Ep9: Tommy's Diary

A lithe female figure climbs across the huge tree that shades Proper Little Miss on one side of the building. With astonishing grace and skill, Tommy climbs the branches, even dangles from one of them for the sheer tomboyish pleasure of it.  Suddenly -- SNAP!  Whoops!  Tommy plummets a few feet, then grabs hold of another branch, and safely swings over to the thick trunk.  Whew…that was a close one, she thinks to herself.  But then the smile on Tommy’s face spreads even wider, and her eyes close in almost ecstatic glee.  She lives for this kind of adventure and challenging peril, which is why hostile makeovers and punishments generally roll off her back, and never seem to “take”.  Ha.  The other girls can have their frilly dresses and go out on “dates”…this is Tommy Boyd’s idea of fun, and always will be!

And the fun continues this fine Sunday evening.  On her way to throttle arch-bullies Frankie and Pimples, Tommy swing-climbs from tree to tree, making her way across the neighborhood…

…until she suddenly stops short, and does a double-take: look who’s right below her!  It’s Randy Starr, Tommy’s sparring partner in their ongoing battle of the sexes, and he appears to be kissing his latest girlfriend goodnight.  She’s a real looker, too, as attractive a babe as he is a hunk…

“Sorry about cutting things short tonight, Randy,” the young woman purrs, placing her fingers on his lips.  “But I promised daddy I’d help him with his clippings before he went to bed.”

Self-confidence personified, Randy has no problem with this.  “You were by my side tonight at that party for Mr. Malone, and I think we both made a favorable impression.  Thanks again.”

“My pleasure.  When next?”

“I’ll call you.”

After his date slinks back into her house, a self-pleased Randy turns, begins to stroll down the street.  Suddenly, like something out of a storybook, Tommy Boyd drops down out of the tree, standing directly in front in Randy in her patented fist-on-hips stance… it’s a modern-day Peter Pan with curves!  “Hi, Starr.  What’s shakin’?”

Randy is agog for a second.  “Tommy!  Where the hell did YOU come from?

The girl athlete grins, glances skyward.  “Up.”  They both walk down the street together, a couple of pals exchanging cracks.

“Aren’t the streets good enough for you, Tomboy?” Randy asks with a friendly enough grin.  “I mean, I always said you were a funny little monkey, but –“

“Oh yeah?  What’s the matter with your date tonight, Mr. Romeo?  That creepy kiss of yours left her colder than an iceberg.”

“You really don’t know what you’re talking about, okay?” Randy says with a tad less patience than usual.

Tommy stops walking, looks a little ashamed.  “Hey man, I’m sorry.  Friends?”  She offers her hand for him to shake.  An easy-going Randy can’t help but smile, and he takes the beautiful young “monkey’s” hand.

It’s the handshake from hell, as Tommy squeezes for all she’s worth.  And that happens to be considerable!  But Randy Starr, an Olympic-level athlete and competitor in his own right, is certainly no pushover.  After a few moments, he’s the one with the bulging-bicep momentum, and poor Tommy’s face is turning green!

So, in order to win, she does what any self-respecting female would do… she stomps on his foot, just as she did with Pimples earlier in the day!

“Owww!!!” Randy screams, almost comically, as he grabs his foot and semi-dances.  “Boyd, you’re certifiable!”  Tommy does her best to restrain a chuckle, tries very hard to behave herself.

“Sorry, sorry.  Just a reflex.  You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m…I’m fine.  C’mon…”

They both continue to walk down the street.

“Didn’t see you at the dinner tonight,” Randy casually mentions.  “I thought every sports fanatic in Lincoln Heights would be there.  Coming to that picnic thing next Saturday?”

“I ahh… I might be tied up.”

“You know, you look a little different to me tonight.  Let’s take a closer look…”

They stop walking, and Randy scrutinizes his voluptuous, sexy-in-spite-of-herself gal pal.  Wide-eyed and befuddled, Tommy can’t imagine what might be different about herself.

Randy smiles.  “Hey, you learned how to wax!” he chortles, rubbing his hands up and down Tommy’s bare arms.  “Maybe you are growing up at last!”

Yuck!  Normally, Tommy would deck any guy who said anything this condescending to her, Randy included.  But for some mysterious reason, Tommy not only takes it, but actually blushes!  “Golly…I…yeah!”

“Hmmm…how are we doing on the lipstick front?”  Without missing a beat, Randy takes hold of Tommy’s chin for a moment, moving her face side-to-side as he checks out her lips for some added color.  This “hold” all but immobilizes poor Tommy, whose arms hang limply by her sides.  Worse, she can herself swelling with arousal, and it takes all of her will power to keep from involuntarily puckering her lips!

“Nah, nothing yet,” a bemused Randy observes.  “Guess Rome wasn’t built in a day.  At least we’ve made some progress,” he laughs, releasing his hold on Tommy’s chin and giving it an affectionate tap.  “Nice going, Monkeygirl!”

Whew!  Back to reality, Tommy is sure glad Randy let go of her when he did!  But DAMN!  Why is she always so helpless when he touches her??  And now what’s he doing…

“Your tree await-eth, mi’lady,” Randy says in the mock-earnest voice of a classic gentleman, even as he pulls down a sizeable branch for Tommy to climb.

All anger aside, Tommy beams from ear-to-ear, hands confidently on her hips again.  She struts over to the pulled-down branch and begins to climb --  “Thank you, sir!” – even as Randy watches her ascend.

A few moments later he’s looking up at his wild and crazy tomboy disappear into the dense foliage.  Randy shakes his head…there’s only one Tommy Boyd!  But just as he begins to walk away  --  THUNK!  An apple hits him smack on the noggin!

A stunned Randy looks up.  “See?  Isaac Newton was right!” Tommy shouts back to him from high in the tree.  And as the indefatigable Ms. Boyd turns to resume her elevated climb across the neighborhood, an explosion of tomboyish giggles is heard above the rustling of leaves…

“Randy, Randy, Randy,” Tommy whispers and smiles to herself, as she leaps, steps, and swings from tree to tree.  “There’s something I really like about him… “

In no time, the young amazon is at Frankie’s house, securely ensconced in the tree in front of his room window.  Tommy situates herself to one side so as to remain undetected.  Blinds are up and the window is about one-third open.  The tree-topping girl looks in and sees the usual suspects – Frankie (of course), Pimples, Dora, and Celine, laying around, downing chips and beer.

“I’ll just wait here and rest for a while,” she decides.  “It won’t be long before the beer has them good and sluggish.  Then, I’ll make my entrance and –“

Her thoughts stop cold.  Through the open window, she hears Frankie speaking in a mock female voice, saying something that sounds oddly familiar:

“I’m sorry, Dear Diary, but I’m not going to say his name, not even to you!  I’m around a lot of boys, every day, but there’s something different about him.  Usually, when I’m with him – walking around school, bumping into him someplace – I don’t really care all that much about sports or working on my motorcycle.  He makes me feel, I dunno, kind of… well, I hate to say it, but he makes me feel sweet.   UGH!  There!  I said it!  I can’t believe it!”

“Here, let me see that diary,” Dora tells Frankie, taking the opened book from him.  She starts reading where he left off.

“And how does he do that to me?  I know I can hit a ball farther than him; I can out-run him; and I run circles around him on the court; and he seldom pins me when we wrestle.  What does he have for me?  What’s the big deal?”

“I’d explain it, but there are ladies present,” quips Frankie.

Tommy’s eyes are wide and her mouth is open in shocked disbelief: they have her diary!  “I knew I never should have started that thing!  I knew it’d come back to bite me somehow.”

“Don’t tell me there’s some guy out there that makes Boyd’s crotch soggy!” Pimples gloats, looking disgusted.  “He’s gotta be some kind of gorilla or somethin’”

Celine, well on her way to being drunk, says, “Now, there’s some mental imagery I can do without – Boyd doin’ it with some guy.”

Frankie turns a couple of pages of the book and reads silently for a minute.  “Cripes!” he exclaims, “Listen to this!...”  

“…and I know there’ll come a day when everyone will realize that there’s really no difference between girls and boys – I prove it just about every day.  Then all the teams will be open, not just to me, but to all girls!  Every girl can do the things I do.  But when they’re raised to be Suzie Homemaker or Crissy Cookiebaker or Candice Eye-Candy, they have no choice but to be exactly what society says they should be.  It disgusts me.”

Tommy feels herself getting hot with embarrassment.  She tries to get closer to the window to hear more of what Frankie will read.

“This is un-f_____g believable!” Frankie exclaims.  “That bitch is even more screwed-up than I ever imagined!’

“What’s her problem with being a girl?” Dora chirps.  “I don’t know the first thing about sports teams, ‘homemaking’ and ‘cookie-baking’, and I’m just as much a girl as any chick who does those stupid things.  I’m certainly more of a chick than Tommy Boyd will ever be.”

“Yeah,” Pimples breaks in, “but you ain’t got Tommy’s tits, either!  HAWHAWHAW!!!”

Pimples ducks as Dora throws a shoe at him.

“Knock it off, before you break somethin’!” Frankie scolds.  “And speaking of Boyd’s tits…”  He continues reading aloud from the diary, imitating both Tommy’s narrating voice and Aunt Edwina’s uppity style:

“Aunt Edwina forced me out today to buy some new underwear.  UGH!  It’s bad enough to have to go through that department at all, but with Aunt E!  ARGH!  What’s with her and my boobs, anyway?  ‘When I was your age, girls didn’t have breasts as large as yours!  It’s all those sports you’re involved with!’ she tells me – OUT LOUD.  ‘You’re getting more mannish ever day!’  AAGGHH!!!”

Frankie stops reading to guzzle down some beer, then, by popular demamd, continues: “... Of course, nothing could be more humiliating than these big, dumb, worthless boobies to begin with.  I don’t even know what tits are for.  They’re nothing but trouble, especially when I’m swinging a bat.  I swear, if I didn’t have these things, I could hit fifteen or twenty more homers every season!”

“Sheesh!” Dora says in disgust.  “She’s got to be the most screwed up person in the world!  I mean, why doesn’t she just get a sex change or somethin’?”

Frankie looks like he’s having a “eureka” moment.  “Hey, here’s an idea!  My mom has been hawkin’ Dad for some cosmetic surgery.  She wants the works – lip, nose job, face lift, bigger boobs, better ass – all that stuff.  She sent for this software that lets her see what she’d look like after the work was done.  What do you say if we use it on some of the pics of Boyd we found in her room?”

“Saaaayyyyy… that’s not a bad idea at all!  I like it!” Pimples exclaims.  “She wants to be a guy so damn much, let’s make her dream come true.”

Celine takes a big drink of beer and rips an impressive belch.  “Better yet,” she slurs, “We can, uh, set up a, uh.  What’s it called… oh yeah – a Facebook page and posht the pichures and ‘Dear Dairy.’”

“Don’t you mean ‘Dear Diary’?” Dora asks.

“Whatever.”

Without a word, Frankie charges downstairs, and returns a few minutes later, disc in hand.  Dora has already booted up Frankie’s computer and is well into setting up a Facebook page.

Meanwhile, still positioned outside the window, Tommy is completely stunned.  Her most intimate thoughts, on the Internet, with morphed pictures of herself.  It would be worse than death if this stuff got out.

But, being the trouper she is, Tommy manages to pull herself together.  “Aunt E committing me to that dumb-ass Proper Little Miss school was bad enough.  But it’ll be a very strange day when I let them get away with something like this!”

Tommy clenches a fist, getting ready to pay back her tormentors.  She’s about to burst into Frankie’s room and wallop them all when a thought suddenly dawns on her.  “Whoa… better play it smart!  I mean, I’m supposed to be at PLM right now.  I’ve already got one mega-punishment of some kind coming up, two would be the pits!  Still, gotta get that diary back somehow…”

Not to mention those upcoming, humorously-doctored images of “sex-changed Tommy”, now being loaded into Frankie’s computer and bound for Facebook.

So, instead of bursting through the window like an avenging angel in sweats, the girl athlete silently opens it and slips inside her enemy’s room, quickly dodging behind the couch where Pimples and Celine are reclining.  “C’mon, let’s get this freak show on the road!” shouts the ever-charming Mr. P, now stuffing his big mouth with cheese doodles.

“Hold your friggin’ seahorses, man!” comes Frankie’s equally gentle reply.

Tommy silently scans the room for options.  There’s an old blanket just a few feet away, and some flower pots on the window sill.  Hmmm…

A mischievous smile spreads across the tomboy’s pretty face.  It can mean only one thing… a battle plan’s just been devised.  But as Tommy prepares to flatten herself on the floor and grab the blanket without being noticed, she’s suddenly distracted by sneers and catcalls.

“This is fabulous, man,” Pimples points out.  “It’s just like earlier today, when we tried to make improvements on the bitch’s painting in that art studio.”

“Yeah,” agrees Frankie.  “Except this way, we have more options.”

Tommy can’t resist looking up.  There, big as life on the computer screen, is the image of herself in her signature garb of white undershirt and cut-offs.  Using the program, Dora punches up a close-up of Boyd’s ultra-heroic, no nonsense face.  Which elicits a chorus of groans from this audience of non-fans.

“Time to get creative!” the computer artist beams, tapping some keys.  Within seconds, the cyber-girl’s curly, sexy mop-top is transformed into a masculine-looking crew-cut!

“Ha-ha, perfect!” cackles Frankie.  “Boyd, you never looked lovelier!”

Tommy is aghast.  She always wished she’d be born a boy, and for all intents and purposes considers herself one…until the recent “Randy factor,” of course.  But having her enemies mock and humiliate her in this audacious fashion is something else again!

Next, Dora scans down to Tommy’s breasts, which practically heave out of her undershirt.  A few additional key taps, and – huh?  The tomboy’s ample boobies suddenly triple in size!

“Oops!  Wrong way!” beams Dora, as everyone in the room bursts into raucous laughter.  Everyone, that is, except Tommy, who watches the “show” with frustrated, narrowing eyes.  God, how she’d like to clobber all four of these @#$%#! right now!

Seconds later TB’s on-screen boobies are downsized to their normal, well-rounded size, then finally reduced even further, until her chest is no bigger than that of a boy athlete her age.

“Awww, she’s a flat little freaky-dink now,” Celine giggles.

“What a pity,” Pimples adds philosophically.

Up for more fun, Dora scans over to cyber-Tommy’s slender athletic arms, and gingerly pumps them up, so that her biceps bulge.  She performs the same kind of cyber-surgery on Boyd’s shapely legs.

“Ah man, this is hilarious!” Frankie laughs out loud.  “Wait’ll the gang at ‘Man’s World’ gets a load of the real Tommy Boyd!”

“One final touch…” Dora says slyly, her fingers dancing on the keys.  Suddenly hair seems to sprout on Tommy’s flat chest, provoking another eruption of laughter all around.  But the show isn’t over…”Wait a second,” Dora grins like the Cheshire Cat.  A final key tap causes these chest follicles to curl, exactly matching Tommy’s real-life signature hair style!  “Must be accurate about this sort of thing!” the computer makeover artist concludes, a twinkle in her evil eye.  The laughter is almost deafening now, so much so that all four meanies actually need a few minutes to catch their breath…

Which, ironically, is all an enraged Tommy requires to initiate her counterattack…

“Too much, guys,” Frankie laughs, clearing his throat.  “I gotta hit the john…”

He gets up and leaves the room, prompting an amorous Dora to follow him for some cute hi-jinks and a quick snack.  “Facebook can wait,” she says slyly on her way out.

Pimples and Celine take this as a cue to smooch, and they promptly start mauling each other on the couch.  Poised for action, Tommy’s sharp eyes look about… she spots her diary on the nearby coffee table.  It’s now or never!

With amazing grace and speed, TB grabs the blanket she’s been eyeing, swings it over Pimples and Celine and totally engulfs them in it!

“Hey!  What the f---!” is all a covered Pimples can blurt out before a flower pot comes crashing down on him and his equally frantic and flailing girlfriend.  Tommy whips the blanket away...and they’re both out cold, cross-eyed and goofy-looking in the best cartoon tradition.  Imagine little birdies singing about their heads.

Tommy wants to laugh out loud, but permits herself only a wickedly cute smile.  Because in no time Frankie’s raw voice rings out from the other room: “What the frig was that?!”

The girl athlete flattens herself against the wall near the door, eyeing her surroundings, beaming from ear-to-ear.  A few seconds later Frankie charges into the room…only to be smashed by a “Conan the Barbarian” framed poster Tommy’s pulled from over his stereo.  Frankie goes down like a falling tree, now added to the TB dreamland express.  “Sweetems?  Are you okay?” wonders a clueless Dora, entering the room with a cupcake she’s just secured from the kitchen.  Buoyant Boyd gives her a quick karate chop from behind, and Dora instantly joins her fast asleep cohorts.

Tommy stands before this defeated group for a moment in that patented power stance everyone was just ridiculing, clearly reveling in her triumph.  Then she picks up Dora’s fallen snack and gobbles it down.  “Mmmm…best cupcake I ever tasted!”

Tommy turns, ejects that nasty gender-bent cyber-version of herself, pockets it, grabs her diary and heads for the window.  As she navigates her way through crumpled enemies, some funny groans are audible.  One winsome glance back, and the indefatigable Ms. Boyd’s out of the window and back in the trees…

Next day.

At Lincoln Heights park, Miss Merribrook takes her Proper Little Miss students on their weekly flower-gathering expedition.  Each little girl has her own pink basket, empty at the outset but soon to be filled.  First chance she gets, Tommy Boyd breaks away from her toddler classmates and meets up with best pal Harold, as they had pre-planned.

“Come on, help me find some dumb flowers,” she tells him, looking idiotic as usual in her little child’s dress.  They both hunt for daisies and other pretty flora while chatting.

“Like I was saying, getting back at those cretins last night was the right thing to do.”

“I know that, Harold.”

“They deserved it and more.  Especially after the number they did on your room.”

“What?”

“Didn’t you know?” Harold turns to his friend, surprised.  “They bragged to all the kids in the neighborhood that you were a girly-girl now.  They said they gutted your room and made arrangements to get rid of all boyish possessions.”

Tommy snarls, crushing a flower between her fingers.  “Well at least I got my diary back.  But I can’t let those morons sell all my stuff.  Among a million other things, I’ve got some really rare baseball cards and signed baseballs.  And what about my trophies?”

“Brace yourself…  “ Harold announces breathlessly.   “Frankie said he was going to have them melted down and sold as scrap metal. “

“No way!!”

“Way.   Anything that reminds you of sports has to be completely eliminated, according to what Frankie says Aunt Edwina says,” Harold says.

Tommy frowns, deflated.  “All because I was framed for a crime I didn’t commit, just like they say on television.”

“Can you prove that?”

“No,” Tommy admits.  “But I think I may have found another way to get me off this hook.”

“TOMASINA!” Miss Merribrook’s shrill voice rings out from a distance away.  “No more wandering off by yourself.  Join the other students at once!”

Tommy makes a face, slaps a high-five over to best friend Harold, and grabs her flower basket…  her only half-filled flower basket.

The Boyd residence, later that same afternoon.  Birds are chirping happily outside, but human voices inside aren’t quite that blissful.

“Never in the proud history of our family has a member disgraced us so,” Aunt Edwina declares with understandable concern.  Present for a serious meeting of minds are Edwina, Miss Merribrook of Proper Little Miss, Marcia Sloan, and a distinguished, gray-haired gentleman with spectacles, Dr. Swail.

“I realize this is a drastic step, Aunt Edwina, but we've all heard Miss Merribrook’s report about Tomasina’s astonishing lack of progress,” Marcia Sloan says smoothly.  “And of course what happened today is beyond the pale.”

“I’m afraid she’s quite correct,” Miss Merribrrok admits, winding her pocket watch.  “Tomasina Boyd is the worst student I ever had, an impossible deviant.  Even ‘Operation Butterfly’ failed to make a lady of her, that’s your esteemed reconditioning program, doctor,” the teacher/administrator says to the gentleman seated next to her.

  And it seemed like such a good idea, didn’t it?   Bringing Tomasina back to early girlhood via clothing, environment and the company of other youngsters, so she could learn feminine ways from scratch and get it right this time,” Aunt Edwina says with some exasperation.

“The idea is more than good, it’s foolproof,” Dr. Swail calmly explains.  “You just haven't gone far enough.  The girl is a difficult subject, no one denies that: we simply need to return her to the earliest state of impressionable girlhood, mid-level infancy, and begin again with focused conditioning and reorientation.”

“That’s why Tomasina needs to miss school for a while,” Marcia explains with an air of sympathetic understanding.  “It’s unfortunate, yes, and disappointing, but in the long run, it’s what’s best for that maladjusted young woman that really matters, isn’t it?”

“And what’s best for this rehabilitation method is totally accurate surroundings,” explains Swail.  “By that I mean, accurate to the conditioned state of mind of our subject, which will be a clear slate as we begin, receptive and pure as a child’s.”

“Well, Frankie and his friends have been doing a fine job getting rid of Tomasina’s sports and lesbian-related trash,” Edwina tells the others.  “They’ll be painting her room pink and fixing it up with feminine details, like little bunnies and such…”

"Sounds perfect," nods Miss Merribrook.

Marcia can’t resist a bemused smile.  “Better than perfect."

Later, alone in a darkened room, Aunt Edwina speaks to someone over the phone.  Someone with a male voice…

“I’m not fond of that aspect either,” she tells him.  “Finishing high school is a must for every girl before she gets married.  But I’m afraid we have a serious problem here, there’s no getting away from it.  What the doctor proposes may be extreme but I’m convinced it’s for Tomasina’s own good.   If she ever expects to face this world as a woman, and not as the boy you always wanted, she’ll need this one last shot at redemption.  For Heaven's sake, dear brother, don’t deprive her of it.”