“It’s too complicated to explain,” Marty began, trying to dredge up some confidence.
“I have time,” Strickland replied curtly.
Marty swallowed and then plunged ahead. ‘There’s an aunt in Wisconsin,” he said. “And an uncle. They’re both crippled. They were in a car accident about ten years ago. Anyway, she’s going into the hospital tomorrow for another operation and they asked me—”
“Bull droppings,” Strickland interrupted.
“Sir?”
“I said, bull droppings. There’s no crippled aunt and uncle in Wisconsin. That was a personal call, McFly. You know students are to use the school phone only for emergencies.”
“Well, this was an emergency,” Marty shrugged. “Sort of.”
“I don’t think so, McFly.”
“Well, maybe not to me, but it was an emergency to the person who called me.”
“It’s all the same. It’s study hall for you.”
“But why?” Marty challenged. “How can I help it if somebody says it’s an emergency and it’s not? Maybe you should send them to study hall. Anyway, how do you know it wasn’t an emergency?”
“Because I was on the extension in my office and heard the entire conversation.”
Marty felt his ears starting to burn. “But that’s wiretapping,” he said angrily. “That’s against the law.”
“For your information, McFly,” Strickland returned. “It’s not wiretapping. It’s eavesdropping. But it wouldn’t matter. You’re in school, and here I’m the law. Whoever called you with a nonemergency call did you a great disservice. When you’ve come out of study hall, you can tell Doc he’s no friend.”
Marty stared. Inspired by the confrontation, Strickland had a sudden flash of intuition.
“That wouldn’t be Doc Brown, would it?” he asked. McFly’s silence told him he had successfully identified the caller—Doc Brown, the town eccentric, a man who in Strickland’s estimation was simply no good, a child who never grew up.
“Let me give you a nickel’s worth of free advice,” he said. “That Doc Brown is trouble. A real nut case. Perhaps even dangerous.”
“To you, maybe,” Marty replied loyally. “I don’t see it that way.”
“Then you’re not only dim-witted, McFly. You’ve got a severe attitude problem. You’re a slacker. You’ve got aptitude but you don’t apply yourself.” Realizing that he hadn’t quite gotten to the young man, Strickland then applied the crusher. “As a matter of fact,” he rasped, “in a
lot of ways you remind me of your father. He was a slacker, too.”
Marty blanched, for Strickland had struck the one nerve he was unable to protect. He simply did not enjoy being compared to his father, especially when the person doing so put them in the same category. If Strickland had been a contemporary, Marty would have thrown back an angry retort. That, of course, was impossible under the present circumstances, so he merely looked away.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I’m late for class.”
He started to take a step toward the door, but Strickland’s hand shot out quickly.
“I didn’t excuse you, McFly,” he said sharply, grabbing Marty’s elbow.
The sudden motion caused Marty to lose control of his books, two of which started to slide down his leg. Raising his knee, Marty succeeded only in knocking the others loose. A split second later, everything hit the floor, including the hollowed-out book containing his Walkman stereo. As luck would have it, the illicit unit slid tantalizingly across the waxed tile in slow motion, coming to rest in the far corner of the waiting area.
Strickland regarded it with narrowed eyes. Too late, Marty started gathering up his books, quickly placing his body between Strickland and the Walkman.
“You know the rules,” the older man smiled. “No radios in school. That means detention for one week.”
Marty gulped. He started to protest, then accepted the inevitable. “Yessir,” he muttered.
“Starting today,” Strickland continued.
“Today?” Marty gasped. “But I can’t! Me and my band have an audition for the YMCA dance, Mr. Strickland. I have to be there at four o’clock.”