Meg and Christine had rented no movies, and there was no popcorn in the apartment. They wound up settling for homemade raw cookie-dough and a re-viewing (for at least the hundredth time) of Christine's copy of The Princess Bride. Christine sat curled in her papasan, staring at the screen, occasionally mouthing the words. She and Meg had both memorized this movie when they were young girls having sleepovers in Christine's room. Christine was an only child and had her own room; an arrangement vastly preferable to sharing Meg's room with her very nosy younger sister.

Tonight called back comfortable memories of those nights, though the roles were reversed. In high school especially, Meg had been boy-crazy and often regaled Christine with stories of her romantic pursuits. In those days, Christine rarely had stories to tell. She was a shy girl who spent much more time playing her cello than thinking about boys, or school, or anythign else. She made it through her entire high school career without a boyfriend. As a result, when she left the conservatory, she'd begun dating as though her life depended on it, making numerous bad choices in the process. In the meantime, Meg had found a wonderful guy to whom she was very nearly engaged.

"Meg?" On the screen, Vizzini was climbing into the boat to spirit Buttercup away.

"Mmm?"

"What did you mean by 'catch and hold him'?"

"Haven't you noticed how...I don't know how to describe it... how detached he is? And you say that every time he gets upset, he just logs off. Relationships take sticking power, Miss Chris, let me tell you that from experience. Oooh! I love this part! The Cliffs of INSANITY!"

After the climb up the Cliffs began, Christine ventured another comment. "What would you do if you were me?"

"If I were you? I'd probably be just as head-over-heels. You musician types are so emotional. I tell you one thing, though. I'd Google the hell out of him as soon as I knew his last name - make sure he's not a sex-offender or something."

"Do you think he likes me?" Christine felt ridiculous asking such a juvenile question, but she certainly couldn't ask Erik, and Meg was usually a pretty good judge of these things. Of course, Meg usually had facial expressions and body language to go by.

"Shhhh! The Fight Scene!" The two young women watched the classic duel scene at the top of the Cliffs of Insanity. Or, rather, Meg watched. Christine impatiently watched Meg watching the movie. When the duel was over, Meg answered her question. "Sure he likes you. Why else would he spend so much time chatting with you and playing for you and teaching you to sing? The question is, does he like you enough to stop being so damned secretive?"

"I hope so."

"I hope so, too. Now, can we stop talking about Erik and watch the movie? I don't want to miss the part where Westley defeats Fezzik." Meg was already glued to the screen before she finished talking. Christine sighed and gave up. No sense beating a dead horse - or trying to get Meg to talk while The Princess Bride is playing, she thought.

When the movie was over, Meg stood and stretched, declaring that it was time for her to go home. If she hurried, she could catch about five hours of sleep before her shift began at eight o'clock. Christine also needed to toddle off to bed and sleep, but when the door closed behind Meg, she began to hear the music.

Of course, as a musician, there was always music echoing in Christine's brain. She had composed several short pieces in her life, mainly to see if she could. This, however, was one of those rare times when the music was speaking itself to her. It wanted to be played. Right then. She sat down to her cello and drew the bow over the strings, tuning up absently. She found herself playing into her empty apartment, making chicken-scrawl notes on the scratch paper she habitually kept near her practice area. Once she was sure she could remember it the next day, she started walking towards her bedroom. Halfway down the hall she stopped.

The monitor flickered to life and Trillian loaded quickly. AngelofMusic was not logged in. Of course not. It's two in the morning. Christine was glad he was not logged in. She clicked on his handle and sent an offline message:

minorchord: Tonight, in my mind, you were E-minor. Ask me tomorrow.

It was one of the bravest things Christine had done in a long time. She did not consider herself a composer, and never shared her musical sketches with anyone else. The message was sent. He would ask her about it tomorrow, and she would play it for him if her courage allowed.