Marty climbed out of the pond. He was drenched. His future clothing seemed to weigh four times as much as it did when he was dry. He dragged his soaking wet body over to the little girl who owned the hoverboard, who, along with her friend, seemed content to stand around and watch all the excitement. Marty pushed his damp hair out of his face as he held the board out to her.
‘Thanks a lot, kid.’
‘Keep it! she said as she held up her new possession, so large that she could barely lift it. ‘I've got a Pit Bull now!’
She and her friend both climbed on the monster hoverboard that had once been owned by Griff and zoomed away.
So now Marty had a hoverboard. He doubted Doc would let him keep it. Still, Marty tucked the pink board under his slippery arm - you never knew when this sort of thing would come in handy.
In the meantime, he might be a little wet, but his mission had been a success. He had told Griff and the others just where to go. Now all he had to do was meet Doc. and this future trip was history!
But there was something wrong with his jacket. It ballooned with air, as Marty heard twin fans whirring on either side of his ribcage. Hot air blasted up from the collar to his face and hair. A small, bright orange patch had lit on the cuff of his sleeve. The patch read DRYING MODE.
Five seconds later, he was no longer wet. Hey! As far as Marty was concerned, this future stuff was getting better and better!
But it wasn’t perfect here - not with what still bothered him. He knew that by saying ‘no’ to Griff, he had managed to save his son. But he had also learned, thanks to Biff Tannen, that his own life had gone down the toilet’! His son was safe, but what about him? Marty needed to do something about his own future!
‘Save the clock tower!’ an old man in mechanic’s coveralls yelled as he walked back and forth in front of the courthouse. ‘Save the clock tower!’
What? They wanted to tear down the clock tower again? Marty figured that when the rest of the build-r.g had been turned into a shopping mall, that old. stopped clock had to have real historical value.
‘Hey, kid,’ the old guy called as Marty walked past, can you thumb a hundred bucks to help save the dock tower?’ He held out a silver box with the inscription ‘Portable Thumb Unit’.
Marty hesitated.
‘It's an important piece of history,’ the other guy added earnestly. The circular name patch over his pocket said his name was ‘Terry'.
Marty remembered Doc's warning not to get involved in anything else in the future.
‘No, sorry,' he replied as he took a step away.
But Terry wasn’t going to give up that easily.
‘Kid,’ he asked, glancing back at the weathered tower, ‘you know the story? It was sixty years ago, November 12 1955. Back then, a hundred bucks was worth something. I remember it because that old buzzard over there’ - he pointed across the street at Biff, who had started to polish Griff’s car again - tried to shaft me out of three hundred bucks for fixing his car,' Terry continued. ‘I never forget about money. Anyway, there was this big storm-’
‘Yeah,’Marty interrupted, ‘I know all about it. Lightning struck the clock tower at exactly 10:04.’ ‘Hey,’ Terry replied a bit testily. ‘Don’t tell me, kid. I was there.’
‘So was I,’ Marty added under his breath. He turned again to go - and stopped.
There, on the opposite side of the street, was a big screen showing baseball footage. Marty had seen that kind of special screen in ball parks - they were the latest thing back in 1985. He imagined that, here in the future, those big screens must be everywhere.
The baseball footage disappeared, replaced by a banner headline:
CUBS SWEEP MIAMI IN WORLD SERIES!
Huh? Things really had changed.
‘The Cubs win the World Series?’ Marty wondered aloud. ‘Against Miami?’
‘Yeah.’ Terry nodded in a particularly wistful way. A hundred to one shot. Who woulda thought?’ He shook his head regretfully. 'Sure wish I could go back in time and lay some bets on them Cubbies.’
Actually, Marty hadn’t been thinking about the Cubs.
‘No.’ he began, I just meant that Miami -’ He stopped himself, and stared at the other man.
What did you just say?' Marty asked.
‘I said,’ the man obligingly repeated. ‘I sure wish I could go back in time and put money on the Cubs.’