingers freeze at the sound of Lucy’s voice. It’s not his fault her voice cuts through any crowded room, or in this case, any audition piece Schroeder could ever dream of learning. 

“You practically ran out of English with Charlie, didn’t even give me a chance to properly accept thanks for saving your ass with Mrs. Hagemeyer.”

These days, Lucy prefers to lean against the side of whatever piano Schroeder is playing, as the instrument is usually at perfect elbow-resting height for the girl. On rare occasions, when exhausted by a day’s work, she opts to take a seat next to Schroeder on the piano bench. Those occasions, no doubt spurred on by Lucy’s tendency to work herself to the bone, are the only times Schroeder finds himself feeling grateful for the girl’s exhaustion. 

“I wouldn’t say ‘saving’ is the right word, perhaps ‘helping,’ or ‘intervening without necessity.’” Schroeder replies.

“So much sass. If I knew you a little less, Schroeder, I would say you could turn that attitude into wit.” Lucy knew Schroeder was secretly grateful. She always had a talent for translating the hidden messages behind his sarcastic remarks.

“Then I am grateful you know me so well, Luce.” 

Lucy looked away as she chuckled, a light pink dusting her cheeks. Had he done something wrong, overstepped a line? Schroeder knew the nickname was overkill the second he said it. He wasn’t even sure how it managed to slip past his lips. Quietly, Lucy slips onto the piano bench, leaving a friendly inch between them, just enough space for comfort to settle back in. 

“You should take a break from practice for today. Overworking yourself will only lead to more stress–you can’t get better if you aren’t well rested.”

“Coming from the most overworked woman on the planet. Let me think… Class President, Mock Trial, Student Ambassador for the District Council… Am I missing anything?”

“Just Yearbook Committee and Honor Roll. You’ll get it next time.” Lucy wears a knowing smirk, the kind that lifts her eyes and curls her lashes more than usual.

Schroeder’s attention shifts to the girl’s face, noting that the usual freckles across Lucy’s nose have faded away as their last high school summer escapes into a distant past. Schroeder doesn’t have a preference for the state of her skin; he only hopes that she stays close enough for him to observe aspects of herself that she reserves for her closest, oldest friends. 

Like her eyes: brown, not with golden flecks but with deep swirls of dark chocolate. The color, like the darkness of a new cave, intimidates most and drives away those who aren’t brave enough to explore the unknown. Dark chocolate, however, is an acquired taste. What others find bitter, Schroeder can only taste a deep richness he loves to mull over; hold the candy in his mouth until it melts to coat everything. Maybe the taste isn’t for everyone, maybe it was invented especially for his tongue.

By this point in the day some stray hairs have escaped her updo. Schroeder might observe this as disheveled, in the same way good old Charlie Brown pulls a wrinkled shirt over his platinum hair when running out to catch Schroeder’s gracious carpool, but on Lucy, Schroeder only sees the stress she has so gracefully endured throughout the school day. Between honors classes and organizing most school events, the girl rarely ever sees Schroeder outside of their allotted class times. Schroeder wouldn’t say he misses her presence, after all, he does love to simply feel the music without pressure of pleasing an audience. But he does enjoy it when Lucy makes the conscious decision to waste her free time visiting an old friend, even more so when she meets him in this state. Even though Lucy is busy with the countless responsibilities and commitments she has attached herself to, she will always come back to the music she knows. Schroeder knows Lucy feels safe around him by the way she doesn’t care to tame her hair when visiting him at the end of the day, letting the polish crack to show deeper, vibrant colors underneath. 

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you that staring at a lady is incredibly impolite?” Lucy tilts her head, and Schroeder knows she has noticed how his lips are pursed in a line. Probably also how he has let his piano posture fall since his head is turned towards her. But Lucy means no harm, she understands the pain of chronic overthinking. She knows when to pull Schroeder out of a meaningless daydream.

“Well, thank God you’re just Lucy.” Schroeder sighs. 

“Just Lucy? What’s that supposed to mean?” Lucy spoke with a familiar playfulness. Schroeder’s lips curled lightly into a grin, but his head remained low as he shifted his gaze to the keys of his piano.

“Means I know you don’t really mind my staring,” he voices with quiet lightheartedness. Lucy lightly smacks his shoulder, scorning his subtle jab. He chuckles, but the sound fades into dullness. He could feel her eyes on him, and their proximity didn’t seem nearly as friendly as it did a few moments ago, but he could not discern why. This is the girl who used to sprawl herself onto him when they were children, and though that used to irritate Schroeder to no end, Lucy’s closeness never gave him strange pits in his stomach. What the hell was this?

“Are you really so anxious about the audition?” Lucy pried, the softness of her tone attempting to melt any reservations he still held about this particular conversation. But even in her curiosity, she understood. Capability did little to thwart fears of poor performance; Lucy Van Pelt of all people knew that.

“I dunno…not really? Can’t say I’m sure of what this is.” The boy sighed again, smoothing his blonde locks back, using the soft texture to ground himself in the moment. A useless technique as Lucy simply studied his face, and for another moment, Schroeder’s gaze got lost in the cave that was Lucy’s deep, dark brown irises. Being lost, he could not see anything else, only the warm mirth of the girl in front of him.

“I told you, practicing without resting is going to strain you too much!” She announced, overjoyed that her earlier claims have been proven right. 

“Luce…” Schroeder began.

“Oh, don’t start. You and I both know that you work yourself far too much when you have no natural reason to. You, on your worst day, are more capable than others on their best.”

“Though I appreciate the sentiment, I’m not so sure it's coming from the right person,” he gives her a glance up and down, his eyebrows ever so slightly raising as he gestures to her slightly worn appearance: stray locks of hair strewn about, and eyebags, just barely visible and only clear to Lucy’s closest friends. 

“You know I’m right, Schroeder.” Still, the pianist’s unease did not settle, and when he tried to resume Rachmaninoff’s sonata, his brain felt far too fogged, inhibiting his fingers from performing anything other than a fragmented melody. Lucy stood, replacing the spot she previously held next to her friend with a cool breeze. Schroeder tried not to look up to see what the class president was doing, but his curiosity outweighed the mental fortitude required to maintain his focus.

“What are you doing…?”

“I want to try something.”

Schroeder paused and stopped playing altogether. “And what would that be?”

“Something that used to help you play when we were younger…” Lucy could not hide the gleeful smile that crept its way onto her face, and the moment Schroeder saw her expression, he knew what she was doing.

“Lucy, be serious,” he scowled, but Lucy did not take it to heart. She sauntered to the opposite end of the piano.

“Oh, I’m very serious!”

“You won’t help by leaning on the piano.”

“And why wouldn’t I? It’s certainly helped in the past…” She was far too coy for his liking.

“For a variety of reasons, the chief ones being that we aren’t children anymore, and that this isn’t a toy piano. It’s too big to lean on. And it’s technically not mine.”

“Humor me,” it was clear she did not intend on letting up, and if there was one thing Schroeder knew about his dear friend, it was that when she was resolved to do something, she was too head strong to let up on her goals. “Just play, Schroeder. If you fail miserably then I’ll admit that I was wrong.”

He huffed making it clear that he was obliging her request by his own free will, and most certainly not to satisfy her cruel experiment. The sight of her was almost comical. The piano was too large for her to fully lean back upon like she used to with his toy piano, so Lucy settled with resting her elbows on the sleek black surface of the instrument, tucking her chin in the palms of her hands. It nearly brought on a sense of mournful nostalgia for the days when Lucy accosted him for attention as he glued himself to his toy piano. These days, though, it seemed Lucy did not have to demand for him to pay her any mind. Schroeder is not oblivious to the fact that he has only grown more fond of her playful presence, though he wasn’t sure of the reason why. Was it because he had subconsciously noticed how her voice grew less shrill as they aged together? Or was it because she stopped trying to work for him to notice her? The boy did not know…

Schroeder avoided her gaze and began to play. The opening of the piece started out smoothly, and Lucy held a smug look of victory on her face, like the sheer force of her determination was the factor that would lead to Schroeder’s success. In their childhood, Schroeder hardly ever glanced up at Lucy when she was demanding his attention from her spot on his piano. Yet today, he glanced up to take her expression in, feeling a tinge of warmth in his face. Strange. It was most definitely from irritation. 

The rest of the piece passed by relatively successfully, with minor bumps along the way, but they were unnoticeable to the untrained ear. The pianist delayed even looking at Lucy, knowing what she would say to him. Nonetheless, his curiosity bested him yet again, and he glanced at her. Her smile, now more proud than it was smug, made that strange feeling come back to Schroeder’s stomach. 

“What did I say, Schroeder?”

“You cannot take credit for that…” 

“Can’t I? Before I so graciously leaned against your piano, you could hardly play a measure!” Lucy giggled lightly and pushed herself off of the piano, back at Schroeder’s side again. “You perform perfectly with me here!" 

"Don't get too comfortable. Not like I can bring you to the audition with me…”

Lucy sighs a relaxed sigh, giving rest to her playful demeanor. “I’m only kidding. You have nothing to worry about, Schroeder.” She takes a seat on the piano bench again, leaving that subtle inch of friendly proximity, but regardless of space, Schroeder’s stomach still lurches. His mind was swimming with questions as to why he felt clammy without explanation, why his fingers suddenly remembered the practiced patterns on the glossy keys of the piano, and why the sight of Lucy, the girl he’s known almost all of his life, has suddenly brought out this impending anxiety within him. 

It was impossible for Lucy to not notice the inner workings of her friend’s mind, how the flickering of his eyes away from hers spoke only of the doubt she assumed he was feeling. It was in moments like these that Schroeder and Lucy had an unspoken ability to soothe one another in ways their other friends couldn’t. She smiled softly, knowing Schroeder needed to be grounded back to something familiar to combat the unease of an unknown future. 

The pair turn their heads towards the door when they hear a soft shuffling of feet, followed closely by a light knock. 

“I better not be interrupting something.”

Linus’ knowing voice cuts through the room, severing the tangle Schroeder and Lucy had tied for themselves.

“Didn’t I tell you I would be done by four? Oh, I also recall directions to wait by the lobby where I would meet you.” Lucy says pointedly.

“That may be true, except for the fact that it is now 4:26 and you were clearly not at the proposed meeting spot. For all I know, you could’ve left without me. At least Schroeder is reliable enough to be in the Band Room everyday and lucky enough to drive home instead of walk.”

As much as Schroeder admires the strange nature of sibling dynamics, he interrupts the show occurring before him.

“I can drive both of you home, if that’s okay with Lucy.”

“No,” Lucy shoots up, not wanting to burden Schroeder with one more job during a busy time, “We live so close, walking is just fine. It’s not your fault my brother is too lazy to walk seven minutes home.”

“Seven minutes from now it will be dark. So I suggest we either take the driver’s offer, or leave now.”

Lucy whispers to herself as she gathers her bookbag, scorning her brother’s naturally irritating nature. Well, naturally irritating to her, but it was rare to find someone willing to challenge Lucy and walk away with their head still held high. Maybe that is a skill only siblings possess. As much as they disagreed over any minor inconvenience, Lucy would never hurt her brother, and that knowledge is what gives Linus so much nerve. 

“Screw you and your using-accurate-facts-against-me!” Lucy threw over her shoulder before she turned back to the innocent witness still sitting at the piano, “Seriously Schroeder, think about what I said. You know I don’t say words without meaning them.”

Lucy slung her bag over each shoulder before doubling the sound of Linus’ fading footsteps, and in an instant, Schroeder was left exactly where he started: At a piano, in the band room, alone. He thought how strange that was. How strange it was that a moment could end just the way it started, and in that case, did the moment ever really matter? Schroeder could only conclude that it did– that every moment with Lucy mattered, because every moment with Lucy was like receiving clear guidance from the gods. If the goddess of overachieving told him, a measly musician, that he deserved a break, then it was clear who was in the right. Calmly, Schroeder slides his ratty sheet music into his bag, leaving the band room different than he had entered it. Because that moment did matter; because Schroeder is changing the ending.