CHAPTER NINE
Never A Dull Moment

Tuesday, November 8, 1955
12:16 AM

Emmett Brown's Packard convertible hummed quietly down the streets of Hill Valley near midnight, its headlights washing the pristine pavement in long, soft beams of white light. Turning into Sycamore Street, Emmett crawled to a stop along the left curb. Lobbing the gearshift into park, he, Marty, and Emma looked across the street at 1711 Sycamore nestled quietly between two quaint suburban homes.

"That's the one, Doc," Marty said, leaning between him and Emma from the backseat. "I gotta get through the second floor window."

"How are you going to get up there?" Emma asked.

"There's some kind of ivy fence along the right side of the house," Marty said, adjusting the hair dryer on the belt of his radiation suit. "It should get me to the porch roof. If not, I may need a boost."

He nudged Emma's arm with a wink, completely forgetting it was her bad arm until her eyes grew from the shock of the pain. The moment her face contorted, Emma squeezed her upper arm to stem the pain, Emmett threw his hand over her mouth to mute her scream, and Marty began whispering his apology profusely.

"Oh shit, Em, I'm sorry! I didn't hit the actual spot, did I?"

Emma hissed a few quick breaths as Doc lowered his hand. After a deep, long exhale, her eyes fluttered open again, and she relaxed her grip on her arm as she looked over at it. She shook her head.

"You should have taken your morphine shot before we came out here," Emmett said.

"So it wouldn't hurt as bad when Marty assaulted my shoulder?"

"I nudged your arm, smartass."

"It still hurts, dipshit!"

"Hey hey hey, alright alright alright! That'll be enough of that," Emmett said sternly, looking between the two of them. His eyes stopped on Emma for half a moment.

…Dipshit?

Regrouping, Emmett pointed at Marty. "Got everything?"

"Yeah." He smiled at Emma and Doc, hopping over the car door to the sidewalk. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck," Emma whispered as he made long, silent strides up the street

With the dim moonlight creating sharp edges on the jutting cross beams and enhancing the deep lines in the towering pillars of swirled stone and brick, the house seemed rather intimidating. Emma was sure in the daylight it was lovely, but as she and Doc watched Marty disappear into the shadows to the right of the house she tried to swallow her apprehension. Moments later, his yellow radiation suit was scaling the trellis, carefully traversing the large spaces between the narrow beams, and pulling itself up onto the second story balcony.

Emma let out a sigh as Marty slipped into the house. Relieved that he hadn't fallen when navigating the cross beams, a smile of admiration rested on her lips for him not having done so.

"Well, he's in now," Emmett said. He checked his watch on the inside of his left wrist. "Hopefully he's not in there more than ten minutes. Lord only know what happens if his grandparents wake up."

"He knows what he's doing," Emma said, covering her mouth as a deep yawn followed.

"I do wish you had stayed back to get some sleep," Emmett said. "How bad is your shoulder right now?"

"Not awful. I took an extra hydrocodone before we left." She looked up at the house, shrugging into the warmth of her coat as a small breeze passed over. "You know, if you had another hair dryer, I'd be up there. I don't know how I would do it with a bad arm, but I would." She smiled. "I can't let Marty have all the fun."

Emmett smiled back up at the house. These two kids…they certainly seemed like brother and sister. Though he did not know of many sincere boy-girl friendships, they seemed to have it down pat, even to the point that they could throw a sailor's profanities at one another without consequence. The boy had pleaded for her life on his lawn not forty-eight hours ago, and she demanded to be on the front with him to right the situation despite her wound. He was still trying to fathom their loyalty to him, but perhaps it wasn't so hard to do so if he looked at the loyalty they held to each other.

"So, this nurse that fixed me up," – Emma stole a glance at her not-yet-father, slightly amused at how quickly his expression darkened at her mention – "how do you know she won't tell anyone?"

Emmett harrumphed, his feathers ruffled instantly.

"That nurse doesn't bother herself with the details of my 'pathetic little life,' 'pitiful research,' and my experiments that are 'absolutely laughable.'" He glared through George's house with a scowl. "Never mind she got a sizeable check to go spend sauntering about Pismo with the new physics professor, the thick-headed imbecile." He planted his elbow on the top of the car door, gesturing into the air as he spoke. "He has a doctorate in astronomy, but that's hardly physics, is it? What a disgrace. Allowing that man to teach a field he hasn't even a mind for? Not that he has a mind for much. The size of his forehead is not the least bit deceiving to me. Though it pales in comparison to the size of his chin."

Emmett rested his own chin on his thumb, his other fingers curling around his mouth as he brooded. After a moment of silence, he looked sideways at Emma, deepening his eyebrows further at the wide smile on her face.

"What?" he demanded.

Emma tried to bite back her large grin, looking at the glove box. "You'll see her again. You know that, right? As passionately as you two hate each other –"

"Don't you threaten me like that."

She laughed as the bushes in the distance rustled loudly. A dog began barking, and across the street, Marty was making a light-footed break for the car. He jumped into the backseat, short of breath but smiling.

"Mission accomplished then?" Emma asked.

"Perfectly," Marty said, detaching the helmet from his suit. "He swallowed everything like a ton of bricks."

Emmett made a face as he started the car, shifted it into drive, and pulled away from the curb. "You mix metaphors beautifully, my friend."

It took them until second block to realize George was not in the building. Their systematic search turned up nothing; he was either ditching out of fear or skipping town all together. Marty said as much in the library as Emma skimmed through the shelves on the vacant second floor.

She smirked. "I doubt he's on the lamb," she said, putting H.G. Wells back on a low shelf. She took the book right next to it, an older edition of the same story, and leafed through the yellowed, careworn pages. "You probably just used too much chloroform. I was out for hours after Dad gave me just a little bit, and that was through stitches."

Marty grimaced and pocketed his hands. She had a point. And as dark as it had been, it shouldn't have been a surprise that the bottle was lighter than expected when he left the house.

"Damn it. He's probably in a coma. Hell, how do I know my grandparents didn't find him unresponsive and take him to the hospital?" He exhaled soundly. "You think you should still go to the café?"

"Yes," Emma said immediately. "I have to talk him up as much as possible as quickly as possible. This is the best time to do it. The only time."

Marty fell into a nearby armchair. "You're right."

Emma watched him cradle his head in his hand. As stressed as this had him, a smile came to her as she turned back to the bookshelves.

"So," – she touched the edges of the pages slowly – "of the two photos you keep on your person, one of them is my senior picture?"

Marty's head snapped up. She took up the armchair across from him, still smiling into the pages of The Time Machine. Marty shrugged when she finally looked up, aloof.

"Yeah. Your picture is in my wallet. So what?"

"Yours went right in my locker."

"Maybe I don't want it in my locker. Maybe it's in my wallet for a reason."

Emma played along. "And what's that?"

"Kindling."

"Kindling?"

"You never know, Em."

Before Emma was to meet Lorraine in front of the auditorium at the last bell, she ducked into its stairwell with Marty. The plan was to follow her at a distance, lingering at the Texaco across the street to get a play-by-play afterwards. She squared her shoulders best she could, smiled at his encouraging "you got this," and left the auditorium just as Lorraine came around the corner.

Lou's Café was packed.

Now crammed into one of the slick, teal booths next to Betty, Emma's stomach turned slightly under her best attempt at a girlish persona. She looked out the window as her hands fidgeted with her brown gingham skirt; Marty stood leisurely across the street as promised, unaffected by the blaring jukebox and rowdy students suffocating her.

Then, to her astonishment, George himself came flying around the corner, disheveled and panting, gesticulating wildly at Marty. Goosebumps rose on her skin; this was it.

I really hope Marty got through to him last night with that hairdryer.

"Did you say that George McFly writes books?"

Betty tapped the ashes from her cigarette and looked at Babs and Lorraine, confirming they were just as surprised to learn this as she. Emma pulled eyes from the window abruptly, eagerly nodding as she flashed them bright smile. She curled her fingers into her skirt more. While that may not have exactly been the truth, she was ready to take George to the next level for the sake of getting Lorraine's attention.

"Oh, yeah! He actually showed me some of his work at lunch yesterday. Pages of it! He's got quite the knack for it."

"Who knew!" Betty laughed.

Lorraine edged in meekly. "Does Calvin write books? Poetry, maybe?"

Emma huffed out a laugh, waving dismissively. "Get out of town. My brother doesn't do any of that kind of stuff."

"Oh."

"But George, wow; that's just the tip of the iceberg," Emma continued, rolling her eyes. She threw her curled hair over her good shoulder, leaning forward earnestly. "He's polite, gets straight A's, and he knows a lot about planetary and space sciences."

Lorraine raised her eyebrows in amusement. "Space sciences?"

"Yeah! All about the planets, the sun; stars, asteroids, moons, black holes, you name it. Very high caliber stuff."

As the girls had a silent, bewildered exchange, Emma caught sight of George hurrying over to the café out of the corner of her eye. Her heart rate picked up, anticipation fluttering in her stomach as she stared at the cherry sinking into her strawberry malt. She took a sip to try to quell the butterflies.

"We should see if he'll take you to the Enchantment Under the Sea dance this weekend," Betty said, taking another long drag from her cigarette.

Emma choked on her malt, coughing into a napkin as Lorraine and Bab's faces lit up.

"Oh my gosh, yes!"

The butterflies plummeted. She set aside the napkin, her malt souring in her throat.

"No, no, no," Emma half-laughed, shaking her head quickly. "I don't want to go to the dance with George."

"Don't be so shy, Emma," Lorraine smiled. "It's obvious you do."

Emma wanted to scream. "No, I really don't! I don't like him like that!"

"But you do!"

"This isn't about me!"

"Of course not; it's all been about George."

Dear god, how was she losing control of this conversation so fast?

"Come on, Emma." Babs pulled her cherry stem out of her mouth, smirking at her. "You haven't stopped talking about him since we left school."

Emma took a deep breath, forcing her hands flat on her knees. Panicking wasn't appropriate; they had simply misunderstood, and she just had to steer the conversation back on track and suggest that Lorraine be interested in him. Because this was getting ridiculous, not to mention dangerous.

"Guys, really," she said evenly, "I don't-"

Lorraine perked up suddenly with a light gasp. "Oh my god, there he is!"

"Call him over!"

"What? No! No, Lorraine –"

"He's coming over!" Babs squealed. "He's coming over!"

"Don't!"

"Shh!"

Emma paled. She tried shaking her head at their mischievous grins, but Lorraine was waving him over, and her mouth went dry. She immediately tried to stand up and remove herself from the situation, but Betty quickly yanked her back down by the arm, making her hiss as pain jolted from her shoulder. By the time Betty let go, George was at their table, eyeing Lorraine. Emma held her breath as George held up a small notepad said Lorraine's name.

"My density has bought me to… you…" He trailed off upon seeing Emma on the other side of the table and blinked. "Hi, Emma."

She shrunk, swallowing hard. She daren't look at him. "Hello, George."

Babs looked between the two of them. "Emma was just talking about you."

And George's eyes went as wide as Emma's. She kicked her under the table.

"Babs!"

"Really?"

"Yeah." Betty exhaled a wisp of smoke. "She hasn't shut up about you yet."

"She was just asking us if we knew who you were taking to the dance on Saturday night," Lorraine said, toying with her straw.

"Well, uh, n-no one yet."

"Then don't you think you should ask Lorraine to go with you?" Emma asked pointedly.

"Me? You're the one who keeps talking about him!" Lorraine laughed. "George, wouldn't you like to take Emma to the dance?"

To her horror, George started to smile. "Sure."

"Perfect!"

"N- Wait a minute," Emma demanded, springing up in front of George. She was about to poke him in the chest with her finger, set him straight, and handcuff him to Lorraine when Biff's voice boomed in their direction, seemingly silencing the jukebox and its listeners.

"Hey, McFly."

Emma slowly shut her eyes, her lips hard and thin with mounting frustration.

Are you serious right now?

"I thought I told you never to come in here."

Don't hit him, Emma. Don't do it.

"Well, it's gonna cost you. How much money you got on you?"

Vision darkening, Emma glared at Biff, daring him to come another step closer lest he get his other eye flicked, but just as recognition registered on his face, he tripped. Emma jumped back as others began to rise from their seats, wondering when Marty had managed to sneak within earshot of their table.

Why the hell didn't he stop that train wreck of a conversation from happening then?

Marty threw her a quick nod before Biff slowly rose over him, draining the faces of his onlookers. Emma craned her neck around Biff's tensed muscles to Marty's widening eyes. Her own muscles tightened in her calves and forearms; her shoulder objected, but she was mentally preparing herself to intervene. She may not throw a solid right hook, but she had enough fingernail to make scratches hurt and heels high enough that she could stab a pressure point to cause significant recoil. Never mind she was in a dress playing spy in 1955 with a concealed bullet wound – he'd never see it coming.

"Whoa, whoa, Biff! What's that?"

Emma leaned back instinctively when Biff looked over his shoulder, looking in the direction Marty had motioned to herself. Brow furrowed, she looked back just in time to see Biff and his cronies falling into the tables and people in front of her. Marty made a mad dash for the front door.

"That's Calvin Klein," Lorraine purred from behind her. "He's an absolute dream."

Emma rolled her eyes, hurrying over fallen students after Marty.

"He's absolutely dead if Biff gets him!"

Someone shoved her forward by the small of her back. Her feet picked off the ground for a second as the afternoon rush poured out onto the sidewalk, carrying it with her. Landing just at the corner, she caught her breath, somehow amazed that someone hadn't rammed into her shoulder during their impatient bustling to –

– to see Marty…skateboarding?...away from Biff's car.

"What's that thing he's on?"

"It's a board with wheels!"

Her feet wouldn't move. Ready to race after Biff's car and jump on the idiot, her feet were cemented to the curb. She couldn't do anything. At least when Marty had been hit by his grandfather's car, she could get him some help. But now? Biff was taking out hedges and driving over curbs just to keep Marty in his sights. Her shoulders fell in relief when he grabbed the back of a vehicle and swung out of Biff's path, only to be pinned moments later.

His legs were going to be crushed. His legs were going to be crushed, and she couldn't carry him all the way back to the manor –

Marty jumped. The makeshift skateboard zipped under the black roaring beast behind it, and Marty hopped, skipped, and slid through the car; over the windshield, over everyone's legs, right off the pristine back end where his feet firmly reunited with their newfound friend. Wobbling but keeping his balance, Marty cringed as the De Luxe's brakes squealed and its passengers barreled into a manure truck.

"Marty!"

Emma came at him as fast as Biff had, her face flush. "Are you okay?"

He nodded and smirked. "Never better."

Marty kicked the skateboard up to his hand, giving it back to the boy he apparently borrowed it from.

At this effervescent display of cocky showmanship, Emma's expression darkened. Now was not the time for Van Halen to appease the adoring fans.

"Are you stupid?"

"What?"

"How many more times are you going to try to take on a car? You lost last time, remember?"

"Actually," – touched the back of his head – "no."

Emma nodded, tightlipped. "That's because the car won, you idiot."

He took Emma by the elbow, leading her out of the gathering crowd. "How does a peanut butter sandwich and iced tea sound?"

"This isn't over, McFly."

"Crunchy it is."

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