When Charlie got home, he found his peppy dog, Snoopy, sitting on top of his red-roofed doghouse, typewriter in front of him as usual. This was the dog who had danced with his crush, the nameless little red-haired girl at the Valentine's party. Now that the big day was approaching again, Charlie expected Snoopy to be gloating that he'd gotten fifteen cards as opposed to his none, but in fact he was there, sitting at his typewriter, white beagle paws clicking away, as he so often was at any normal time of the year.

Snoopy, finishing his piece, pressed the enter button on his typewriter, followed by the familiar dinging sound, and ripped the sheet out. He handed it to his master, who took the sheet and read it.

" ' He looked ahead. "Your eyes are as blue as the cloud-strewn sky on a midsummer's evening," he said as they galloped together. Gallop, gallop, gallop.

" ' She swung to face him. "I love you more than a new bowl of dog food," she whispered and...' Snoopy! What are you writing!" Charlie cried, flinging the page into the air. "You've caught it, too?"

His dog looked back at him coolly. Then he made a gagging sound and started typing anew. Though, in most cases, Charlie would have read this new sheet Snoopy was typing, he pivoted on his heel and, disgusted, stalked off into the house, the door slamming behind him.

Had his dog caught the Valentine's bug too? Usually Snoopy was who he was, meaning that when he wrote his mediocre writing, it was usually about cowboys, horses, something like that, though Charlie had the none-too-distinct feeling that his dog (his overintelligent dog, for crying out loud) was in a Valentine's kind of mood this seventh of February.

Charlie kicked off his shoes and hung up his jacket upon entering the house, making his way over to where his yellow-haired younger sister, Sally, was, sitting at the kiddy table with a sheet of plain white paper in between her hands. She was drawing something on the paper with a red crayon, and as Charlie neared her he had a feeling he knew just what it was.

"I'm drawing a card for Linus," Sally said, love in her eyes as he came near. She held up the sheet she had been drawing, where a big red heart was outlined in pink. Sally put the sheet back down and continued drawing. "This will be the year he'll finally realize he is my sweet baboon."

Charlie sighed. This was going to be a long night.

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"For the last time, I am not your sweet baboon!" a furious Linus van Pelt cried out the next day, trying to shake himself free of the blond Sally Brown. But she grabbed his red striped shirt, proceeding to follow him all the way around the school's dazzling-bright hallways to his classroom, where he finally managed to push her away; it seemed to Linus that the hearts were still shining in her eyes.

Linus shook his head at the same time as his best friend, Charlie Brown, came up, holding his books in front of his yellow shirt as usual. "Tell your sister I am not her sweet baboon," Linus growled, tightening his grip on his own books as the two of them made their way into the classroom, the crowd of students pressing in on all sides.

"She won't learn," Charlie replied, edging past a boy named Franklin to his normal post by the pencil sharpener. "Not unless you actually prove to her that the Great Pumpkin exists."

"The Great Pumpkin does exist," muttered Linus, following Charlie to his own seat. "But after what happened last year, she won't come with me again, even if the Great Pumpkin does show up at the pumpkin patch this year."

"So, maybe you should just tell her you don't like her," Charlie replied, now acting like Linus in his own right. At this point, the teacher had begun talking and Charlie gave a start as she turned on him.

"No, ma'am, I don't want to go to the principal's office," he said in answer to the teacher's question. "That was close," he whispered to Linus a few seconds later, his eyes wide and fearful.

"Okay," Charlie answered suddenly as the teacher rounded on him again, his legs shaking. "I'll go to the principal's office." He slowly pushed himself out of the chair and walked all the way to the classroom door, where, trembling with fear, he bolted down the hallway, his brown shoes clattering on the polished tiles.