Chapter 1

The president of Marston College, a plump, pleasant-faced woman named Miss McIllhenney, had finished her sunny welcoming remarks, and now it was Miss Toopermann's turn to address the freshmen. There was nothing sunny about Toopermann. She was dean of deportment, but among students, and even some faculty, her title was "Toop the Snoop."

"You are here to be educated," she told the young women who filled the chapel. "But education involves more than books and labs and term papers. You will become Marston women, women with poise and confidence, women who have inner freedom because they have inner discipline. Many young men, some of them your older brothers, or your fathers or uncles, died in Europe and the Pacific to preserve your freedom. Others died just a few years ago in Korea. Freedom is precious -- but it is NOT a synonym for licentiousness."

SG sighed and squirmed. It was going to be one of those lectures. Hadn't she heard enough such nonsense at Midvale High -- and at home from her cousin, Superman?

Drinking was absolutely forbidden, Miss Toopermann went on, since drink led to far worse behavior. Smoking, too, was forbidden. It was unladylike, and some doctors even believed it was unhealthy. Unchaperoned contact with the boys from nearby Lackanooka Junior College was also off-limits.

The list of thou-shalt-nots continued, and SG's mind began to wander. What would she do when they got out of chapel? Her "big sister," a junior named Estelle, had told her that the really neat girls met every afternoon at the malt shop on Druid Avenue. Estelle was one of the really neat ones. Her beauty was so different from SG's. She was almost SG's height, but slender, and she had dark, curly hair and the delicate face of a china doll. SG was athletic and blonde. Boys were attracted to her. Heck, even girls were attracted to her. But Estelle was truly beautiful -- like a movie star. Like Teresa Wright or Jean Simmons.

Toopermann's voice rose and brought SG back to the here and now. "One offense will not be tolerated at Marston, and that offense is lying. If you tell a lie, we will discover it, and you will be exposed and expelled. There are no exceptions to this rule."

Oh, great, thought SG. Here I am living a lie from the moment I set foot on this campus. Sallie Gale. I'm supposed to be some bubblehead named Sallie Gale. And I'm supposed to be just another 18-year-old, all-American girl. No one — not even President Eisenhower or J. Edgar Hoover — is supposed to know that I can run faster than a race car, fly faster than an F-86, and lift 70 times my bodyweight.

Good grief! I've got all these powers, and they send me here undercover to break up a penny-ante dope ring. Marijuana. Mary Jane. Grass. Some of the boys at Lackanooka and even a few Marston girls were supposed to be smoking pot.

Big deal. Big fuc--. SG censored herself. Superman hated coarse language. If she started thinking dirty words, pretty soon she'd be saying them. Then she'd have to listen to a lecture 20 times longer and more boring than Miss Toopermann's.

The orientation session ended at 2 o'clock, and Estelle suggested they stroll over to O'Malley's. Several other girls joined them, including SG's roommate, a bookish girl named Julia who wore thick glasses and argyle knee socks and whose only possible attraction to the opposite sex was a pair of large, nicely shaped breasts.

The malt shop was full of boys and girls from Garfield High School, along with a sprinkling of Marston students. "Blueberry Hill" was playing on the jukebox.

SG, Estelle and Julia slipped into a booth. Trish, the captain of the volleyball team, grabbed the fourth seat.

"We can use someone tall like you," Trish said, after being introduced to SG. "Did you play sports in high school?"

"Yes. Some. I liked track and field best, but I played volleyball, too."

"Speaking of sports," said Estelle in a low voice, "here comes the biggest, dumbest jock at Lackanooka. Whatever you do, don't attract his attention."

Three young men had entered the shop, laughing and talking too loud. One of them was huge -- at least six and a half feet tall. SG estimated that he weighed between 250 and 270 pounds.

"His name is Louie," Estelle whispered. "He's on the football team. And he was a high school champion at the shot put. But mostly he's an All-American asshole."

Mr. O'Malley was frantically trying to wave the newcomers away.

"You're not allowed in here," he protested. "The people at your college and the people at Marston agreed you boys would stay away."

"Aw, go screw yourself, O'Malley," said Louie. "We're free, white and 21. We can go anywhere we damn please."

"I'm calling the dean," O'Malley said angrily, reaching for the phone that hung on the wall.

"Go ahead," said Louie. "And when you're through, give me the phone so I can call my uncle. You know my uncle — Oscar Ungtjur."

O'Malley put the phone receiver back into its cradle. "Your uncle is Mr. Ungtjur? At the bank?"

"That's right, Mick. And not just at the bank. President of the bank — the very bank that holds the note on this sorry excuse for a business."

O'Malley blanched. Then he disappeared through a back door, muttering to himself. His soda jerk, a pimply young man named Tucker, ducked behind the counter.

"Alright," said Louie, sitting on a stool with his long legs spread and looking at the girls in SG's booth. "What have we here? The volleyball girl, Trish the Dish. And lovely Estella."

"It's Estelle, not Estella," said Estelle icily.

"And a scholarly type with big tits," Louie went on. "She's new. And, wow, look at this other newcomer — a blonde bombshell."

He slipped his big right hand down to his crotch and rubbed it lasciviously. "Forget about banana splits and hot fudge sundaes, girls. Which of you little honeys wants to wrap her lips around the biggest and sweetest dong in Ohio?"

"Oh, you're disgusting," said Trish. "You really are the most disgusting male I've ever met."

"Why, I'm sorry you feel that way, Trishie," said Louie. "But my guess is that you just don't like males of any sort. You'd probably prefer to slip your tongue into Estella's slit, or maybe Blondie here."

He got up and strolled to the booth. Julia and Trish were sitting on the outside, closest to him. He reached down and grabbed Julia's right breast. She tried to push his hand away, but he tightened his grip.

"You're hurting me," she cried. Trish leaped up, but one of the other young men who had come in with Louie grabbed her and pinned her arms behind her.

A high school boy tried to intervene, but Louie's other companion punched him in the face and he fell backward to the tile floor.

SG faced a dilemma. She could get up and beat the stuffing out of these three bullies without breaking a sweat. But if she did so, she'd blow her cover, and there would be hell to pay back home.

She decided to let this sordid scene play itself out. It was a nasty business, but no one was likely to get seriously hurt.

Louie released Julia's tit and turned to Trish, who was struggling to free herself.

"Did I ever show you my volleyball serve?" Louie asked, with a wicked grin. Then he swung his arm in a big arc and punched Trish hard in the belly. She made a whooshing sound and crumpled to the floor.

"That's it," cried SG. She slid out of the booth and confronted Louie.

"Uh-oh, Blondie's pissed," he said, rolling his eyes in mock terror. "We're all in big trouble now."

SG was indeed pissed. She was pissed at him and even more at her situation. How could breaking up a dope ring be more important than stopping this bully? Then she remembered Superman's admonition — if she couldn't handle this simple assignment, she could forget about helping him deal with the real bad guys.

So when Louie suddenly grabbed her by the neck, spun her around and pulled her backward against his body, she resisted with but a small fraction of her strength -- a fraction she believed would be normal for a woman her size.

"I like it when they struggle," he laughed. His big left forearm was across her throat, and his right hand was squeezing her breasts. Then he slid his hand down to her belly and under the waist band of her skirt. In an instant, he had inserted his big middle finger inside her vagina.

She was furious and humiliated. She reached down, grabbed his hand and pulled it away. He was surprised by her strength.

"Bitch is tougher than I thought," he said, breathing hard. "Okay, Tom, take her out."

While Louie held her from behind, the man who had been holding Trish slammed his fist into SG's jaw. Her head snapped to the right, and she went limp in Louie's arms. He let her fall face forward on top of Trish, who was still out cold.

"You dirty bastards," Estelle said hoarsely. Outside, a police siren was approaching.

"Bye-bye, girls," said Louie. "We'll be seeing you again. Soon." He and his companions opened the door and crossed the street.

Estelle knelt beside SG. "Oh, Sallie, are you okay? Talk to me, honey. Did they break anything?"

SG had pretended being knocked out, and now she pretended to regain consciousness. She had to keep up the act. The punch had startled her, but it hadn't hurt. What did hurt — what hurt her pride, if not her body — was her discovery, while Louie was manhandling her, that there was something pleasurable in this rough stuff.

She felt ashamed.

The police arrived and were swarmed by the angry crowd in the malt shop. Trish and Julia wanted to file charges against Louie and the other bullies. But Mr. O'Malley insisted he hadn't seen anything.

The reaction of the police was puzzling. They took statements from Trish, Julia and several others, including the high school boy who had been punched, but they seemed hesitant and unenthusiastic.