Sometimes fate seems to favor nasty old Marcia. While Tommy is in training for this high-speed event, she’s forced to work out in her especially dorky Proper Little Miss outfit, so she is never late returning to school. This uniform, designed for pre-teens in etiquette training, is composed of pink ruffled bloomers, white pleated skirt with pink crinoline underneath to puff it out, and a pink satin schoolgirl shirt with short sleeves. Low-heel shiny strapped shoes finish it off. By startling contrast, Tommy wears heavy-duty power sneakers during the arduous outdoor practice, which are the only things that she has time to switch into.
Looking ridiculous but certainly game, super-athletic Tommy practices on the field, first doing her warm up stretches, and then her running stretches on the bar. As fate (and a Marcia phone call) would have it, local toughs Frankie and Pimples thunder onto the scene, and seat themselves down on the bleachers, eating burgers and fries. They spy their target Tommy and hoot and holler at the hybrid athlete/schoolgirl, making fun of her incessantly, with comments like “Why don’t you go home and play with your dollies?” “Love your uniform, little girlie!” “Since when did they allow a skirt to enter the marathon?” “Why don’t you come over to my house and do my dishes?” “No, no – come to my place and cook us dinner!” “Nah – she can do my laundry, like a proper girl!”
The two laugh themselves silly, as Tommy’s anger grows and grows...
Things finally reach fever-pitch when Boyd circles under the bleachers. Frankie takes aim and dumps the last of his soda on top of the running girl's head! “You son-of-a- HEYY!” yells Tommy, her hair now wet with the stuff. Frankie leans over for a better look, laughing like crazy. Big mistake. Tommy simply reaches up, and yanks him down the side of the bleachers. While he’s struggling to get up, she pulls his jacket off, and uses it to wipe the soda out of her hair.
Watching all this and getting mighty pissed off, rampaging Pimples leaps out of the stands with a vengeance. The hulking creepizoid makes a swing at his nubile adversary, but she deftly sidesteps him. Tommy quickly wraps the grabbed jacket around one of his legs, taking him down to the ground. Then a voice catches her attention: “Boyd, ya stupid broad, I want my jacket back!” yells Frankie, as Tommy readies for his charge. Sure enough, Frankie runs towards her, even as Tommy tosses his jacket into his face, which slows him down. Tommy drops and does a textbook leg sweep, taking him down onto the ground. Then she retrieves the tossed-about jacket… and finishes drying her hair off with it!
Pimples suddenly dives for her legs, barely missing her as Tommy jumps up, grabbing the bottom of the bleachers and swinging there for a moment, like an all-powerful Queen Kong. When Pimples does looks up, she drops down on top of him, punching him in the face several times. “Say, this is fun!" the T-babe laughs. "Now stay down, little boy--!”.
Finally, Frankie jumps on the fighting girl’s back, assuming that his superior mass will overwhelm her. But Tommy manages to spin him about from left to right, and he gradually loses his grip. After turning things around with some deft acrobatics, she pins the sucker down, and POW! delivers her patented Tommy Boyd ‘perfect shiner’! Frankie screams as Tommy twists his sore arm, forced to yell that he and his equally exhausted cohort “give up".
Basking in her triumph, Tommy tosses Frankie’s soda-stained jacket on top of him, leaving both of her battered attackers to nurse their bruised male egos. “See ya next time, boys!” the oddly-attired lady athlete taunts. With a pert, sly smile and an explosion of female giggles, Tommy gleefully wipes her shoes off on the fallen bullies, snags their bag of fries, then triumphantly saunters away while snacking on the treats.
Yes!!!
Setting: Proper Little Miss Finishing School. After her spirited field workout, Tommy spends the rest of her decidedly less-exciting afternoon doing needlework (ouch!), filling baskets with pretty flowers and mindlessly rocking dolls. "Pssss...hey Tommy, it's me!" a familiar voice whispers from the window. Checking to see if the coast is clear, Tomasina makes her way over, grateful to see her nerdy best pal Harold Pinter. At least, she is at first...
"Harold, how could you be so stupid?”
"I dunno. But you know me and pretty girls...I couldn't believe she was letting me get to first base!"
Tommy rolls her eyes. She's been here before with Harold, and it just ticks her off. "You'll never learn, will you? Romance is for schmucks! It's just like Cher says in that "Moonstruck" movie -- snap out of it! Besides, a boy your age shouldn't have his head in the clouds. You should always know what you're doing... and where your wallet is!"
"I can't believe she ripped me off. And in the middle of this world-class kiss!”
As grateful as she is to her best bud in general, Tommy has little patience with this sort of romantic foolishness. As a matter of fact, it actually brings out the worst in her.
"What?!" Harold bellows. "You're not gonna lend me some extra bucks till payday?? How am I going to survive?"
"You'll manage, Harold," Tommy replies firmly, her arms folded. "This is for your own good, believe me. Letting girls take advantage of you is dumb, dumb, dumb!"
"Tommy!" poor Harold whines. "You're killing me!"
"Stop griping already. Be a man, like me!" Tommy says snippily, unconsciously rocking her doll. Tough love, she ironically thinks to herself. It's sure not easy, but somehow Harold has to be taught that daydreaming is a luxury he literally can't afford. Crushed, laid low by romance once again, the nerdy teen faces a whole month without comic book money!
And that's all the time it takes for disaster to strike. Hiding underneath the bench are none other than those disreputable local trouble-makers, Boyd’s arch-enemies Frankie and Pimples! Up to no good as usual, they quietly snicker, then carefully swap out shoes, replacing the girl athlete’s foot attire with an identical pair. Finally breaking out of her victory reverie, Tommy automatically puts on the tainted shoes without a second thought, even as the dastardly duo wriggle away with her original pair.
As the runners gather near the starting line, Tommy limbers up for the challenge ahead. The well-developed girl athlete does a quick and impressive workout, even as some of her fellow male athletes sneer and leer. Ignoring their sexist jokes, Ms. Boyd continues to flex...
...and is clearly at the peak of her powers. Looking like a haughty young Amazon ready to take on Mankind, Tommy basks in the glory of this well-covered race, and can't wait to strut her considerable stuff. In the decidedly conservative political climate of newly-revamped Lincoln Heights, of course, female athletes are dismissed as troublesome deviants, irritating cases of arrested development in urgent need of strict discipline and reorientation. More than half the people in the stands clearly consider Boyd colorful 'comedy relief' for today's game; the rest just shake their heads, hoping she'll finally learn a much-needed lesson when the boys inevitably run her into the ground. As always, Marcia Sloan exploits this credibility issue, hoping to nudge Tommy out of local sports and eliminate the threat TB poses to her boyfriend and partner-in-success, rival athlete and fellow runner Chad Parker. An overconfident tomboy beat a male athlete of his caliber? Sure, and the Yankees face a stiff threat from Little League!
Tommy has been dealing with this sort of chauvinism her whole life, of course, and easily laughs their attitude off. "The puritans of this town expect me to wear a dress and put on globs of make-up, just to attract guys," Tommy had told Jack Healy, one of the reporters from Lincoln Heights' local newspaper/TV news show, earlier that morning. "Damn it, I'm rugged! Tough as any man," she explained during their chat. "I don't even shave my legs or wax my forearms. Ha! So much for the happy homemaker!"
Finally, the moment everyone has been waiting for is at hand. With a BANG, the track-suited athletes of Lincoln Heights are all off and running! Confident of victory, Tommy Boyd blasts away from the starting line. As the crowd cheers, pistoning arms and legs propel the young female to impressive speeds. Indeed, it isn't long before Tommy has past most of her opponents, and is actually about to take charge of the race. "Oh, this has got to be some kind of put-on," a middle-aged housewife tells her bespectacled husband in the stands. "She wasn't supposed to be in this race to begin with. Those boys must be letting her win." Her white-bread hubby nods in agreement. It is, after all, the only gallant thing to do.
And then something unexpected happens...
About two minutes into the run, Tommy suddenly finds herself feeling inexplicably weak, as if she were wearing lead weights. The female dynamo looks down at her shoes; they appear to be the same brand she always wears. Soon she is seriously overheating, and even sweating profusely. But the determined, plucky young athlete pushes herself onward…
Race in full swing, Boyd’s strength and endurance continue to take a severe beating because of the tampered footwear. But to all observers, it appears that Tommy simply doesn't have the stamina to get through a strenuous, traditionally male-dominated contest. Sure enough, the crowd begins to giggle openly at this "silly girl trying to run like a boy." Marcia beams… her sabotage plan is coming together perfectly! In spite of this dramatic, inexplicable setback, Tommy keeps telling herself "it will pass." She stalwartly grabs another revitalizing sports drink, handed to her and her quicksilver comrades as they speed by.
Meanwhile, Pimples and Frankie are parked on the top of the bleachers; they share a pair of binoculars, handing them back and forth. “Yup, she’s losing steam, you can see the sweat pouring down her face” a grinning Pimples reports to his pal. “Gimme that!” shouts Frankie, snatching the binoculars. “Ha! Look at that stupid cow go. The more she runs, the more she saps her own strength. This is hilarious!” Pimples takes a sip of his soda, then wonders aloud if Tommy has figured out that her sports drinks have been replaced with flavored water, in addition to the rubber insides of her sneakers being rigged with lead weights. Frankie stares at the running teenage girl, now super-sweaty and clearly in trouble, and tells him with a snicker that he doesn’t think so.
"Wha-What's wrong with me?" Tommy says aloud, now fully stunned by her inexplicable exhaustion. Watching from the stands, Marcia Sloan can't resist breaking into the biggest of smiles...
The race is more than half over, and the sneaker sabotage continues to take its toll. Tommy rounds the track and grabs her “revitalizing drinks,” but they don’t seem to be doing much good. Meanwhile, arch-rival Chad runs at an easy gait right beside her. “Losing your touch, Steroid Girl?" he sneers. "Maybe it’s about time you stopped trying to be something you’re not...!” Tormented Tommy pushes herself even harder... but soon she realizes that nearly everyone in the stands, a group that ranges from schoolkids to elderly onlookers, is beginning to taunt her. It's almost as if she were a deliberate amusement, a clown-performer added by the promoters to make the race more colorful. What an unfortunate turn of events!
Unless you are Marcia Sloan, of course. Mastermind behind Tommy’s shoe sabotage, she is the wicked, Chad-promoting schemer who hired Frankie and Pimples to do her dirty work (as usual), and is now choreographing the tomboy’s running debacle in every precious detail.
Using her feminine wiles, Marcia easily manipulates local news reporter friends, covering the race's final stage and preparing for post-race interviews, into pointing some of their cameras at the now-pathetically pumping female runner. Then she springs the next phase of her ultra-mean scheme: “As you've probably suspected, just a little comedy relief, fellows… here’s a local tomboy who refuses to grow up and simply insists on embarrassing herself. I'm afraid it’s painfully obvious that this perspiring 'buckaroo' hasn't the strength or the stamina to compete in a race designed for men…" The veteran crew members chuckle, nodding their heads in agreement, and Jack Healy, the reporter who spoke with Tommy before the race began, chimes in with his two cents. "I thought she was a little weird when I interviewed her earlier," he mentions to the crowd. "She was actually proud of the fact that she doesn't shave her body hair. Can you imagine? This wacky girl not only acts like a boy, she thinks she is one!"
"Which is not only ridiculous, it's downright repulsive," Marcia responds, shaking her head. "But I'm happy to report there is a positive side to this teenage tragedy. We’ve recently enrolled Tomasina in the Proper Little Miss Finishing School, a very strict and conservative institution with little patience for her brand of tomfoolery. There, she is painstakingly educated in sensible and far more realistic feminine endeavors, mainly of a traditional nature.”
“Oh really?” a photographer chuckles. “That include proper etiquette?”
Laughter from the group brings a smile to Ms. Sloan's face. “Yes, amazingly enough!” she chuckles. “But I’m afraid we’ll need some serious re-programming techniques to fully achieve that!”
"Sounds logical on the surface, but how come they let her compete against boys today, in front of everyone, and make a complete jackass of herself?" Healy asks.
"No pain, no gain, as Tomasina might put it” sighs Marcia, ready with a reasonable-sounding answer. “Ignominious failure is the best instructor I know. Seriously gentlemen, there’s a method to this seeming madness. By allowing an overgrown tomboy to compete against legitimate male runners and fall on her face, so to speak, she'll learn for herself how foolish it is to resist adulthood and social maturity. Sooner or later, Tomasina's bound to accept the incontestable reality of her sex, instead of arrogantly fighting against it."
Meanwhile, poor Tommy finally limps to the finish line in front of a jeering audience. She just stands there for a while, bent over, gasping for breath. On top of her game as usual, Marcia brings the camera crew over for some spiteful coverage. "It's humiliating, of course," she explains, still chatting with the assembled reporters. "But let's face it, some headstrong young misfits simply have to learn their lessons the hard way."
Nearby and grinning from ear-to-ear, the Chad man himself, winner of the race, can't resist chiming in with a zinger aimed at his besieged opponent. “If you can’t keep up," he tells her, "then maybe you should retire to your knitting needles, Grandma!”
Everyone considers this a very funny joke. Except Tommy.
“Aww, I’m sorry,” adds Parker in a far more conciliatory voice, almost completely reversing himself. “You have a lot of spunk, fellow athlete. I might even say you’re quite a guy. Here, have a refreshing drink…” Still dazed, Tommy cautiously accepts the much-wanted sports drink. But – SHIT! – it turns out to be saltwater! She instantly spits the burning liquid at Chad, who is laughing so hard he almost has a seizure.
“I wouldn’t worry,” a bemused Jack Healy comments. “I have a feeling this ‘fight’ won’t last very long!”
Poor Tommy! Her strength reduced as a result of the weighed-down track shoes, she is helpless in the hands of her delighted tormentors, Frankie and Pimples. Taking full advantage, they put on a slapstick-style show for entertained onlookers. At one point, Pimples holds Boyd at bay with an extended, stiff arm-to-forehead; like a cute cartoon character, Tommy swings her little mitts furiously and wildly, never once connecting.
“Oh, look at that!” laughs an almost giddy Marcia, now standing by the punch table as Chad sneaks a beer. “How precious! And how extremely fortunate the news crew just happened to be in the vicinity…” Indeed, reporter Healy, who had covered Tommy’s feminist rant earlier in the day, is now getting pictures and videos of her apparent “tomboy tantrum.”
And
quite a tantrum it is. Powered-down,
frustrated Tommy takes a workmanlike swing at Pimples, who grins and easily
dodges the attack. She swings again, and
misses. Finally the Pimp man grabs her
arm and swings Tommy completely around, right into the waiting arms of laughing
delinquent Frankie…
…who
then swings Tommy around yet again ("WWWWWhhhhhhhoooooooaaaaaaa----!!!!")
on a dizzying mini-journey. Finally, the
girl athlete lands with a SPLAT!, face first, in an especially gloppy cake that
sits on a nearby picnic table.
That
does it. Just about everyone present
laughs hysterically, and the reporter moves in for a tighter, even funnier
shot. Slender, muscular arms wrapped
around the table, Tommy Boyd is barely conscious. But she manages to lift her groggy head up
from the creamy, pasty picnic treat... which is so sticky, it actually adheres
to her runner's headband for a few seconds. Pulled forward, it finally snaps back... but
right in the middle of Tomasina's face, not her forehead! Ever greater laughter erupts from the crowd as
Tommy's vision is momentarily obscured, and, dazed and open-mouthed, she
haplessly tries to get her bearings.
Meanwhile, life at this well-attended
Lincoln Heights event happily goes on. "You've
been having quite a time today, haven't you," relaxed Chad tells his
ever-busy girlfriend Marcia after managing to corner her. "What do you
mean?" she says innocently, her mouth slowly spreading into a major league
grin. "You're the winner of the race, aren't you?"
Chad just shakes his head and smiles... Devious, quick-thinking and merciless when it comes to neutralizing her enemies, Ms. Sloan is his kind of woman!
Chad just shakes his head and smiles... Devious, quick-thinking and merciless when it comes to neutralizing her enemies, Ms. Sloan is his kind of woman!
In less than a minute Frankie has arrived. Without thinking twice, the greaser casually fills his glass and downs some lukewarm beer ("Crap!"), even as a certain female athlete squirms for dear life. Unable to break Frankie's choke hold, Tommy now finds her eyes bulging and crossing comically, even as the girl's face color changes from beat red to bloodless white. Seemingly oblivious, Frankie, drink still in hand, calmly walks away from the refreshment area and heads back to where the action is... dragging hapless Boyd as he goes.
"That's right, I got great coverage of the race," reporter Jack Healy tells his TV studio boss via cellphone. Then his self-satisfied smile fades. "What? You need thirty seconds of lightweight filler? Where do you expect me to find that at this late date?"
Frankie and captive Tommy are just a few yards from the main gathering, walking past a group of waist-high hurdles that were stacked away from the track and reception area. Finally, almost on survival reflex, Boyd pushes her way free, knocking Frankie's glass from his hand in the process.
Recovering from an extended choking, Tommy clutches at her throat and coughs and coughs. Also on reflex, and pissed that he's been unceremoniously pushed and his glass knocked away, Frankie grabs his enemy by the shoulders. He spins her about so she faces him and delivers a perfect right to the chin, abruptly ending her coughing spree. Boyd lands chest-down on one of the nearby hurdles. Out cold, the once vigorous participant in today's sporting event lies motionless, her sleek, muscular arms draped over the wooden mini-stand, along with her fallen head, dark brown hair tied into a runner's ponytail cascading downward.
Marcia turns and notices this, her face lighting up with an enormous smile, and a new nasty idea. "Chad, take a look at our Wonder Woman now," she tells her preoccupied suitor. "What? Ha! You're right, that's funny. Guess Little Miss Muscles needs her beauty sleep," he responds with a grin, pounding down an especially messy hot dog.
But it's not like Marcia to ignore a perfect opportunity to give Tommy Boyd more grief. Spotting reporter Jack Healy and some of his brethren nearby, she pulls him over and points with friendly amusement to the dozing tomboy. As Healy grins, raises his camera and begins walking toward the assembled hurdles, followed by some of his pals, Marcia whispers something into still-munching Chad's ear. He nods in the affirmative, begins to follow the guys... then stops for a second, turns and hands Marcia the remains of his hotdog. Yuck! She holds it at arms length as he continues on.
A hand reaches down to Tommy's fallen head, grabbing her hair. What Chad raises to eye-level is an unconscious Tommy Boyd, once-proud and straight headband now ridiculously crooked. And the girl's face? Comically slack-jawed from the impact of Frankie's blow, but also sweetly innocent as a sleeping baby, in amusing contrast to those muscular shoulders and athletic arms around it. Below this, Chad's other hand is in a palms-up position, drawing attention to his hapless subject. "See?" he tells the crowd. "Our would-be modern Amazon is just a weak, immature little girl, all tuckered out from trying to keep up with the boys."
Photos of this humiliating sight are swiftly taken by the grateful news hounds, even as an ultra-satisfied Marcia watches gleefully. His latest PR task completed after less than thirty seconds, a still-beaming Chad finally drops Tommy's head like a worthless cabbage and saunters off. The reporters, relieved that their main work for the day is over, seem to catch this light-hearted vibe, shooting some additional fun pictures of "tuckered-out Tommy" from different angles. This last-minute business certainly comes in handy for Mr. Healy, given his TV studio's need for a humorous accent to the day's activities. The resourceful tele-journalist even positions a light to catch those little blonde hairs on Boyd's motionless forearms, draped over the hurdle. "Exactly the touch I want," he says with the assurance of a seasoned pro. "We'll run that sound bite Boyd made earlier about how macho she is and how she doesn't body wax, then follow it up with this close-up. She's literally knocked herself out from exhaustion trying to keep up with the guys. Hate to be mean, but maybe the screwy tomboy will learn a lesson from all this. Who knows? She might even start thinking of herself as a girl!"
"From your mouth to God's ears," Marcia's smooth and savvy voice interrupts the reporter. More than satisfied with a fine day of coverage, pleased Healy shakes an equally pleased Ms. Sloan's hand. "Lady, you're the best," he says earnestly before expressing thanks for this ace publicist's extensive help. Then Jack resumes his work, moving on for some final safety shots of his hapless tomboy subject. After a few minutes, even the usually tireless Marcia Sloan can't help yawning... and then cutely smiling as she looks about to make sure no one is watching!.
"All right, no more excuses," Frankie's girlfriend Celine tells the still beer-guzzling greaser as she stares at her watch. "If we don't move our asses we're never gonna make it to my little brother's play tonight." Frankie just scowls. "Hey, we got hours yet! Yo Pimp!" he calls out to his food-engulfing buddy from across the stored hurdle area. A few moments later Mr. P saunters over and gamely asks "What's up?" Frankie finishes downing his second of two stale beers, then tries to collect semi-complicated thoughts. "Okay. First we call out for eats, then we drop the dyke off at Proper Little Miss, and finally we're off to this ahh, play I just heard about."
"Something good?"
"Don't make bet on it."
Pimples gives Frankie a classic double-take. "C'mon," the Master Greaser says with weary finality, turning to take smitten Celine in his arms. Pimples shrugs, then gets to work by reaching down to the runner's hurdle and grabbing sleeping Tommy's arms one at a time, securing them behind her back and binding her wrists...
The following day, a double-photo appears in the local newspaper as part of a sidebar. Photo #1, captioned BEFORE, is of Tommy Boyd at the beginning of the race, haughty and ready to rock, proudly pointing to the blonde peach fuzz on her forearm; Photo #2, AFTER, showcases dozing TB's head being held up by Chad's hand as his other hand gestures "See?" Above this is the headline: TOMFOOLERY EXPOSED, with a secondary line, GIRL MISFIT PROVES BOYS HAVE MORE STAMINA. Just as Marcia planned, Tommy's debacle has been covered with pictures and text as a comedy extra, next to a far larger story about the running event, and Chad Parker's spectacular athletic performance in it.
At Proper Little Miss once again, Tomasina, now decked out in a ridiculous 'little girl' dress with pink bows in her hair, is ordered to rock a doll all day as part of her rehabilitation exercises. She looks at the damning newspaper, then tears it to pieces with a vengeance. She treats these shreds with far more gentleness and a forced, phony smile as watchdog Gwendolyn passes her way, of course, then scowls the minute she's gone. "Pssss!" a different voice whispers, and Tommy turns her head. Yep, it's good old Harold, once again at the window with some disturbing, but not exactly unexpected information: "Everyone wants you punished for starting a fight and embarrassing our community," he tells her. "Your Aunt Edwina and Miss Merribrook are climbing the walls."Tommy sighs, tugs at her PLM outfit. “Yeah… They’re talking about lobotomizing me with some kind of experimental re-orientation procedure, apparently a cure for tomboys. ‘Before it’s too late,’ as Miss Merribrook puts it.”
"Nasty," Harold continues sympathetically. "But you'll find a way to turn things around. You always do. By the way, what the heck happened out there on the field?"
"I really don't know. The best I can figure it, Frankie and Pimples must have switched my track shoes when I wasn't looking... then switched 'em back after they knocked me out and brought me back here. I felt like I was dragging heavy weights most of the time."
“Any way you can prove you were sabotaged?” asks Harold. Tommy sighs philisophically. That train has obviously left the station. Naturally, she’ll sneak out of Proper Little Miss soon enough and use her potent fists to pay back tormentors Frankie and Pimples… with interest. The Lincoln Heights race, however, appears to be history.
Then Tommy's urgent look softens. "But you wanna know something,” she tells her nerdy friend endearingly. “I had it coming. Really. I was insensitive to your problem, Harold, way too harsh. And ha, wouldn't you know it? I wind up being just as bubble-headed and absent-minded as you are!"
Harold, still draped over the sill, does an amusing double-take, then can’t suppress a best pal’s grin. Returning the warm smile, Tommy pulls out some bucks and shoves them into his hand. Punishments from nasty enemies she can handle... but anything less than total friendship from lovable, super-loyal Harold is unacceptable. Lesson learned!
And what about those sneaky creeps Frankie and Pimples? Does any guy get away with wiping his feet on a force of feminist nature like Tomasina Boyd? Not on this planet, space cadets!
Later that night, with the Proper Little Misses tucked in and nobody the wiser, bright-eyed Tomasina changes into her familiar athletic gear and climbs out of a second-story window...
Setting: It’s a Man’s World, the local Lincoln Heights pool hall/strip joint/hang out club. Inside, Frankie and Pimples are shooting pool, floozy girlfriends Celine and Lavinia draped on their arms. The goons are having a grand old time bragging about how easily they outwitted and manipulated Tommy Boyd for everyone’s entertainment. Then they go on about how ineffectual a fighter Tommy was (completely ignoring the fact that she was physically drained from the fixed race), how they easily dodged every one of her "pathetically feeble" blows, etc…
Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, TB lands right on top of the pool table! “Evening boys. I needed a little exercise after my nap. Hope you don’t mind,” she announces tartly, facing her opponents. Before Frankie and Pimples can even process what’s happening, Tommy’s grabbed a pool stick and is challenging them like the fierce martial arts warrior she is. Pimples instinctively charges, but he’s beaten back by Tommy’s lightning-fast stick in a dazzling display of ninja-like prowess. “Thanks for the training, dad!” Tommy smiles, glancing upward, remembering how Colonel Boyd used to instruct her in all forms of physical combat.
After flattening Pimples and depositing him on the pool table, Tommy turns her fury on Frankie. Like a graceful jungle cat she stalks her cornered, increasingly nervous adversary. Desperate, Frankie swings at Tommy but she dodges every one of his clumsy blows. “Pathetic,” the confident girl athlete grins, closing in for the kill… Finally, she socks stunned Frankie again and again, stomach and chin, until he’s out cold and tottering. Tommy then scoops him up like a sack of potatoes, hauls him over to the table and plops him on top of Pimples.
.
Celine and Lavinia gasp as they see their macho dates knocked out cold, helplessly splayed across the pool table. “Well. I hope you girls got a dinner out of these liars,” Tommy tells them dryly, her lip curling into a sly grin. Then she nonchalantly walks out of It’s a Man’s World, passing a few bewildered, pool-playing patrons.
The Lincoln Heights High track, later that night. No one’s around at this hour… except Tommy Boyd. She takes a spirited run around the deserted track, then stops, testing her arm muscles. Suddenly distant applause catches her attention. Sitting in the stands is none other than reporter Jack Healy, and a curious, brow-furrowing Boyd decides to jog over.
“Your form’s a lot better tonight, tomboy,” Healy comments with a flip grin. “Yeah, tell me about it,” Tommy responds. “I don’t know for sure what happened to me yesterday, but I can tell you this: I’ll be back next year, and woe to any chauvinist pig who runs against me!”
The newsman smiles. “You won’t have to wait that long. Your friend Marcia was so successful in promoting this event that the board decided to sponsor another Lincoln Heights race three weeks from now.”
“Three weeks?!” Tommy squeals, her beautiful face lighting up. “Ha! Now there’s my opportunity for a super-comeback!” Overjoyed, she slams her fist into a waiting palm.
“Nitey-nite, Peach Fuzz,” Jack says amicably, waving goodbye. Tommy just nods and grins, standing alone in the immense schoolyard, savoring the payback possibilities.
You’re in for it now, Chad and Marcia!
NEXT EPISODE: THE STOLEN ENGINE
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