“That’s your mother?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“It’s better if you don’t go in the same class,” Doc Brown suggested. “The teacher won’t know who the hell you are. My first notion of having you really go back to school isn’t practical, I guess. Better we just hang around and see what we can accomplish.”
“Sure. Let’s see if we can spot Dad. Then at the end of the period, we can arrange to bring them together.”
“Good idea.”
They spent the next twenty minutes wandering the halls, systematically peering into classrooms in order to locate George McFly. Finally he could be seen in the back row of a class only a couple rooms away from Lorraine’s.
“We have about ten minutes to wait,” Marty said, looking at the hall clock.
“Ten seconds slow,” Brown muttered, comparing it with his pocket watch. “You’d think a public school would at least have the correct time.”
They strolled back to Lorraine’s class and peered inside again. She was seated in the second row, writing. The class was obviously taking a test.
“I see the resemblance now,” Doc Brown said. “She has your eyes…” Then, with a little chuckle, he added: “And eyes for someone else’s paper, too.”
“My God!” Marty whispered. “She’s cheating.”
It indeed seemed so. With her hand in writing position and head tilted downward, Lorraine’s eyes were pointed directly at the paper of the young man next to her.
“I can’t believe Mom would do that,” Marty whispered.
“Why not?” Doc Brown countered. “She’s an ordinary human being, isn’t she?”
“Not to hear her tell it. She always talked about what a straight-shooter she was in school, how moral and nice she was—and practically everyone else, too.”
“She has a selective memory like the rest of us,” Doc said philosophically. “Still, I can understand your feelings. It’s kind of a shock to see our parents show their dishonest or seedy side.”
“Maybe we better go get my father,” Marty suggested. They arrived back at George McFly’s class just as the bell rang. As his father got up, Marty was doubly impressed with his nerdish qualities. His shirt tail was out, his hair poorly combed and his papers practically fell out of the three-leaf binder.
“That’s the old man, eh?” Doc Brown said, displaying a notable lack of enthusiasm.
“Yeah.”
They noted that several boys walked behind George McFly, barely suppressing giggles as he moved out of the classroom into the hall. When he neared them, another boy walked up behind George and very deliberately kicked his behind.
George turned, looked at the fellow with downcast eyes. A sign reading KICK ME was hooked onto the back of his collar. He was, of course, completely aware of it.
“Maybe you’re adopted,” Marty heard Doc Brown say softly.
Fat chance, Marty thought.
Just as George McFly was about to be kicked by another student, a familiar figure suddenly appeared on the scene, snatching the sign from his shirt and showing it to him.
“Good God!” Marty gasped. “It’s Mr. Strickland.”
It was true. Hill Valley High’s avenging angel, still wearing a bow tie, was there in the form of Gerald Strickland. He looked younger, a bit tauter; but basically the same. His presence caused the other students to go quickly about their business.
“McFly! Shape up, man!” Strickland shouted.
George regarded him like a prisoner about to be sentenced.
“You’re a slacker!” Strickland charged. “These things happen because you’re not paying attention. Your head must be off on Mars or something. Do you want to be a slacker for the rest of your life?”
George shook his head unconvincingly.