He waved and started for the door, his steps light. Marty knew Doc was happy now, anticipating tinkering with the machine he would invent someday.
The afternoon went slowly. Marty wandered around the halls, did some reading in the library, and spent the last period looking in classrooms for George McFly. When he finally located him, he leaned against the wall until his father came out.
When their eyes again made contact, George looked as if he wanted to run. Who is this person, he thought, and why has he been put on earth just to harass me?
Turning away, he tried to make it to the door by walking briskly and pretending he hadn’t seen Marty. But his guardian angel soon caught up with him.
“Hiya,” Marty said. “I’m sorry that thing in the cafeteria turned out the way it did.”
“Me too,” George replied. “That Biff Tannen is a real jerk. I hated to see him paw Lorraine that way. If only I’d had the—”
He paused, sighed.
The words ending the sentence rushed through Marty’s mind. Nerve? Courage? Guts? Whatever, they all meant the same. George McFly simply had no stomach for conflict, mental or physical. He wanted
a soft warm cocoon to crawl into and spend the rest of his life, preferably asleep. Much as he disliked him for having that attitude, Marty was now dedicated to helping George dispel his fears and anxieties. Until he summoned up the courage to ask Lorraine for a date he was doomed to a life of self-loathing and unhappiness. And unless the two fell in love, Marty had no future at all.
As they walked, Marty tried to think of a new and exciting approach. Nothing came. The best he could manage was suggesting that he ask Lorraine for George, a la Cyrano, but he knew that wouldn’t wash. Even George McFly had some pride.
“This is gonna be a tough day for me all around,” George said finally.
“How so?”
“Well, first there was my chickening out with Lorraine—”
“I wouldn’t say you chickened out,” Marty soothed. “It was more a matter of—”
“No, I chickened out,” George retorted, a hint of real anger in his voice. “I really wanted to rush over and ask Lorraine for a date. And then when Biff was pawing her, I wanted to run over and sock him on the jaw. But I chickened out in both cases. I couldn’t move.”
Marty didn’t answer. In fact, he couldn’t think of a comforting thing to say.
“And now I gotta talk to Dad about college,” George continued.
“What’s so awful about that?”
“He’ll say it’s no good. You know, give me all the reasons why I shouldn’t go. And I’ll believe him and end up not going.”
“Sounds like a self-fulfilling prophecy to me,” Marty observed.
“What?”
“You oughta stand up for what you believe in. What do you want to major in at college?”
George’s eyes shone as he spoke. “I’d kind of like to study writing or journalism. Writing those stories is about the most fun I have. If I could learn to make a living doing something like that…”
“Then tell your father that.”
“Oh, no. He’d laugh if I mentioned the stories. The idea of college is terrible enough.”
“Well, anyway,” Marty urged, “you gotta fight. Stand up to him.”
“I will,” George replied. “This is important to my future so I’ll do it.”
They soon arrived at the house with a placard hanging from the porch. It read THE MCFLYS. A bit tacky for 1985 but probably chic for 1955, Marty thought.
Arthur McFly was outside waxing the car. He waved his rag as the boys approached.
“Go and talk to him right away,” Marty urged.