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*author's note*

Alright, so... Any time issues I had in the last chapter I believe have been fixed. If not, please point them out to me and I'll edit ASAP. I know I'm taking a little longer than usual in turning out these chapters, but this is my favorite part of the story and I want to make sure it's good. PLUS, I just got the BTTF novelization from amazon and I've been reading it...sorry : ) ENJOY!

1955—Enchantment Under the Sea Dance

Saturday, November 12, Day of Lightning Strike

Amelia's POV

Amelia sat at the antique dressing table in Emmett's bedroom. Maggie stood behind her and ran a soft brush through her hair, sweeping the tresses off Amelia's forehead and neck. She gave the locks an elegant twist and secured them to the top of her head with bobby pins. The result was a lovely cascade of delicate curls. Maggie squeezed her shoulders and smiled at her through the mirror.

"There, how do you like it?" she asked.

"It's beautiful, Maggie!" Amelia beamed as she leaned forward to inspect herself. Her curls bounced with approval.

"Now, about your makeup," Maggie said, rummaging through a bag on Emmett's bed, "I was thinking of pink lipstick. Not to bold, but not too subtle. What do you think?"

"Sounds great," Amelia said, turning around to look at her.

It was so surreal, even more so than their trip to the dress shop had been. Here they were, otherwise perfect strangers, interacting like they had known each other for their entire lives. Like mother and daughter, like it was supposed to be between them. An unexpected lump appeared in Amelia's throat, startling her. She swallowed hard and it retreated a few inches. Amelia shouldn't have allowed herself to grow close to Maggie, but it had happened. Now she was about to leave and return to a future where Maggie didn't exist anymore, where Amelia would be utterly alone.

"Here, try these," Maggie said, handing Amelia a pile of cosmetics.

She took the makeup and turned back to the mirror. Maggie bent over her shoulder and instructed her on proper application. Amelia followed her directions carefully, sneaking glances at her mother from time to time. Her heart was breaking, ripping in half. She didn't want to leave this. For seventeen years Amelia had been deprived of any type of maternal affection. Now that she had had a taste of it, it wasn't something she was willing to lose. She wished there was something she could do to stop Maggie from dying, but cancer wasn't something you could write a letter preventing. Her father's death could be forewarned, Maggie's was inevitable. Amelia felt the full paralyzing weight of the situation and had to swallow another painful lump.

"Here, pat your lips with this while I get your dress," Maggie handed her a tissue and went to take her dress out of the box.

Amelia dabbed at her lips and tossed the used tissue in the waste basket. As she straightened up she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. Amelia gasped. The face staring back at her was shockingly pretty. Her cheeks and lips had a light blush to them and her eyes seemed to pop out of her face, sparkling a rich jade. Amelia giggled and lifted a hand to her cheek. She had no idea she could look this way. It was a pleasant surprise. She turned her head from left to right and tried to determine which was her better side. The curls bounced better on the left, but her profile was more attractive on the right…

"Amelia!"

Amelia's head whipped around. Maggie was laughing behind her, holding out her dress. She blushed when she realized that Maggie must have been trying to get her attention for a while.

"Sorry," Amelia stood up and hurried across the room to her. "Guess I got carried away."

Maggie just smiled and lifted the gown above her head. Amelia stretched her arms up obligingly and the satin slipped over her skin. It felt deliciously cool against her bare shoulders.

"You look breathtaking," Maggie gushed as she buttoned up the back. "Let's see if Marty will be able to avoid your apology now." Amelia snorted. She had a feeling that Marty could avoid just about anything if he wanted to. "You'll have to tell me all about it when you come home!"

Amelia turned to her. Maggie's eyes were bright with excitement and yet again the lump threatened dangerously. Come home…how desperately she wanted this to be her home. It would be a dream to stay in 1955 with her parents and Marty, to live the life she was about to lose forever. But if Amelia had learned anything in the past week, it was that paradoxes were fickle things to get involved with. What seemed like a great idea now could threaten all of mankind later. "Coming home" to Maggie was not an option.

"Maggie," Amelia began slowly, trying to keep her voice in check, "thank you for everything. You've been wonderful."

She threw her arms about her shoulders and squeezed her tightly. Maggie hugged her back hesitantly at first, baffled by the sudden display of affection. Then, getting the gist, she held her tighter.

"I don't know why it is," she said into Amelia's hair, "but I feel so close to you. Almost like…like sisters. Is that strange?"

"No," Amelia half sobbed. She bit her lip to ward off any tears. She was wearing mascara after all.

"What's this? No crying! You're going to a wonderful party, you're going to make up with Marty, and everything is going to turn out just fine. So smile, darling!" Maggie had pushed Amelia an arm's length away and was searching her face. Amelia smiled sadly. Maggie raised an eyebrow, "Well that's a start. But if I were you I'd work on it a little before showing it off."

Amelia laughed in spite of herself.

The clock on Emmett's nightstand started to chime. It was six-thirty. Amelia had arranged to meet George at the dance a little after seven. She knew it was a bit early but she figured George could use all the pep talk time he could get. The more confidence she could instill in him the smoother things were sure to go on Marty's end. And seeing as George avoided confidence like the plague, an hour and a half of self-esteem building didn't seem unreasonable. Leaving Maggie to straighten things up, Amelia exited Emmett's bedroom and headed down the hallway to the staircase.

Amelia heard the clomping of shoes in the hallway below her. Certain that it was Marty, she rushed to the top of the stairs and took the first few steps two at a time. She slowed just before coming into view and did her best to assume a relatively nonchalant gait. Marty's head appeared under the banister and their eyes met. Amelia offered him a tentative smile.

"…get…going…" whatever Marty had been saying died away. She saw him give her the onceover with openmouthed admiration and her grin widened. Marty pulled at his tie awkwardly.

"Are you alright?" Amelia asked, gliding gracefully down the last few steps and landing next to him.

"Yeah I'm…I'm fine," he stammered. His eyes flashed from her chest to her face and Amelia blushed. Marty looked away, embarrassed.

He was almost irresistibly handsome in his grey and black suit, with his hair combed back nicely and the smell of aftershave radiating from his skin. Amelia felt her heart speed up just looking at him and her whole body warmed by a few degrees. She glanced at his lips and an overwhelming desire to kiss him washed over her. It pulled at her from somewhere deep inside, a dangerous emotion that Amelia had very little experience with. It excited and intrigued her, but it also told her that now was not the time or place. Say something, talk about something else, get your mind off of it. Try apologizing again.

Amelia nodded to herself and cleared her throat.

"Marty, can we talk?" Amelia actually saw him tense up. His whole body went from relaxed to rigid in a matter of seconds and her hopes of a conversation plummeted into oblivion.

"Aims, I want to," Marty said, "but I've really gotta get downtown with Doc. We've got to start setting stuff up or we'll never make it."

He started moving toward the front door.

"But this is really, really important, Marty," Amelia practically begged, reaching for him. Marty paused. She saw him debating with himself and Amelia thought briefly she had won. Then a cloud passed over his eyes and he pulled open the door.

"I'm sorry, Aims," Marty apologized, stepping out onto the front porch, "I gotta go. Take care of George, ok? Make sure he doesn't get himself killed by Biff."

Amelia opened her mouth to speak right as the door latched in her face. She blinked in confusion and then rushed to the window. She saw Marty walk across the lawn to where Emmett's big yellow Ford was parked and toss his coat inside. Anger swept through Amelia like wildfire. Why was he acting so childish? She had understood his standoffishness the first few times he had walked away from a conversation with her, but this was getting ridiculous. She was trying to make things right between them; the least he could do was give her the time of day!

"What's the matter?" Maggie asked, coming down the stairs.

"Nothing," Amelia said tersely, "Can you take me to school? I told George I'd meet him there."

Maggie didn't pull up to the school until eight twenty. They had had car trouble; Maggie's old Chevy had refused to start for about an hour. When it finally did roar to life it wouldn't allow them to exceed thirty miles an hour. The result was Amelia being very, very, very late. She didn't even wait for Maggie to stop the car. As soon as the Chevy had slowed enough for her to avoid serious injury, Amelia jumped out and sprinted towards the gym door.

Her intention had been to keep running until she found George, but three things stopped her. The first was the fact that she was supposed to act in accordance with the times, and in 1955 girls didn't run through buildings. The second was a massive wall of bodies prohibiting much movement of any kind. And the third was the unexpected transformation the gym had undergone.

The Hill Valley High School gymnasium was almost unrecognizable. The dance committee had had really gone all out on the decorations. Tinsel shimmered from nearly every wall, bouncing light back and forth and giving an underwater effect. Huge paper fish hung from the rafters and swayed in the breeze created by so many bodies. Giant pillars of coral twisted along the walls and a mermaid stood guard over the punch fountain. On stage a live band was wailing away, providing a least fifty couples with a reason to use the dance floor. Amelia looked around her with impressed eyes. HVH had never thrown a party like this in 1985.

She caught sight of George waving to her from across the gym and pushed her way through the mass of bodies. He was hovering nervously around the snack table, sweating profusely. As Amelia approached him she reached into her purse and pulled out a handkerchief.

"Here, please wipe wherever there's moisture," she said, handing it to him and making a face.

"Oh, thanks, I forgot mine," George said, reaching for it eagerly. He wiped his forehead vigorously. "You're over an hour late! I thought you weren't coming."

"I'm so sorry, George," Amelia apologized, "the car wouldn't start."

"I've been pacing for the past forty minutes," George rushed, "I'm so nervous…I think I might throw up."

"No," Amelia said, taking his arm, "No, George, please. You have to do this, ok? It's very important that you and Lorraine get together. You can't throw up."

George nodded with understanding, undoubtedly thinking about his endangered brain.

"I know, I know. I don't want to let anybody down." George finished wiping his forehead and offered her back her handkerchief. Amelia smiled and politely declined. He pocketed it.

"You won't let anybody down," Amelia reassured, giving his arm a squeeze.

"But I've never been with a girl before. I've never even held a girl's hand…" George flushed scarlet and didn't look at her.

"You've danced with a girl before though, right?" Amelia asked. George stared at his shoes. "Really? Oh, George…come here."

Amelia took his hand and pulled him to the dance floor. The song had just switched to a slower number and the couples around them cuddled close to one another. Amelia took George's hand, which she noticed was trembling terribly, and placed it on the small of her back. The other hand she held in her own. George stared at her, horrified.

"N-now what?"

"You lead," she smiled. "Trust me, it's easy. Just back and forth…back and forth…there you go!"

George turned them in a slow circle. It wasn't very graceful, but it was better than not moving at all. Amelia continued to praise him and George gradually began to build some confidence in himself. He didn't move any faster, but a smile did appear on his face. By the time the song had ended they had completed two-and-a-half turns and George was glowing with pride.

"Gee!" He said, laughing, "That was great!"

"Poor Lorraine," Amelia teased, "she's about to be swept off her feet and she doesn't even know it."

The band began to play another slow song and George insisted on practicing his dancing again. Amelia willingly agreed and, to her amazement, they started to turn a little faster. Apparently she was good at this "building self-esteem" thing.

"Did Marty sweep you off your feet?" George asked suddenly. Amelia blanched, startled.

"What?" she breathed.

"You said I'm going to sweep Lorraine off her feet," George clarified, "did Marty sweep you off your feet too?" Amelia bit her lip and looked over his shoulder. She wasn't sure how to answer him. "I'm sorry," George apologized, "I just thought you two were…"
"No, no, George, it's alright," Amelia said, forcing a smile. "He…did, just like you will with Lorraine."

She knew it had been the right thing to say when a huge smile spread across George's face. He daringly twirled her away from him and back. Amelia laughed.

"You're getting pretty good at this," she praised.

"Thanks, I—oh no!" George suddenly froze. The color drained from his face.

"What? What's the matter?"

"I gotta go, its 8:55. I gotta meet Marty!"

George grabbed her hand and pulled her through the crowd. The minute they broke the barrier of bodies they started to run. George practically kicked the gym door open and flew down the stairs three at a time. Amelia, who had wrenched her hand free of his grasp, almost tripped on her way down the steps. She followed George across the schools lawn and to the parking lot. They rounded a corner and saw Emmett's yellow Ford, it was rocking violently. Amelia wrinkled her nose in disgust. Poor Marty.

"Alright, I'm going in," George said, straightening his jacket. "Wish me luck."

"Best of luck, George!" Amelia called as he marched away.

He was halfway to the Ford when Amelia noticed something. A face pressed up against the passenger side window. A face that definitely wasn't Marty's. Horror and recognition occurred at the same time. Biff was in the car with Lorraine.

Damn it.