Disclaimer: The Peanuts characters belong to Charles Monroe Schulz, even in the wake of his passing.

Author's Note: I find the true genius of the Peanuts characters is the different interpretations to which they lend themselves. With that in mind, I'll be attempting some interpretation of my own in this short (1000 words or fewer) one-off story. On with the show, then...

He's Not Into You, Lucy van Pelt!

It was a position most familiar to Charlie Brown: flat on his back, in the middle of the field. Lucy standing over him, sadistically tossing the football, voicing her latest rationale for pulling the football out from him.

What was the reason today, he wondered?

Holding the ball too tightly? Sun getting in her eye? Applying her unique spin to some obscure biblical passage?

Didn't matter; truth be told he'd memorized the lot of them. Nothing she was saying was new to him, so he drowned out her words. Then came something new: "…and furthermore, Charlie Brown, want never gets, especially for you. Not in baseball, not with the redhead girl, not with kicking my football. You're doomed to failure all your life."

With that, she turned to walk away. And as she did, he felt a part of his brain engage that he'd never sensed before. Suddenly, he wasn't feeling passive towards Lucy anymore. He was feeling...he was feeling...anger. And...he had to act on this feeling.

"Not that you're any better," he said after her in a flat tone which stopped her in her tracks.

"What was that, Charlie Brown?" she asked as she walked back to him. "Would you care to repeat that?" she followed up in a more menacing timbre.

He didn't answer immediately; he took his time getting to his feet and dusting himself off, to her annoyance. Then he repeated: "Not that you're any—" He didn't complete the sentence, for he felt Lucy's fingers crash across his cheek, then: "Don't you ever compare me to your level of failure. I'm nothing like you!"

Unruffled despite his stinging cheek, Charlie Brown pressed on: "Tell that to Schroeder."

A gasp from her, an instant of shocked silence, another scathing slap across his face: "Shut up, Charlie Brown. What would you know? At least we're on speaking terms, me and Schroeder!"

A derisive "HA!" from Charlie Brown. "Only because you frighten him! You've wrecked his piano! You act erratically around him! He's scared of you! He'll never love you!"

SLAP! That one drew blood, but he remained undaunted: "Thank you for proving my point." This time his voice was calm. Lucy raised her fist to strike Charlie Brown, only she couldn't follow through. Her fist was shaking, craving a release of sorts. Any release would do. She wanted to hit him, to pummel him repeatedly. But he was standing his ground.

Steadfastly. Unyieldingly. Defiantly.

And she knew any amount of violence would reinforce what he'd told her. And as she took in what he'd told her, she realized: he was right. He was right and she didn't like it. Not one bit. Eyes welling at the revelation, she spiked the football, then turned and ran away, A parting shot: "YOU DON'T KNOW ME, YOU BLOCKHEAD!"

An hour passed. Then two. Then a still bleeding-from-the-mouth Charlie Brown found himself at the Van Pelt's front door, having rung the doorbell. The mother opened.

"Hello, Ma'am…No Ma'am, I'm not here to see Linus…Well, Lucy left her football with me…My face? Oh, it's nothing, Ma'am. Just a tackle that got out of hand…Yes, Ma'am, I'll get it looked at as soon as possible…Can I speak to Lucy by any chance?...Asleep?...Upset?...Well, I suppose I can try cheering her up…My pleasure, Ma'am."

The mother let him into Lucy's room which was dark due to the curtains being drawn. On the bed, a large blanket was covering a crabby, unresponsive lump. He approached and was soon next to the lump.

"Lucy, you left your football with me."

An apathetic tone: "Leave it here and get out." No desire even to raise her voice.

"Look, I know I was harsh with you. I'm sorry my message came out all wrong."

No response.

"I mean, I'm sure you must realize where you stand with Schroeder. I'm sure you need some outlet for your frustrations. That's why I play along with your football gag. I've even taught myself to fall and hit the ground without getting hurt."

Finally, from beneath the blanket: "Oh God, I've fallen far for Charlie Brown to take pity on me!"

"It's not pity!" Charlie Brown insisted. "It's concern for a friend's wellbeing. It's loving that friend enough not to have her suffer in life, and to be there for her when she needs comforting. Even if it's according to her twisted ideals."

Silence again.

"Well, I've said my say. I'll leave the ball by you and be going." He did as he promised and placed the ball beside her on the mattress. A hand shot out and pinned his hand down on the mattress. Lucy revealed herself from beneath the blanket, hair unkempt, eyes puffy and cheeks streaked with dried tears.

"Charlie Brown," she asked, "will you please pull up a chair? I don't feel like being alone right now."