“No!” he said. “You let her alone.”
Lorraine sighed. At last someone had come to her assistance. He wasn’t Marty, but in some ways he was even better. Her lips started to form the words “Thank you” even as Biff removed his hands from her body and started to get out of the car.
“All right, McFly,” he snarled. “You had your chance. Now I’m gonna teach you a lesson.”
He moved toward George, one large hand reaching out to grab any part of the interloper’s body. It brought back a large section of sleeve with George’s arm enclosed. Twisting, Biff had the satisfaction of hearing George groan and saw fear register in his eyes. As he applied even greater pressure, a flailing fist moved slowly toward his head. It struck Biff on the shoulder, causing no damage or pain at all.
“Help!” Lorraine shouted.
George wanted to yell the same thing, but managed to grit his teeth and choke off the cowardly word. Twisting his body back and forth, he attempted vainly to get out of Biff’s clutches. One arm of the bully encircled George’s neck; the other forced his arm up his back so hard George was sure he would hear the snap of bone at any moment.
“Stop it, Biff!” Lorraine shouted. “You’ll break his arm!”
“That’s right, baby!” Biff shot back. “That’s just what I’m going for.”
He applied more pressure. Then, far on the periphery of his circle of awareness, he heard a sound…like faraway riveting…or was it running footsteps? Partly distracted, he allowed his grip to relax.
Desperate with pain, George reacted to the split second respite with blind instinct. Pulling himself from Biff’s grasp, he turned and, with both eyes firmly closed, threw the hardest punch of his life.
To his—and Biff’s—surprise, it landed flush on the jaw of his attacker, driving his entire head up and backwards like it had suddenly been struck by a flying two-by-four. Biff’s moan immediately followed the sharp crack of bone meeting bone.
Delightfully reminiscent of the duffel bag, Biff Tannen dropped to the asphalt like an inanimate object. A referee could have counted to at least a hundred before there was the slightest movement of his body.
“Oh, George! You were wonderful!”
Lorraine’s sparkling eyes stared at George’s, projecting a message of total adoration. George shook his head, looked down at his fist and then at the crumpled form of Biff Tannen near his feet. He couldn’t believe it!
Nor could Marty, who, followed by the five black musicians, had just arrived on the scene. But the picture was clear and perfect, with every detail in place—Lorraine’s torn dress, the prostrate form of the bully and nervously grinning face of the unlikely hero. Others arriving on the scene immediately grasped the significance of the scene and were touched by it.
“Who is that kid?” one male voice asked. “Does he go to our school?”
“It’s George McFly,” another answered. “He’s been in our homeroom for two years.”
“Never noticed him before…”
“Look at that guy out cold, will you? What a punch that little guy must have!”
“Way to go, Georgie!”
Reaching out to his father, Marty grasped his hand and shook it.
“Great work, Dad,” he said. “I mean, George.”
“Thanks.”
A disquieting thought rushed through Marty’s mind his work wasn’t done yet. Not only had he to make his getaway; he still had to get his mother and father together, have them kiss romantically on the dance floor. But the final number had been played and a few couples already left, although the vast majority of the young people were still hanging around, talking.
“It’s not too late,” Marty breathed. Then, in a louder voice, he said: “Hey, everybody! I think we should have one more dance just so this nice couple can celebrate!”
A shout of approbation mingled with the sound of distant thunder.
Marty looked at the sky, grabbed Lorraine with one hand and George with the other. “Come on, gang!” he shouted. “We’re going back in for one more number.”
The group rushed back to the gymnasium, passing the Starlighters on the way.
“Hey, you guys!” Marty said. “How about giving us one more number?”
“Dance is over,” one of them said.