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

Face It, He's Not All That Bad!

Charlie Brown was in a pensive mood. Not only that, but he was also sore and stiff from head to toe. He was also almost having second thoughts after having joined his school's little league football team.

Almost.

The try-out was brutal, but he survived it, nonetheless. If anything, he was better prepared than most of his peers for the rigors. His constant failed efforts at kicking Lucy's football had not been without their upsides; he'd become quite the sprinter over time, so his explosive leg strength had become quite formidable.

As for his kicking…well, if the coach was impressed by Charlie Brown's sprinting, then he was absolutely floored by the power of the boy's right foot. His comments on Charlie Brown's kicking ability included several instances of blasphemy, so impressed was he.

So here was Charlie Brown, half-walking and half-shambling his way home from the try-outs. He had his rucksack containing his equipment slung over his shoulders, as well as his own personal football cradled in his left arm.

"Charlie Brown! Charlie Brown!" It was Lucy, running towards him. "Is it true what I'm hearing? Did you make our football team? You?"

Charlie Brown allowed a contented smile to creep across his face before answering: "Say hello to the team's new placekicker!"

His smile deflated somewhat when he saw Lucy not reflecting the awe he was expecting. "You know, Charlie Brown," she began in a neutral tone, "the reason players become placekickers…"

And here came the trademark Lucy van Pelt putdown. "…is that they're not good enough to become quarterbacks or tight ends, or any position of value." Either Charlie Brown was too tired for a comeback, or he'd come to accept her and her abrasiveness: he just groaned and laughed at her comment.

"Well, you did play your part in my development," he talked through her insult, and the look of surprise that was her response was most satisfying.

"What are you talking about? You never kicked a single ball I held for you!"

"That's true," he at least conceded that much. "But think of the distance I'd fly just on the momentum of my kicking motion. When someone actually held the ball still for me, I sent that ball clean out of the field and over the road." He looked so proud to disclose that fact. "The coach even invoked Jesus, Mary and Joseph in his appraisal…"

"Really, Charlie Brown," Lucy sounded dubious at that boast. They were still walking together, and their route had taken them past their field.

Lucy recalled how Charlie Brown tricked her with the baseball slide, how he capped off his prank with a kiss on her nose, and how she chased him down promising unholy retribution, only to trap him in a side headlock and submit him to the worst noogie she could unleash. There was laughter that followed and the two parted still on good terms.

Lucy was feeling somewhat mischievous as she surveyed the field, took note of Charlie Brown's stiffness and saw the ball he was cradling. She put her plan into action.

"You know, kicking a ball is fine and dandy, bu-u-t…" And then she snatched his ball with an impish 'Yoink!' before quickly veering onto the field, where she stood waiting for him, all smiles. "…but what about your ball retrieval skills?"

"Lucy," he fired back in exasperation, "now is not the time! I'm stiff and tired and in no mood."

But her smile remained. "So? You may be stiff and tired during a big game, and you'll still need to retrieve the ball." Her smile then contorted to an evil smirk. "So come and get it!"

Challenge accepted, not that he had a choice. Wearily he dropped his bag and came at her. She held out the ball, he committed to it and at the very last second, she deftly spun out of his way as he charged past her.

It happened again.

Another time.

Once more. Each time with a smile inviting him to try again.

As frustrated as he was, Charlie Brown was also awestruck by Lucy's movement, which combined the efficient footwork of a boxer with the grace of a ballerina. Whether seated or standing, she was equally adept at teasing him with a football.

Oh screw it, he reckoned, as he shifted his attention from the ball to its carrier. He came in for a low tackle, wrapping his arms around her legs and trapping them. Lucy had barely the time to squawk "Charlie Brown, what the hell!" as she went down. Furthermore, the momentum from the tackle sent the two of them rolling on the turf. Eventually, they stopped, with Charlie Brown on top of Lucy, his weight effectively pinning her down.

"Nice going, you blockhead!" scolded a sarcastic Lucy. "Now I'm all dirty. You can get off of me, by the way!"

"No I can't," he groaned back. "I was tired already before this stunt, and now you've taken the last of my energy."

"What?" she shouted back in disbelief, before taking a few sniffs. "Have you showered?" she asked tentatively.

"No. I was planning on a bath when I got home," he explained.

"Oh gross!" she exclaimed. "Get off! Get off! You smell worse than your dog!" She issued several uncomplimentary terms as she struggled to extricate the two of them.

Eventually – eventually – they reached her house, still in good spirit.

"Charlie Brown, thank you for walking me home," said Lucy in as sincere a voice as Charlie Brown had ever heard from her. She was smiling very awkwardly at him, uncertain how to continue. "I…I'm really happy for you making the football team …and…and…" She could think of nothing further, other than planting a delicate kiss on his cheek, to his surprise and admitted delight.

"Now go home and get cleaned, you blockhead!" she ended the conversation and dashed inside.

A bewildered Charlie Brown was left making sense of her last actions as he made his way home while still feeling…well, he wasn't feeling bad, that much was certain.

Author's Note:

I'm getting most of my inspiration for these overarching Charlie Brown/Lucy van Pelt stories from a strip in which Charlie Brown sets off to buy a gift for Lucy (Christmas or Valentines...I can't remember) and is asked whether the girl for whom he is buying the gift is his girlfriend. His response: "She's a girl and a friend." Or something to that effect. There is another reference point that I'll touch one if ever I'm inspired to write another one of these little stories.