“Hi, Biff, how’s it going?” young George McFly asked, trying to sound casual but not carrying it off very well. His voice had a distinctly subservient tone.
“What d’you mean, it?” Biff shot back as his cohorts laughed. “What’s it?”
“Er…that’s just an expression,” George muttered. “I…just wanted to make sure everything was all right with you.”
“Everything?” Biff repeated. “You’re interested in everything about me? That’s a lot. You mean, you’re interested in what I had for breakfast, whether I burped afterward or not—”
His pals howled as George forced a smile, then lapsed into silence.
Still the same old punching bag, Marty thought, looking at his future father.
“You got my homework finished, McFly?” Biff asked, “you Irish bug?”
George’s eyes avoided those of his nemesis. “Well, no,” he muttered softly. “I figured that since it’s not due till Monday…”
Biff reached out with his fist and knocked three times on George’s head.
“Hello,” he said loudly. “Anybody home?”
Once again his friends laughed automatically, emulating Pavlov’s dog perfectly.
“Think, McFly,” Biff Tannen continued. “Think! I’ve gotta have time to copy it, right? Do you realize what would happen if I turned in my homework in your handwriting? I’d get kicked out of school.”
“Yeah,” George smiled. “I guess I didn’t think of that. I’m sorry.”
Marty sighed and shook his head. It was almost too painf
ul to watch, this beginning of a thirty-year torture test which his father continued to fail.
“What are you looking at, butthead?”
Marty suddenly realized the words were directed at him, and not his father. But instead of looking away from the pitiful drama taking place in front of him, he continued to direct a gaze of disgust at both Tannen and George McFly. To his satisfaction, Biff looked away.
“So how about my homework, McFly?” he asked, continuing the badgering session.
George shrugged his shoulders, a gesture that was part resignation and part obeisance. “Uh, O.K., Biff,” he said. “I’ll do it tonight and bring it over first thing tomorrow morning.”
Biff nodded coldly. “Not too early,” he said. “I sleep in on Sundays. If you woke me up, I’d have to mess up your features a little.”
His pals cackled once again, bringing a delighted smile to Biff’s face. George sat tightly scrunched onto the stool, every twitch of his body indicating that he wanted nothing more than to see the last of Biff Tannen on this day.
His joy at Biff’s leavetaking was to be delayed briefly, however. Turning as if to go, Biff suddenly whirled, looked down at George’s feet and said: “Oh, hey, McFly—your shoe’s untied.”
“Huh?”
As George’s glance dropped, Biff brought up his fist, tapping him on the point of the chin. It was a blow that was more embarrassing than painful. “Fell for it again, didn’t you, McFly?” Biff laughed. “Boy, if anybody wanted to coldcock you, they wouldn’t have any trouble.”
“I guess not,” George murmured.
“Come on, guys, let’s go,” Biff announced, leading the way out of the shop.
George and Marty watched them go.
“I can’t believe it,” Marty said finally. “You’re a young George McFly…”
His father-to-be looked at him, puzzled. “Of course I’m young,” he said. “Do I know you from someplace? You don’t look familiar.”
“No,” Marty replied. “But I know you.”