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1955—Hill Valley High Lunch Room

After Marty dragged George away to meet Lorraine, Amelia followed the exodus of teenagers to the lunch room. It was almost identical to the cafeteria she had left in 1985. The walls were the same ugly off-white color, the floors the same hideous brown. Even the set up of the cafeteria tables was just as she remembered it. All that was needed was a soda machine and it would be like she had never left her own time.

Amelia bought a chocolate milk and settled herself as far back in the cafeteria as possible. She watched as the other kids took their seats, eyeing her curiously, clearly labeling her as "the new girl". However, no one came over to say hello or strike up polite conversation and Amelia was relieved. Another opportunity to screw up the universe was not what she needed at the moment. Judging by the look on Marty's face before he and George had left and what she had heard of Lorraine's conversation, they had enough work on their hands. Amelia busied herself with her milk and waited for Marty.

Lorraine and her group of friends entered the cafeteria first. She sat a few tables ahead of Amelia, facing her way. Their eyes met, Amelia offered a small smile and Lorraine looked away, still embarrassed by their last encounter. She felt bad for Lorraine. Amelia knew what it was like to chase somebody you couldn't have, to watch him with another girl and wish like crazy it were you. She didn't blame Lorraine for disliking her; she felt the same burning jealousy towards Jennifer. Amelia just didn't show it in the same way Lorraine did.

Amelia looked up from Lorraine's table just in time to see Marty and George come into the cafeteria. Marty spotted her and motioned for George to follow him. They made their way to the back of the lunch room, passing Lorraine on the way. She stole a quick glance at Marty but seemed to take no notice of George whatsoever. George, for his part, put up his hand to wave, but when he saw she wasn't looking he quickly ran it through his hair. Not a good sign, Amelia thought as Marty sank into the chair next to her. George sat opposite them and buried himself in a notebook.

"Are you sure this is ok? Should he sit with me?" Amelia muttered.

"Don't worry, nothing will happen," Marty whispered back.

"How can you know for sure?"

"He's not exactly…as confident as my mom is." Marty looked at George with something like pity. Amelia immediately understood. George had never been with a girl.

"How bad did it go?" Amelia asked, still in a subdued voice. George didn't seem to be paying any attention to them. His nose was almost touching his notebook as he scrawled across the page.

"She didn't even look at him," Marty groaned quietly, "talked to me the whole time! And he…he didn't stick up for himself, didn't put himself out there. Lorraine still doesn't know he exists. I wish he'd just march up to her and make her notice him."

"What about that pep talk you were supposed to give him?" Amelia asked.

"Guess it didn't work."

They sat in silence for a while. Amelia finished her milk. Marty took out a quarter and spun it on the table top. George continued to scribble away in his notebook, now and then referencing a pad of paper or one of his books. His face was set in severe concentration. Marty stopped playing with his quarter and watched him.

"George, buddy, what are you doing?" Marty asked.

George's head jerked up and then fell again sheepishly.

"Writing stories…science fiction stories…about people coming down from other planets," he said into the table.

"Get outta town, I didn't know you did anything creative," Marty smiled. George looked up, surprised by the pleasant tone of Marty's voice. He smiled back at him.

"Yeah, well..."

"Can I read some?" Marty asked as he reached across the table. George recoiled.

"Oh no, I never let anyone read my stories," he said.

"Why not?"

"Well," George started, looking suddenly shy again, "what if they didn't like them? What if they told me I was no good? I don't think I could take that kind of a rejection, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah I know," Marty said quietly. George had successfully made him feel like a terrible person without even knowing it.

So his dad was a little socially awkward. So he kept to himself and did his damndest to avoid confrontations. So he allowed himself to be bullied by Biff and everybody else in school. So he couldn't talk to girls. He was still a person wasn't he? He still had feelings! And he definitely didn't deserve to be kicked down a crowded hallway and made a laughing stock of. Marty felt ashamed of himself for even thinking it, no matter how frustrated he had been. This was his dad, the man who would be there for every minor crisis of his life. He owed him more than that.

"So, George, about Lorraine," Amelia broke in, sensing Marty's preoccupation. "She really likes you. She told me to tell you that she wants you to ask her to the dance this Saturday."

"Look you guys," George said, setting down his pencil for the first time, "thanks a lot for trying to set me up with Lorraine and all, but I don't think it's gonna happen."

"Come on, George, all you gotta do is go ask her," Amelia encouraged.

"No I couldn't do that," he chuckled, picking up his pencil again. "Besides, I think she wants to go with someone else."
"Who?" Marty asked.

"Biff," George said, jerking his head behind him. Marty looked up. Sure enough, there was Biff at Lorraine's table.

So that's Biff, Amelia thought as she watched him harassing Lorraine. He was a meaty guy, with a thick neck, crew cut, and a stupid expression on his face. Biff looked like the kind of guy that still laughed at his own farts. Amelia had known plenty of guys like him; only in 1985 they were called football players.

"Come on, you know you want it," they heard Biff say, "And you know you want me to give it to you."

He had Lorraine's wrist in a tight grip and she was struggling to free herself. Amelia felt uncomfortable.

"Somebody do something," she said.

In a flash, Marty had left their table and was yanking Biff up by the collar. As Biff reached his full height Marty recoiled and let go of his shirt. He was a good head taller and quite a bit wider than Marty.

"You lookin' for a fight, punk?" Biff sneered, shoving Marty. Marty didn't say anything. "I'm talkin' to you, butthead!" Biff pushed him again.

This time, Marty grabbed a fistful of Biff's shirt and they both pulled back as if to punch. Before they had a chance to swing, however, Strickland appeared. Biff hesitated and then gently lowered his raised fist.

"I'll let you off today 'cause you're new," he muttered to Marty as Strickland glared at them, "but I suggest you make like a tree and get outta here before I change my mind."

Marty straightened his shirt, shot one last glare in Biff's direction, and stalked back to where Amelia was sitting. He knew he would have regretted picking a fight with Biff after his eyes had swollen shut, but a part of Marty wished that Strickland hadn't interfered. Ten more seconds was all he would've needed to give him an attractive black eye. Marty wasn't normally a violent person, but laying into Biff would've been supremely satisfying after everything that had happened and made better by the fact that he rightly deserved it.

Amelia, on the other hand, breathed a sigh of relief when Strickland appeared. There was no doubt in her mind that had Marty and Biff started to fight, Biff would've won and Marty would've come out resembling ground beef. Strickland's sudden appearance sent a wave of relief through her system and allowed her lungs to regain function.

"That was close," she said to George as she relaxed into her chair. But he wasn't there. Amelia looked around but there was no sign of him. She had been so focused on Marty she hadn't heard him leave.

"Where'd he go?" Marty asked.

Amelia shrugged.

"Shit," he said under his breath. "Come on, let's go find him."