剧本《回到未来2》(Back to the Future part 2)

BACK TO THE FUTURE

Screenplay by Robert Zemeckis & Bob Gale

Mach 11, 1980

INT. ORPHEUM THEATER - LABORATORY OF PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

The credits began to roll across the TV screen for the movie Close
Encounters as the 3/4-inch cassette finished copying over to Beta and
VHS. Seventeen-year-old Marty McFly looks up from his issue of Rolling
Stone, where he was checking out an ad for a guitar amp. Maybe after a
few more pirated tapes he would have enough money to buy it.

Marty sets the magazine down and stops the tapes, rewinds them, then
takes a pen and carefully writes, Close Encounters, Original Edition on
the labels. He places the master tape in a drawer. Other titles of
bootlegged videotapes jump out at him as he does so: The Empire Strikes
Back, Stir Crazy, and Superman II.

Marty turns off the video equipment and picks up his schoolbooks, along
with the other two videocassettes. He walks into another room connected
to the video lab. This one is much larger, filled with workbenches
covered with electronics, chemical equipment, and dust.

MARTY
Professor Brown! It's almost eight thirty -- I'm outta here!

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Shhhhhhhh!

Professor Emmett Brown hissed, his white head bent over what looked to
Marty like a solar cell. At 65, he was considered the town eccentric,
an inventor who's inventions didn't always work the way they were
supposed to. Professor Brown was tall -- though his posture had grown
more hunched with age -- and had a mane of shaggy white hair that was
almost always unruly and uncombed. At the moment, the Professor tries
to get the cell positioned under the skylight in a certain way, maybe
to catch the sunlight. Marty stepped closer to him, curious on what the
project was.

Whatever he was working on it looked old, maybe 30 years. The Professor
pours some kind of chemical solution into a compartment in the cell and
plugs a patch cord from it into a Voltmeter. A light bulb on the panel
glows dimly and the meter needles moves slightly.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Blast it! Twenty four measly volts!

Professor Brown throws a flask across the room in his frustration,
shattering it against the wall. Marty jumps back, startled.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
The power of a million hydrogen bombs!
(pointing to the sun that shone down though the skylight, then to his
experiment)
...and we get twenty four measly volts. It's not fair! I've been
working on this power converter since 1949, and you'd think in all that
time, I could find the right chemicals that would efficiently convert
radiation into electric energy! But no! Thirty three years of
dedication and research, and all I've got to show for it is a bootleg
video operation!

MARTY
That reminds me, if we could scrape up enough for a 35 film chain, I've
got a connection with a projectionist in a first run house -- we could
be sellin' new movies on the street before they're even in the theater.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
A 35mm film chain... I'll see what I can do....

He turns his attention back to his power converter. Marty crosses the
room, heading for the front door. He pauses at the door next to it, the
one with five locks on it, and tried the knob. It was still locked. Big
surprise, he thought with some disappointment.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Won't give up, will you, Marty?

Professor Brown asks without turning around. Marty grins.

MARTY
One of these days you're gonna leave this door open and I'll find out
what's in there.

Professor Brown glances at him.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Did you ever consider that some doors are locked for a reason?

MARTY
Nope. The way I figure it, doors are made to be opened. See you after
school.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Oh -- Marty -- what time did you say it was?

Marty stopped in his tracks, a few steps away from the stairs.

MARTY
Eight thirty.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
AM or PM?

MARTY
(rolls his eyes) Pro, the sun's out!

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Oh, right, right... (glancing up at the skylights)

MARTY
Jeez, for a guy with a ton of clocks, you sure don't pay much attention
to time.

Professor Brown looks quickly at all the synchronized clocks around the
room.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
On the contrary, (standing up and walking toward Marty) I may not pay
much attention to the measurement of time, but I'm very aware of Time
itself. I believe time to be its own dimension... to be controlled...
to be contained....

Marty runs down the stairs, having had enough of the Professor's weird
ramblings.

MARTY
Catch you later! (he called over his shoulder)

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
(continues speaking to the empty room) ...To be traveled through

He reached into his lab coat pocket and pulled out some keys. One-by-
one, the Professor unlocks the locks on the door. Finally, he opens it
and walked inside.

INT. LABORATORY OF PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN - LOCKED ROOM

A tangle of equipment was in the center of the room with a number of
lenses at the end of the maze. It resembled nothing so much as a large
ray gun or laser. Professor Brown stood back and admired it. If only I
could harness enough power! he said wistfully.

EXT. ORPHEUM THEATRE - MORNING

Marty opened the door at the end of the stairs and stepped out on the
street before the Orpheum Theater. The place had been abandon years
before, it's windows boarded over. The marquee still spelled out the
last movie that had played there, Assembly of Christ. Professor Brown
resided on the third floor of the structure, the only person who used
the premises now.

Marty walked down the street, headed for Wilson's Cafe. Parked a
hundred feet down the street was a black van. The sign on it read
N.R.C. and two men were carefully putting samples of water from a
gutter into little test tubes. Marty glanced at them for a moment,
somewhat curious. They ignored him. He reached the cafe and went
inside.

INT. WILSON'S CAFE

The owner, Dick Wilson, was sitting behind the counter. Only thirty-
five, he already had lost more hair than remained on his head. Even
though he was a good hundred pounds overweight, he was eating a Babe
Ruth candy bar while reading a newspaper.

MARTY
Morning Dick.

DICK
(setting the candy bar down) Marty. What's for breakfast?

MARTY
Gimme some chili, fries, and a Tab.

Marty glanced down at the newspaper lying on the counter.

DICK
Hot tip, (bringing Marty his drink) Rubber Biscuit in the third race at
Arlington.

MARTY
(nods) Dick, what's with those guys out there in the gutter? (tilting
his head towards the window)

DICK
(squints out the window and shrugs) Third time they've been out there
this week.

Marty watches them for a moment, loading up the water samples in the
van.

MARTY
What's N.R.C.?

DICK
(shrugs again) I don't know. National Cash Register?

INT. HIGH SCHOOL

Later that afternoon, Marty stared at the textbook page in his hand. It
showed a photo of a mushroom cloud with the words, Last above ground
atomic test, March 18, 1952, Atkins, Nevada. He took his pen and wrote
the letters M.M S.P. on the cloud and drew and arrow through it, like
a valentine. He added at the bottom, How about the dance Saturday?
We'll have a BLAST!
In the background his science teacher, Mr. Arky, droned on with the
day's lecture.

MR. ARKY
There were only three above ground Atomic Tests in the United States,
so the government took every opportunity to study the effects of
radiation. Actual single family tract homes were constructed on the
test site, totally furnished with refrigerators, TV's, furniture....

What a waste of perfectly good stuff, Marty thought.

MR. ARKY
...Anything you could find in a typical home, just so scientists could
learn what kind of damage an atomic bomb would do to a typical town.
They even put mannequins in the houses, just like in auto crash tests.

Marty tore the page with the picture and note out of his book. He
turned to look at Suzy Parker, the pretty alburn-haired girl across the
aisle and a seat behind him. He quickly folded the page and winked at
her before tossing it deftly on her desk. The teacher didn't notice.

MR. ARKY
But the fact remains that today, thirty years after those early nuclear
tests, the threat of nuclear annihilation is as great as it ever was.
Certainly, nuclear annhiliation is something you all must have thought
about. Any questions, comments, ideas?

No, Marty thought, glancing around. Everyone in the class apparently
agreed with him.

MR. ARKY
Anyone? I'm talking about the complete and total destruction of the
entire world. Doesn't anybody have anything to say about it?

No one raised a hand. Mr. Arky's face began to turn red.

MR. ARKY
How about you, Mr. Jackson? he asked, raising his voice. Would you like
to share some of your wisdom with the class?

Jackson didn't look up from the textbook, ignoring the teacher. Marty
felt something brush against his foot and looked down to see the folded
note that he had given Suzy on the floor. He leaned over and scooped it
off the floor. Mr. Arky continued to ask for volunteers.

MR. ARKY
Mr. Gomez? Any thoughts? Miss Parker? Mr. Crump, any reaction?

Marty unfolded the note and looked at it. Beside the cloud the words,
That's sick! had been written in loopy cursive. Marty turned the page
over. On the back was the word, Yes. He smiled, then was rudely snapped
out of his thoughts by the science teacher's irritating voice.

MR. ARKY
How about you, Mr. McFly?

Arky asked, strolling over to his desk. Marty quickly crumpled the note
and shoved it in his pocket before the teacher could see it. He stared
at his graffittied desk top, wishing Mr. Arky would go away.

MR. ARKY
Did you even hear the question, Mr. McFly?

Marty looked up, facing the inevitable. He might as well give his
honest opinion.

MARTY
Yeah... You want to know what I think about atomic bombs. Well, I'd
kind of like to see one.

Mr. Arky leaned forward so his face was a few inches from Marty's.

MR. ARKY
You'd like to see a nuclear holocaust?

MARTY
Not a holocaust --

MR. ARKY
Mr. McFly here wants to nuke it all, just so he can see it!

A couple students started to laugh. Marty sat up straighter, glared at
the teacher.

MARTY
You know damn well that's not what I meant.

MR. ARKY
All I can say is, that's one helluva attitude, Mr. McFly. 'Let's
explode a hundred megaton Geothermal nuclear device, just to see it.'

Marty felt his face turn red with anger and embarrassment.

MARTY
Yeah, explode it up your ass!

MR. ARKY
Unfortunately, the way things are going, you may get your wish. You may
see the entire annhiliation of the world. If not, you'll certainly see
the destruction of all out natural resources. We can already see the
air we breathe, not to mention the pollution in our rivers and lakes.
We'll see all of our oil reserves depleted, in fact, all of our energy
sources. Yes, you people have a lot to look forward to -- a lot to see.

MARTY
Hey, Mr. Arky, gimme a break! (rolling his eyes) I'm seventeen years
old! I'm not responsible for all these problems!

The anger in Mr. Arky's face suddenly vanished. He sighed, a sound of
defeat.

MR. ARKY
No, of course you're not. Not for the problems, no. But for the
solutions...yes.

The bell rang, ending the school day. Everyone leaped out of their
desks and rushed for the door.

MR. ARKY
See you tomorrow.

EXT. HIGH SCHOOL

Ten minutes later, Marty was outside at the front of school, heading
for a group of his friends, who were already giving other students
videotapes in return for cash.

RAFE NEWTON
Hey Marty, (heading his way) sport me fifty 'til the weekend, would ya?
I'm down to my last twenty.

Marty shook his head.

MARTY
Can't man. I'm savin' up for that new amp.

RAFE NEWTON
Well, when you're a big rock star, how about loanin' me a grand?

MARTY
You got it! (checking his watch) I gotta go.

Donaldson, one of his friends, stood next to him. He looked at Marty's
watch.

DONALDSON
Hey man, what happened to your digital quartz?

MARTY
In the shop, so I'm sporting this antique. (lifts his left hand with
the watch on it) Check out this wind-up action, (pointing to the gold
timepiece)

Donaldson looked at it with minor interest as the both of them went
down the front steps of the school.

DONALDSON
Hey, you wanna come over? Get high?

MARTY
Maybe tomorrow. I gotta dupe some more tapes.

Donaldson snapped his fingers.

DONALDSON
Hey, that reminds me -- my brother's gettin' married next week and I'm
throwin' a party for him. Can you provide some entertainment?

Marty nodded, having the perfect thing in mind.

MARTY
Yeah, I can run something off this afternoon.

INT. ORPHEUM THEATER - LABORATORY OF PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

The man and woman were really going at it now, breathing hard and
moaning. Typical sounds of sex. Marty watched for a moment, then shook
his head and turned away from the porno video he was copying for his
friend. Twisting the volume down as the couple started to get really
noisy, he fished some cash out of his pocket and placed it in the cigar
box where he was storing all the money he was saving to use for that
new amp. He got up from his chair and walked out of the room into
Professor Brown's lab.

The Professor was lying on his cot, asleep, with a heavy blanket
covering him. Marty walked quietly over to the refrigerator and opened
it, taking out a bottle of Coke. As he was pulling the soft drink out,
his hand accidentally bumped against an orange lying beside it. Before
he had a chance to catch it, it bounced out of the fridge and rolled
across the floor, vanishing under the cot.

Marty set down the Coke on top of the fridge and bent down to picked
the orange up. He pushed aside the blanket and saw a crate, purple
radioactive emblems on it. Marty frowned as he read the labels. Extreme
Danger! Radioactive Plutonium! Authorized Personal Only! Do Not Handle
Without Radiation Suit. Near the bottom were the words, Property of San
Onofre Nuclear Power Plant, San Onofre, California.

Right next to the word California was the orange. Taking a deep breath,
Marty stood up and kicked the orange out from under the cot with his
right foot. He slowly backed away, his eyes on the crate, before
picking the orange up and tossing it into the trash can next to the
refrigerator. Marty glanced at the Professor, relieved to see that he
hadn't woken up.

Trying to forget what he had seen, Marty picked the Coke bottle up and
twisted the cap off, taking a quick swig from it before walking over to
a cage with an organ-grinder monkey in it.

MARTY
Hey, Shemp. (softly) How ya doin'?

The monkey gazed back at him with dark eyes. Marty unlatched the cage
door and let the animal out. Shemp quickly climbed up his arm and sat
on his shoulder. Marty crossed the room, over to the table where the
power converter was still set up, resting on some old blueprints. He
leaned over for a closer look at those.

The top blueprint was for something called, Photo-Electric Chemical
Power Converter. The sketch on the blueprint matched the power
converter that the Professor had been messing with earlier. Marty
flipped that blueprint back to look at the others one-by-one. 15 Tube
Mechanical Home Butler. It looked like some kind of robot. Aero-Mobile,
a weird-looking flying car. And a Write-O-Matic, which looked like a
pen with a suction cup at the end of an attached wire.
Marty let the blueprints flip back and stared at the power onverter.
The last few rays of the afternoon sunlight filtered through the
skylight and shone down on the photo-cell. Marty looked closer and
noticed a funnel shaped thingy jutting out of the chemical chamber. He
looked at it for a moment, temptation building, then reached over and
poured some of the Coke in the funnel.
He hadn't even pulled his arm back when a bright spark shot out of the
opposite end of the device, making a loud cracking noise. Marty jumped
several feet away, his heart pounding, almost dropping the bottle in
his hand.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
What happened?!

The Professor jumped out of his bed and ran over to the table where the
power converter sat.

MARTY
Well, I'm not sure exactly -- I accidentally spilled some Coke in here.
(pointing to the funnel) Just a drop!

The Professor quickly hooked up the voltmeter and light bulb to the
converter.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Give me that!

Professor Brown snatched the bottle from Marty's hands. He poured some
more of the drink into the funnel. The bulb started glowing brightly
and the meter jumped. The whole thing started to make a humming noise.
Professor Brown dumped in more Coke. The light grew even brighter, then
suddenly exploded!
Marty flinched, but didn't turn away. He was dying to know what that
thing was supposed to be doing. He wanted to know almost as bad as he
wanted to get into that locked room several feet away. The voltmeters
needle raised off the scale as the power converter began to vibrate, so
violently that it fell off the table!
The Professor stared at the floor where the converter lay, his hands
starting to tremble. He had a strange look on his face, disbelief mixed
with excitement. He looked carefully at the Coke bottle.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
What's in this stuff?

Marty gave a shrug, not understanding why Professor Brown wanted to
know.

MARTY
Nobody knows the formula for Coca-Cola. It's the most closely guarded
secret in the world!

The Professor was silent for a moment, his gaze far away. He finally
picked the power converter up and walked across the room, taking out a
key ring from his pocket.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
I'll see you tomorrow!

He said as he began to unlock the forbidden door. Before Marty could
ask him any questions, the Professor opened the door and shut it firmly
behind him. Marty heard the sound of locks clicking into place, then
all was silent.

INT. McFLY HOUSE - MARTY'S BEDROOM

That evening, wearing headphones plugged into his turntable, Marty
walked around his bedroom, following the music on his own electric
guitar. Posters of rock stars covered the surrounding walls. He was
trying to find the drill he had been using earlier, moving the
miscellaneous junk that covered his furniture and floor with the top of
the guitar's neck. Under the Rolling Stone on the dresser were some
tools -- but not the drill. A couple issues of Heavy Metal and the
Lampoon hid some homework on the desk he had forgotten to turn in.

The record ended and Marty took the headphones off.

MARTY
Who stole my drill? (yelling out the door)

Marty's mom shouted a reply.

EILEEN
Dinner's ready!

With a sigh, Marty set his guitar down and went downstairs.

INT. McFLY HOUSE - LIVING ROOM

He stopped in the living room on the way to the kitchen. His father,
George McFly, was sitting on the couch and watching a boxing match on
the TV.

MARTY
Anybody seen the drill?

Dad continued to stare at the TV, ignoring or not hearing the question.
Eileen McFly looked into the living room from the kitchen.

EILEEN
I've been calling you for five minutes! Didn't you hear me?

MARTY
I was practicing. I've got an audition next week -- I gotta practice.
How am I gonna get famous if I don't practice?

Mom shook her head. Once, a long time ago, she had been quite
attractive. Now, at the age of 47, it was easy to see the toll age had
taken. Her brown hair was streaked with grey and her face was puffy,
lined with wrinkles. Both of Marty's parents hadn't aged that
gracefully.

EILEEN
You won't get famous if you don't eat, either!

She ducked back into the kitchen.

Marty turned back to his dad.

MARTY
Dad, you seen the drill?

GEORGE
What drill?

MARTY
The drill! (exasperated) The power drill I bought you for Christmas. I
was using it last night.

Dad didn't move his gaze from the TV.

GEORGE
It'll turn up.

Marty shook his head and went into the kitchen, sitting down as his
mother put the food on the table. She leaned back into the living room.

INT. McFLY HOUSE - KITCHEN

EILEEN
George, dinner's ready!

Marty's father continued to stare at the TV, fully absorbed in the
boxing match.

GEORGE
Coming, Eileen!

He makes no move to get up.

EILEEN
Now, George! Dinner's ready now!

GEORGE
Coming, Eileen...

A moment later a commercial came on the TV and George McFly finally got
up and started to roll the TV on it's stand to the dining room.

EILEEN
How was school today?

MARTY
Fine.

EILEEN
Learn anything?

MARTY
Oh yeah.

EILEEN
(smiles) That's good.

His dad finished adjusting the TV and sat down.

GEORGE
How was school today? (picking up a fork and starting to eat)

Hadn't he just done this?

MARTY
Fine..

GEORGE
Learn anything?

MARTY
Oh yeah.

GEORGE
Good.

Dad turned his eyes back to the TV as the match resumed. Marty looked
down at the newspaper, examining the sports scores, and his mom stared
off into space. There was complete silence, during which the
sportscaster did his blow-by- blow on the TV. Eventually Mom spoke,
during another commercial break.

EILEEN
By the way, that reminds me... (gesturing to the TV's burger ad)
Saturday night we're taking Grandma Stella out for Chinese food.

GEORGE
Eileen, Chinese food again?

EILEEN
George, if you don't want Chinese food, pick a place you want to go and
make a reservation.

MARTY
That means he'll have to pick up the phone, Ma.

As expected, his dad backed down.

GEORGE
No, Chinese food is fine.

MARTY
Saturday night's the 'Springtime in Paris' dance. I'm taking Suzy
Parker.

EILEEN
(thoughtful) The 'Springtime in Paris' dance. You hear that, George?
They're still having the 'Springtime in Paris' dance... That was our
first date, remember George? I remember everything about that night.
Remember the first time we kissed? It was during the last dance. They
were playing that Eddie Fisher song, 'Turn Back the Hands of Time'. I
even remember how you asked me out. We were in the cafeteria. You were
so scared, you spilled your creamed corn.

Dad continued to look at the TV, not showing any sign of hearing his
wife.

MARTY
And I probably won't be here when you wake up Sunday morning. Suzy and
I are gonna go down to the lake and watch the sunrise.

His dad looked away long enough from the TV to frown at him.

GEORGE
The sunrise? What for?

MARTY
Jeez, what do you think? To see it!

His dad turned away to the TV, the look on his face puzzled.
Unfortunately, his mom was not as easily distracted.

EILEEN
You mean you're going to stay up all night?

MARTY
Mom, how else are we gonna see the sunrise?

EILEEN
I don't think I like the idea of you staying out all night with a girl!

Mom decided, shaking her head firmly. Marty rolled his eyes.

MARTY
Hey, Ma, gimme a break.

Before they could discuss the subject any further, there was a heavy
pounding on the back door.

EILEEN
Would you answer that, George?

Eileen asked when no one else made a move to. Her husband ignored her.
Heaving a sigh, Marty finally stood up to answer it.

The visitor was not one of his favorite people. Biff Tannen stood on
the porch, his stomach hanging over the pants in his security guard
uniform. His shirt was untucked and the tie was undone. The patch on
his shoulder read Special Security Officer. He was a 47-year-old jerk
who liked to push his father around and Marty had no need for him
whatsoever. Biff felt the same way about him.

BIFF
Well, well, he smirked when Marty opened the door. If it isn't the
neighborhood bootlegger, Al Capone McFly?

MARTY
What do you want, Biff?

BIFF
Show me some respect, you little asshole. It's Special Officer Tannen
to you.

MARTY
(mumbles) The day I show respect to Biff Tannen will be the day I win a
million dollars... What's the matter, Biff, they're not showing you any
respect down at the golf course? Don't they realize what a tough job it
is keeping the criminal element away from the country club?

BIFF
Listen you little Asshole, I oughta --

MARTY
What do you want, Biff?

BIFF
Where's your old man?

Marty took a step back and pointed over his shoulder to the kitchen.
Biff pushed his way into the house and Marty saw he had a broken power
drill and some bits in hand. He suddenly felt sick.

BIFF
Hey McFly, what's with this cheap-ass drill you're giving me? Thing
burned up first time I used it! Almost ruined my whole engine block!

Marty shook his head in disgust as he sat down again at the table. His
dad immediately turned away from the TV.

GEORGE
Uh -- Biff... (pointing to the bits) These are wood bits. Says so right
here. You're not supposed to use them on your engine block.

BIFF
Look, McFly, I know a lot about tools. This is a cheep-ass drill!
You're just lucky I didn't ruin my engine block. Next time you buy
tools, let me know. I'll help you pick out some good ones.

He handed George the drill.

BIFF
Oh -- and one more thing. My kid's selling Girl Scout cookies. I told
her you were good for four boxes. Don't make me a liar!

George nodded quickly and Biff left, slamming the door behind him.
George turned to look at his wife, who gave at him a knowing,
sympathetic look.

GEORGE
How do you like that guy, using wood bits on an engine block? (laughing
nervously)

Marty couldn't take it anymore. He jumped up from the table and ran
into the living room, grabbing his silver Porsche jacket out of the
closet.

EILEEN
Where are you going?

EXT. McFLY HOUSE

Marty opened the front door and slammed it shut in reply. He pulled his
jacket on as he crossed the front lawn. Reaching the mailbox, he gave
the numbers on it, 777, a good slug, then kicked his dad's car beside
it in the street for good measure.

EXT. NEIGHBORHOOD STREET - NIGHT

Half an hour later, he was walking down a neighborhood street with Suzy
Parker.

MARTY
...He just lets himself get pushed around all the time! People walk all
over him and he never fights back, never stands up for himself.

SUZY
No self confidence, I guess... At least you don't take after him.

MARTY
Yeah... Jesus! I wonder how he ever got up enough nerve to marry my
mom.

Suzy didn't say anything for a few moments.

SUZY
Can you imagine your parents in bed together?

MARTY
No way!

SUZY
Me neither. I've always wondered whether they slept together before
they got married. You think yours did?

MARTY
Hell no! The way my mom carries on about sex -- you even mention the
word and she goes into cardiac arrest. You shoulda seen her face when I
told her we were gonna stay up all night Saturday, he added. Always
afraid something is going to happen.

SUZY
(suddenly coy) Is something going to happen Saturday night?

Before Marty could answer her, a skateboard suddenly hit his foot. He
looked up to see two kids about fifty feet down the street, running an
obstacle course. The one who had been on the board was slowly getting
to his feet off the asphalt. Marty jumped on the board and skated over
to the kid. Maybe it was because Suzy was there, but he showed off as
he weaved through the obstacle, jumping over the last one and landing
perfectly, then flipping the board into the air and catching it. The
kids were wide-eyed as Marty handed it to the owner.

KID
Wow, you're good!

Marty grinned and walked back over to an impressed Suzy.

MARTY
Just like riding a bike -- you never forget how to do it.

EXT. SUZY'S HOUSE

A minute later they were standing in front of Suzy's house.

SUZY
Well... she said slowly. Here we are...

They stared at each other for a moment.

MARTY
Thanks.

Marty said softly, leaning forward and kissing her.

Suzy smiled and walked to her door.

SUZY
See you later.

Marty watched her as she stepped inside, then turned around and started
to walk back home.
A black sedan slowly passed him. A moment later, Marty noticed
headlights shining from behind him and whirled around to see that the
black sedan had turned around and seemed to be following him. Marty saw
the car had the letters N.R.C. on it, like that van had. He stepped to
the side of the street, on the sidewalk, and the car pulled up beside
him and stopped. Two tall men dressed in black suits got out. They
looked like Secret Service men.

N.R.C. AGENT REESE
Good evening, one said. Agents Reese (points to his buddy) and Foley,
from the Nuclear Regulatory Commition. (pulls out ID and flashes it to
Marty) Mind stepping over here?

MARTY
What's this all about?

N.R.C. AGENT FOLEY
Routine radiation check.

He took a Geiger counter from the car and ran it up and down Marty's
body. Nothing happened until it got by his feet, especially his right
foot. Then it made loud clicking noises. The two men exchanged some
kind of look.

N.R.C. AGENT REESE
Have you got any identification?

Marty handed him his wallet after a moment's hesitation.

MARTY
What, am I radioactive or something?

N.R.C. AGENT REESE
No, no, not beyond an acceptable level. Have you been X-rayed recently,
Martin?

N.R.C. AGENT FOLEY
Perhaps been in contact with some luminous paint? Foley added.

MARTY
(frowning at them) No...

N.R.C. AGENT REESE
Been any place unusual in the past twelve hours?

MARTY
Home, school, here... (shrugs)

N.R.C. AGENT FOLEY
Been in the vicinity of 2980 Monroe Avenue today? asked Foley.

MARTY
Where?

N.R.C. AGENT REESE
Over by the old Orpheum Theater.

Marty hesitated for a moment before answering. They were talking about
where Professor Brown lived. He remembered the box he had seen under
the bed. Suddenly, Marty had a million questions for the Professor.

MARTY
No.

Reese finally handed him back his wallet.

N.R.C. AGENT REESE
Okay, Martin. You have a good evening now.

MARTY
Yeah, (jamming his wallet back into his pocket) Right.

The two men got back into their car and drove off. Marty watched them a
moment, then sprinted the other way down the street!

EXT. ORPHEUM THEATRE - NIGHT

Marty ran through the streets all the way to the Orpheum Theater. The
street was deserted, save for a newspaper blowing down in the gutter.
Reaching the door to the upstairs of the dilapidated building, Marty
took hold of the knob and turned it. It resisted and he tried again,
hoping it was stuck. He juggled it around but it didn't budge. No doubt
about it. It was locked. Marty took a step back and looked up, at the
third floor.

A moment later the quiet of the night was shattered by all three of the
third floor windows being blown out by a huge gush of air! Jesus! Marty
gasped, ducking his head as shreds of glass rained down. A moment later
he tried the door again, but it was still locked.

After weighing the pros and cons of the matter, Marty broke the glass
window in the door and reached around to unlock it himself.

INT. ORPHEUM THEATER - LABORATORY OF PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

Once inside, he ran up the steps to the lab. The first thing he noticed
was that the mysterious door with all the locks was completely un
locked! A crack of light shone brightly under the bottom of the door.
Marty opened it up and stepped inside. He blinked, wondering if he was
seeing right.

Professor Brown was standing next to what looked like a old furnace and
hot water heater thrown together with some boiler room parts. He had
one hand on a rope attached to a metal lever and was messing with some
dials and gauges with the other hand. Shemp, wearing his organ grinder
outfit, sat on a stool, a digital watch on a cord around his neck. Some
kind of long tube with lenses in it was pointed at him.

MARTY
Professor!

The Professor looked up, startled.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Get behind that lead shield!

The Professor ordered, pointing to a large grey sheet of metal next to
the wall. Marty stared at him incredulously.

MARTY
But Professor --

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Get behind the shield! I'm about to release radiation!

Marty looked at him for a moment more, then darted behind the shield.
He watched from around the side of it as the Professor pulled the rope
a tiny bit. The next moment, all hell broke loose! The low hum all the
machinery made grew louder and high pitched. Static electricity
crackled in the air. The sounds grew louder and the monkey looked
around, curious. A minute later, the Professor let go of the rope, his
eyes on a watch, and a red beam of light -- like a laser -- hit Shemp
directly in the chest.

Marty winced at the high pitched noise in the room. Less then a second
after the laser -- or whatever it was -- hit the Professor's pet, Shemp
vanished, taking the top of the stool with him! Air suddenly rushed
into the room, whipping loose papers around. The noise died down and
Marty stepped out from behind the shield, his heart pounding from all
he had witnessed.

MARTY
Jesus!! Professor, you just disintegrated Shemp!

Professor Brown shook his head, a smile playing around his lips.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
No, Marty. Shemp's molecular structure is completely intact!

MARTY
Then where the hell is he?

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
The appropriate question to ask is when the hell is he! You see, Shemp
has just become the world's first time traveller. I've sent Shemp into
the future -- two minutes into the future to be exact.

MARTY
The future? What are you talking about? Where's Shemp?!

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Shemp is right here in this room...two minutes from now, and at exactly
9:02PM, we'll catch up to him.

MARTY
Now hold on a minute, Professor! Hold the phone. Are you trying to tell
me that this -- all of this here -- that this is -- it's a -- a --

For some reason, he couldn't get the words out.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
...a time machine.

Professor Brown confirmed with a nod.

Marty found a chair and sat down in it quickly before his legs could
give out on him.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
I always knew it would work! I knew it would work when I built it
thirty three years ago. But I was never able to harness enough power to
test it. Power is the key. Massive amounts of energy to accelerate
matter to the speed of light while creating an intense gravitational
field. But generating that kind of energy has never been possible...
until this afternoon.

Marty took a couple of deep breaths as he waited for the room to stop
spinning around him.

MARTY
A time machine! Because of that Coke?!

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Precisely! (nods)

He walked around the room, pointing out various parts of the machinery
as explained.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
The power converter, now operating at peak efficiency, thanks to the
chemical makeup of Coca-Cola, channels energy into the flux capacitor,
which releases several jigowatts in a fraction of a millisecond.
Electron acceleration takes place here... and the result is the
temporal displacement beam you saw a few moments ago. The entire
process is triggered when I release the rope.

Marty finally stood, his legs still shaking a little from the shock.

MARTY
I thought that power converter thing operated on solar energy. There's
no sun, (pointing to the ceiling and walls)

Not only was it night out, but all the windows had heavy shades drawn
over them.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Solar energy would have worked just fine...if I could have placed the
converter about a mile from the surface of the sun. Instead, I've
created similar conditions in this reactor here. (pointing to the rope)
The higher I raise the cadmium rods, the more energy I release from the
plutonium core, and the further through time I can send an object.

Marty snapped his fingers, suddenly remembering.

MARTY
The plutonium! That's what I came over here for! Professor, where did
you get that stuff?

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Why?

The inventor stared at him with suspicious, his eyes narrowed.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
I just got stopped in the street by federal agents checking me for
radiation! I figure they're after your plutonium!

Professor Brown looked over at a digital clock on the wall. Marty
followed his gaze and saw that it was 9:01:50. Almost two minutes had
passed since the experiment. It had felt like twice that long.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Ten seconds!

The Professor dashed over to the place where his beam had hit Shemp.
Marty ran after him, stopping when his friend raised an arm.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Brace yourself for a sudden displacement of air!

Marty watched the clock. The seconds lasted forever.
9:01:55...56...57... 58...59...

At that moment, a strong wind gusted in the room and Shemp suddenly
appeared, literally out of thin air. The top of the stool came back
with him and fell to the ground. The monkey screeched as he hit the
ground and scrambled onto some equipment nearby.

MARTY
Shemp!

Professor Brown walked calmly over to the animal and picked him up. He
quickly looked him over, the monkey squirming to get free, then
examined the watch around his neck. He held it up for Marty to see.
9:00:10. Marty checked the clock on the wall. 9:02:10.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Exactly two minutes difference... (triumphantly) and it's still
ticking!

MARTY
Is Shemp all right?

Professor Brown set the monkey down on the ground he quickly ran off to
the other side of the room.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Of course. Shemp is unaware that anything even happened, other than his
stool suddenly falling over. We had to wait two minutes to catch up to
him, but for Shemp the trip was instantaneous.

MARTY
Professor, can this thing send Shemp back in time?

The Professor thought about that for a moment.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Theoretically, yes, if I were to reverse the polarity.

He pointed to a switch near the rope with a plus and minus at opposite
ends. It was currently up in the plus position.

MARTY
Jeez, Professor, you've got a gold mine here!

The Professor frowned, as if he didn't understand.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
A gold mine?

MARTY
Sure! Listen -- we take the racing results from today's paper...

He grabbed an newspaper from earlier that day at a nearby table and
quickly flipped through to the sports scores.

MARTY
Here they are. We send 'em with Shemp back to yesterday, we get the
information, put our money on the winning horses, and become
billionaires!

Professor Brown started to shake his head.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Marty, that would alter history.

MARTY
So what? We'd be rich!

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Don't you understand? The mere act of sending matter back in time would
change the course of events, and changing history is a responsibility
that I do not wish to bear.

Marty sighed, lowering the paper.

MARTY
All I know is you're throwing away an awful lot of money.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
The future, Marty, the future is everything! I built this machine to
see the future. So I am going to send Shemp twenty-four hours into the
future. You can assist me, if you like.

MARTY
Sure, he agreed quickly.

The Professor left the room for a moment, saying something about a
cassette recorder. Marty waited for a second, then quickly ripped the
racing results off the sports page and circled the date with a pen that
had been in his pocket. He went over to Shemp, stuffed the clipping in
the pocket on his vest, then glanced out the door. The Professor was
rifling through the papers on his desk, his back to the door. Marty
rushed over to the polarity switch and yanked the lever to the minus
sign. A couple seconds later, Professor Brown returned, a Micro-
cassette recorder in hand. He locked the door, then handed the recorder
to Marty.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Take this, stand at the panel.(pointing to a wall of switches near the
beam) and read off the radiation levels. I want to have a record of
what happens here. Be sure to tell me when we reach 85 rads.

Marty nodded and stepped over to the panel. Right before him was a
meter with the rads levels. He had his eyes on it as Professor Brown
fixed the stool a few feet away.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Come on, Shemp, this won't hurt a bit.

The Professor murmured as he picked up the monkey and placed him on the
stool again. After doing that, he returned to the rope switch, across
the room from where Marty stood and on the other side of Shemp. Marty
watched him carefully, but he didn't seem to notice the lever at the
minus sign.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Here we go!

The Professor warned, throwing a few switches. The equipment started
humming again and Professor Brown slowly reached for the rope and
started tugging on it.

MARTY
Radiation level, 10 rads.

Marty said looking at the meter, holding the microphone in the recorder
up to his mouth as he spoke.

MARTY
Stabilization coefficient, .43. 16 rads coefficient .44. 37 rads, .46.
51 rads, .46. 73 rads, .47...

Marty heard a loud noise from behind him and spun around to see the
locked door kicked open. The dust hadn't even cleared before Marty
realized it was the N.R.C. agents, Reese and Foley. Behind them he saw
a huge throng of police and other official people. The agents jumped
into the room with .38 guns drawn.

N.R.C. AGENT REESE
Everybody freeze! N.R.C.!

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Get back!

Professor Brown cried, waving his left hand. The other one was still
holding onto the rope.

N.R.C. AGENT FOLEY
Jesus Christ! (seeing the machine the Professor was standing beside)
It's a Goddamn reactor!

Reese pointed his gun at Professor Brown.

N.R.C. AGENT REESE
You! Shut it down! Now!

Marty stared at the whole scene, mouth hanging open. He felt strangely
detached from it, almost as if it was a play or a scene in a movie he
was watching. The microphone fell from his hand, dangling on it's cord
around his feet.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
No! . Get out! I'm in the middle of an experiment!

He moved closer to the reactor, pulling the rope tighter as he did so.
Foley didn't hesitate. He swung his gun at the Professor and squeezed
the trigger. The loud bang echoed in the room. Shemp screeched and
leaped off the stool. Marty watched, horrified, as the bullet hit his
friend right in the chest. The Professor staggered back, hand still
clenched around the rope. He fell backwards to the floor, the rope
pulling taut as he landed.

MARTY
Professor!

Marty yelled, finally finding his voice. He whipped his head to check
the meter.

MARTY
Oh my God! Release the rope! It's 4200 rads!

Reese stared at him, shaking his head. It was too noisy in the room for
Marty to be heard.

N.R.C. AGENT REESE
What?!

MARTY
Pro! Release the rope!

It was so noisy he could hardly hear his own voice! Reese shook his
head again. Marty started for the Professor himself. Foley turned the
gun on him.

N.R.C. AGENT FOLEY
Freeze!

Marty stopped, standing right before the stool where Shemp had once
been. He raised his hands, showing he didn't have anything on him. The
recorder and microphone was now in his jacket pocket. He couldn't
remember putting it there with all the excitement.

Marty's eyes darted over to the Professor. As he watched, the
Professor's grip suddenly relaxed and the rope swung loosely in the
air. Marty suddenly realized he was right in the line of the focusing
lense. A bright white light shot out from it and hit him square in the
chest. Marty looked down at it for a moment, a little curiously, then
looked up at the people in the room. Reese and Foley stared at him,
startled looks on there faces. Suddenly the whole room turned bright,
blinding white, like a million cameras flashing at once. Then, less
then a second later, everything was plunged into a deep, black silence.

INT. DARK STOREROOM

Professor? Marty asked, straining his eyes in the darkness, trying to
see something, anything. But everything was completely and utterly
black.

MARTY
Hello? (listening hard for any sound)

After a moment, Marty reached into his pocket and pulled out a
matchbook. He ripped a match free and struck it against the sandpaper.
Marty held it up as it lit, looking around the room. It looked like he
was in some kind of storeroom. Marty took a step forward, almost
running into an old broken chair. He dodged it last minute and strolled
slowly around the room, trying to figure out where the hell he was.
Dusty furniture and crates littered the room.
The match was starting to burn Marty's fingers and he dropped it,
fumbling to light another. He walked towards the door, having the
nagging feeling that something was strangely out of place. Where the
hell am I? he wondered. Marty reached for the doorknob and tried
turning it. Locked.

MARTY
Damn!

He looked around for a way out. Marty spotted a window and went over to
it, holding his breath as he tried to slide it open. It slid and he
carefully climbed outside on to a fire escape. He scrambled down the
unstable structure and dropped to the alley below.

EXT. STREET

Just as his feet scraped the pavement, Marty noticed a pair of
headlights approaching him, fast. He stood there for a minute, frozen
in the beams, then jumped back and pressed himself against the wall of
the building. The truck sped by, missing him by inches!

Marty let out a loud sigh of relief as he watched the truck drive off,
then noticed the sign on the door that he was right next to. Wilson's
Cafe, Rear Entrance, it said. Marty tried the door, expecting it to be
locked. But the knob turned freely in his hand. Strange. For as long as
he could remember the back door had been locked.
Marty stepped inside.

MARTY
Hey, since when are you open at...

He started to say, then stopped when he got a good look around. It
couldn't be Wilson's Cafe!
Everything in the room looked brand new...but at the same time, old.
Dick wasn't behind the counter a woman of maybe thirty was. Marty
looked up at the menu and gasped.

MARTY
Since when were roast beef sandwiches 30 cents, and an ice cream sunday
15 cents?

He tore his eyes off the prices long enough to notice the people. Boy,
did he notice them! All the men were in double-breasted suits, with
hats. And not baseball caps, either! Marty noticed all the women were
in skirts -- long skirts. Not one was in any type of pants, like jeans.
And the way people had their hair done.... Those styles went out ages
ago!

A chubby five-year-old boy, dressed in pajamas, was playing on the
floor with some trucks. Marty almost tripped over him as he walked
slowly around, his mouth open with amazement, gazing at everything.
After a moment he realized the woman behind the counter was staring at
him, a suspicious look on her face. You want something, kid? she asked,
leaning forward across the counter.

Marty hesitated for a moment, then sat down. He decided he needed to
blend in as much as he could. The silver Porsche jacket alone that he
had on was causing way too many stares.

MARTY
Uh, yeah... Gimme a Tab.

WAITRESS
What? (frowning)

MARTY
A Tab.

The waitress rolled her eyes.

WAITRESS
Kid, I can't give you the tab until you order something.

Marty tried to ignore the stares everyone was giving him and looked
down at the counter. He saw the man beside him had a cup of coffee.

MARTY
Uh, coffee.

She reached over and poured him a cup.

WAITRESS
Did something happen to you, kid? I mean, you been lost in the woods or
something?

Marty looked at her blankly.

MARTY
Huh? (noticing a bowl of sugar cubes on the counter) Say, have you got
any Sweet 'N Low?

The waitress stared at him.

WAITRESS
Sweet and what? (suddenly lifting the coffee away from him) Maybe you'd
better pay for this first.

MARTY
Sure,.

Marty said with a shrug. He reached for his wallet and took out a
twenty dollar bill, holding it out to the waitress. Her eyes bugged out
and her mouth dropped open.

WAITRESS
A twenty? What do you think this is, a bank? I can't break a twenty!
(eyes narrowing suspiciously) Say, what's a kid your age doing with all
this money?

Marty quickly stuffed the bill back in his wallet. Now everyone in the
cafe was staring at him.

MARTY
Look, maybe I'd better talk to Dick. Is he around?

WAITRESS
Dick? Dick who?

MARTY
Now who's being stupid? The guy who runs this place.

WAITRESS
I run this place! (eyes once again narrow)

MARTY
What happened to Dick Wilson?

WAITRESS
Dick Wilson? Dickie Wilson? Dickie Wilson runs this place? That's a
laugh!

Marty felt his face redden as everyone in the room started to laugh
with the waitress.

MARTY
What are you trying to do? Freak me out, or something?

MAN WITH COFFEE
Freak?

The man beside him with the coffee asked.

MAN WITH COFFEE
Are you from some circus? Is that what all that writing on your clothes
means?

MARTY
Haven't you ever heard of designer labels? (glaring at him)

He heard soft footsteps from behind the counter and saw the little
five-year-old run up to the woman.

DICKIE
Mommy, I'm hungry, he whined.

The waitress smiled.

WAITRESS
Just take a candy bar, then go to bed, Dickie.

Marty did a double take.

MARTY
Dickie? That's Dick Wilson?

The waitress nodded.

WAITRESS
That's Dick Wilson.

Marty watched the kid grab a Babe Ruth off the candy counter and
scamper off. He was about to turn away from the sight when he noticed a
calendar behind the cash register. A calendar that had the number 1952
in big black letters.

MARTY
1952? (voice rising) This is 1952?! Holy shit! You know what this
means? I've gone back in time thirty years! Thirty Goddamn years! I
haven't even been born yet!

The waitress took one look at him and reached for a phone.

WAITRESS
I'm calling the cops.

Marty jumped off the stool and ran out the front door, stopping dead in
the middle of the street. Everything had changed!

EXT. MONROE AVENUE

Monroe Avenue, once full of old, rotting buildings, was now a bustling,
thriving business district! Cars from the '40's and '50's ran up and
down the streets. People were everywhere, walking along the streets,
stopping in the shops. Marty was so shocked to see what he was seeing
he didn't notice the strange, suspicious looks the towspeople were
flashing at him, or the drivers honking at him as they swerved to avoid
hitting him.

He turned and noticed the Orpheum Theater. It, too, had changed! Boy,
had it! The marquee was lit up with the words: John Wayne, Maureen
O'Hara -- The Quiet Man. In Full Color! People streamed into it and
from the looks of the place, it was a first class movie theater.

MARTY
Dammit!

He noticed a man walking by with a newspaper in hand. Marty ran over to
him and snatched the paper away, ignoring the owner's protest as he
scanned the front page for the date. March 11, 1952.

MARTY
1952! God dammit!

Marty threw the paper down on the sidewalk and ran down the street. He
stopped beside an old car and checked out the license plate. Besides
the fact it looked nothing like the plates he was used to, it also said
--

MARTY
1952! Dammit!

Marty ran off again, noticing a phone booth. It was empty, so he
stopped.

INT. PHONE BOOTH

Marty went inside and grabbed the phone book. He frantically riffled
through the pages, to the listings of Browns. After a minute, he
located it and ran his finger down the column to: Brown, Emmett L., 788
W. Spruce. Madison 3489. Marty pulled the Bic pen out from his pocket
and circled the line. Then he reached into his pocket again and pulled
out all the change he had. One nickel and three pennies.

MARTY
Dammit!

Marty picked up the receiver anyway and dialed zero.

OPERATOR
Operator...

MARTY
Operator! Listen, this is an emergency! I have to make this call, but I
don't have a dime -- all I got is a nickel -- but you gotta connect me
--

OPERATOR
Sir, it only costs a nickel.

MARTY
What?

OPERATOR
Local calls cost five cents. What number do you want?

Marty looked up and saw the words, Local Calls 5 Cents written in plain
sight on the telephone.

MARTY
Oh -- right! Uh, Madison 3489.

OPERATOR
Five cents, please.

Marty placed the nickel inside the coin slot and listened as the number
ran several times.

OPERATOR
I'm sorry, there's no answer.

MARTY
Operator, what's today's date?

OPERATOR
March 11th.

MARTY
What year?

OPERATOR
Nineteen fifty --

Marty shook his head.

MARTY
Dammit!

He slammed the receiver down and ripped the page out of the phone book,
stuffing it in his pocket. Then he got out of the phone booth and ran
down the street.

EXT. McFLY/BAINES HOUSE

Marty didn't know how long he had been running before he found himself
on a residential street. It looked vaguely familiar, but he was too
exhausted by the recent events to figure out why. He leaned against a
mailbox, trying to catch his breath, when he happened to look down at
the numbers on it. 777. Marty spun around and stared at the house.

MARTY
My house!

It looked like his house. It was! But there were some weird things,
like the trees not being as tall, different curtains, and a old Chevy
in the driveway. Marty watched as the front door opened and a woman
pushed the screen door open to let out a dog. Marty gasped. The woman
was his mother!

MARTY
Mom!

Marty raced to the front door. She didn't notice him and shut the door.
Marty ran up the steps and pounded on the front door.

MARTY
Mom! Open up! It's me!

After a few seconds the door opened and his mom stood in the doorway.
She stared at Marty without a shred of recognition.

MARTY
Mom, thank God! Thank God you're here!

His mother stared at him blankly.

MOM
I bed your pardon, young man?

MARTY
Mom! It's me! Marty! Don't you know your own son!

Mom started to close the door, her expression uneasy.

MOM
I think you have the wrong house.

Marty shook his head frantically.

MARTY
No -- no -- it's not! (panting) It's not!

A man smoking a pipe approached Marty's mother from behind.

MR. BAINES
Who's there, Stella?

MARTY
Stella!? No! Don't tell me you're Stella! Tell me you're Eileen! Please
tell me you're Eileen!

In the background, Marty saw a teenage girl come down the staircase.
She heard the last part of the conversation and went over to the door,
pushing her way past the woman.

EILEEN
I'm Eileen.

He stared into her hazel eyes.

MARTY
How old are you?

EILEEN
(smiles) Seventeen.

Marty stared at her for a moment more, breathing hard, before his eyes
rolled back in his head and he slumped to the ground in a dead faint!

INT. BAINES HOUSE

Marty smelled something funny. He made a face and turned his head, but
the smell followed him. He slowly opened his eyes and looked up into
the face of someone he knew. It looked a lot like him, only he didn't
look as old. Then Marty remembered -- he was in 1952!

MARTY
Professor? Professor Brown?

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
(whispers covertly) You know me?

The Professor removed the smelling salts from under Marty's nose now
that he was awake. It was only then Marty realized he was stretched out
on a couch in a living room that looked an awful lot like his own.

MARTY
Professor, you time machine works! It works! It sent me back in time!
I'm from 1982!

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Ssshhhhh!

Professor Brown said, holding up his hand. His expression was both
thoughtful and suspicious. Marty heard footsteps and turned his head to
see his grandfather, grandmother, and mother, all looking thirty years
younger, edging closer to the couch to get a look at him.

MR. BAINES
Is he all right?

The Professor straightened up.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
He will be. Simple inebriation, is all. The young man must have a
rather low tolerance for alcohol... something that runs in the family.
You see, he's a second cousin of mine on my mother's side. Came quite a
distance to visit me, he added. His name's Lewis.

MARTY
Marty.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Uh, Marty Lewis! I almost didn't recognize him -- haven't seen him in
years.

Eileen stared at Marty and he looked back at her, fascinated that this
young teenager was -- would be -- his mother! She looked so
different... attractive, even!

STELLA
It's a good thing he had your name circled in the phone book. I would
have called the police.

Professor Brown leaned over and helped Marty sit up.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Well, Mrs. Baines, Mr. Baines, thank you for your trouble. Both Marty
and I apologize for the inconvenience. We'll get him home and as good
as new.

Mr. Baines looked sharply at Marty and shook his finger at him.

MR. BAINES
Son, you watch yourself!

MARTY
Yes, sir.

EILEEN
Oh!

Eileen began, going over to a chair a few feet away and picking up the
silver jacket of Marty's.

EILEEN
Here's your jacket!

MARTY
Uh, thanks...

Eileen held up the jacket and gave it a quizzical look.

EILEEN
What kind of material is this? I've never seen anything like it.

He took it from her hand.

MARTY
It's polyester.

EILEEN
Poly-what?

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
It's an experimental invention of mine. Sort of a rubberized silver-
foil. I just made up a name for it. Come on, Marty. We've got a lot to
talk about.

Marty followed the Professor. He was just about to step out the door
when Eileen stopped him.

EILEEN
Marty?

He turned.

MARTY
Huh?

EILEEN
Have we ever met before?

She asked with a puzzled look on her face. Marty's eyes met hers, but
before he could open his mouth, the Professor grabbed his arm and
pulled him out the door.

INT. CAR

Fifteen minutes later, the Professor's 1937 Packard was pulling into
the driveway of a huge Victorian mansion on the outskirts of town.

MARTY
...and the flux capacitor is hooked into this thing that looks like a
condenser with a lense on it...

Marty was saying as Professor Brown stopped the car. He looked at the
house for the first time and let out a low whistle as they both got out
of the car. Even in the dark, Marty was able to see how fancy it was.

EXT. BROWN MANSION

MARTY
Jeez -- this is where you used to live, huh? You must have been rich!

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Must have been? Used to live? I do live here.

MARTY
Oh, yeah.

They started to walk up the drive to the front door.

MARTY
Well, there's a mall here now -- I mean, there will be.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
A mall?

MARTY
Yeah, a shopping mall. You know, a shopping mall?

Professor Brown held his hands up and shook his head.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Ssshhhhh -- don't tell me these things, Marty. I don't want to know
about the future.

INT. BROWN MANSION

He opened the front door and stepped inside the living room. Marty
looked around as the Professor switched on the lights. Professor Brown
held his hands up and shook his head.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Do you see it here?

The living room was filled with antique furniture, pieces of different
mechanical devices lying everywhere. It was easy to see that the
Professor's love of inventing was just beginning, since everything was
still relatively neat. But there was no sign of the time machine. Marty
shook his head.

MARTY
No.

Professor Brown walked across the room and into another one. This one
appeared to be a study. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with old
volumes. On the desk in the center of the room, Marty recognized little
models of that one robot and flying car he had seen plans of in the
future. The Professor watched Marty as he glanced about the room, but
he had to shake his head again. No time machine.

The Professor crossed the room, over to a door at the far end of the
study. He pulled out a key and unlocked it, pushing it open. He
switched a light on inside and gestured for Marty to come over. Marty
only had to glance at the room for a second before recognizing the time
machine. It looked a little less run down, cleaner and shinier, but it
was the time machine nonetheless. This is it!

Professor Brown placed the key back in his pocket and looked hard at
Marty.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
You've convinced me that you must be who you say you are. No living
human has ever seen this machine. (frowns) But why? Why even in my
twilight years would I remotely consider sending someone back in time?

MARTY
You didn't, Professor. It was an accident! You see, what happened --

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
No! Don't tell me! I don't want to know the future! My knowledge of
future events... your mere presence here... could have devastating
effects on the course of history. And altering history is a
responsibility that I do not wish to bear. My immediate response is to
send you back to your own time.

Marty had heard the Professor say almost those exact same words when he
had wanted to send Shemp back in time with the sports scores. It seemed
like a million years ago even though, technically, it was thirty years
in the future. But this time he agreed with the Professor. He wanted to
go home.

MARTY
I can dig that.

Professor Brown gave him a strange, puzzled look.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Pardon me?

MARTY
Oh. That expression probably hasn't been invented yet... I can get
behind -- I agree with you.

The phone rang in the study. The Professor left the room with the time
machine to answer it. Marty followed him and checked out the models on
the desk while the Professor picked up the phone on the third ring. He
didn't mean to listen on the conversation, but it was kind of hard not
to.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Hello? (pause) Yes Charles, yes, I looked over the offer. (pause) It's
very generous that they want to make me a major stockholder. But I'm
just not interested in a position with this little X-rox corporation...
If it's pronounced 'Zerox', why don't they spell it with a Z?... Look,
I'm on the verge of a breakthrough on my power converter.

Marty dropped the little car he had been looking at when the Professor
said that. The power converter! How could he have forgotten! It needed
nuclear power and he didn't think there was any now, at least none that
they could get there hands on. Did that mean he was... stuck here?
Professor Brown continued to talk on the phone, not noticing the sick
expression on Marty's face.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
...Well, any day now. And then I'll need people to work for Emmett
Brown Industries! I've got a lot of ideas that are going to create a
lot of jobs. Very well, good night, Charles.

The Professor shook his head as he hung up the phone.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
The X-rox Corporation. How are they going to sell a product if you
can't even pronounce the name?

He turned back to Marty.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Now... the time machine works, that's obvious. As I've always known,
it's a question of power. Where did I -- will I get enough power to
send a man thirty years through time?

Marty opened his mouth to tell him, but Professor Brown quickly held up
his hands.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
No -- wait -- don't tell me!

He didn't say anything for a long moment, then shook his head.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
On second thought, there may be some things you'll have to tell me.

MARTY
The power converter...

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Of course! The power converter! It works! Of course, it works...
(looking to Marty) What chemicals do we use?

Marty hesitated, slowly taking a deep breath before starting.

MARTY
Well, Professor, are you sure you want me to tell you? You know,
changing the course of history and all....

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Blast it -- no, I suppose you're right.... You do know the proper
chemical formula?

Marty nodded.

MARTY
Sure, and there won't be any problem getting some -- Getting it...

He stopped. He had almost blurted it out.

The Professor walked over to a bar and pulled a glass bottle of brandy
out of the cabinet.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Coke?

He started to pour the alcohol in a glass.

MARTY
(stunned) How did you know?

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Just a guess. I figured kids would still be drinking Coke in 1982.

Marty let out all the breath he had been holding. So he didn't know
that was the secret formula after all.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
All right, then it's very simple, (tossing Marty a bottle of Coke as he
spoke) Tomorrow, weather permitting, you'll get the chemicals, and
we'll wire the power converter to the time machine, point it at the
sun, and send you home.

Marty hesitated again. He had a feeling that what he was about to say
would not really please the

MARTY
Professor. Well, not exactly, Professor. You see, we don't point it at
the sun.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
We don't....

The Professor lifted up his drink to his lips.

MARTY
No...

Marty took a deep breath. He had gone this far. He might as well go all
the way.

MARTY
We need a nuclear reactor.

Professor Brown choked on his drink.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
A nuclear reactor! How much energy do we need?

Marty shrugged -- then remembered the Micro-Cassette Recorder! He still
had it with him, in his pocket. He took it out and rewound it, then hit
play and set it on the Professor's desk. Professor Brown looked at it
strangely, but didn't ask any questions. He sat down at his desk and
the two of them listened as it played back. After a couple minutes, it
got to the important part.

MARTY (on tape)
Release the rope! It's 4200 rads!

The tape grew silent. It had reached the end. Professor Brown reached
out and picked up the recorder, staring at the buttons for a minute
before pressing the one to stop it. He didn't say anything for a
moment, then:

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
4200 rads? Good God!

Marty was trying to twist the top of the Coke bottle, but for some
reason it wouldn't turn.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
There's something I still don't understand.

The Professor picked the recorder up again and rewound it.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Fascinating device, he commented as it spun back.

Professor Brown stopped it and played back the gunshot sounds.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
These loud bangs... could those be some sort of malfunction in the time
machine? Do you know what they are?

Marty gripped the Coke bottle so hard his knuckles turned white. He
couldn't tell Professor Brown that those sounds were him being shot!

MARTY
I wouldn't worry about 'em, Professor.

A minute passed while the tape replayed.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
4200 rads... That certainly can't be generated under controlled
conditions in this day and age.

MARTY
That's just great!

Marty still tried to get that Coke bottle open. It was like the cap was
welded on there!

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
However...there's a lot I don't know about nuclear physics. So first
think in the morning, I'll go to the University and see what I can find
out. I want you to stay in the house, (pointing a finger at Marty)
It's very important that you don't interfere in any way with the
outside world. I've got plenty of food, there's the radio, books,
magazines... I've even got one of those new television sets. There's
plenty to do.

Professor Brown stared at Marty as he twisted and turned that cap in
every imaginable way possible.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
What are you doing?

Marty gave up and held the bottle out.

MARTY
How do you open these?

The Professor took the bottle from his hand and picked up a bottle
opener lying nearby. A second later he handed it back, now without the
top. Marty looked down at the Coke in his hand, then up at the
Professor.

MARTY
It doesn't look good, does it, Professor?

Professor Brown shook his head.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
At the moment, it looks like you're stuck here.

INT. BROWN MANSION - NEXT MORNING

Early the next morning, Professor Brown walked down the hall to the
room he had given Marty McFly late the night before. He stopped and
listened carefully, hearing no sound from the other side. After a
minute he reached for the doorknob and turned it. The Professor pushed
the door open a couple of inches, sticking his head around the side of
the door to peer inside.

The shades were wide open, the first rays of sunlight slanting across
the room over to the bed. Marty was lying on top of the queen bed on
his back, one arm hanging over the side of the bed, still fully dressed
in his 1982 clothes. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep.
The Professor studied him for a moment, then slowly stepped inside the
room and crept across to the table next to the bed, where the Cathedral
Radio rested and the small cassette recorder. He had come in to get a
closer look at the future object.

Professor Brown carefully picked the recorder up and examined it. His
finger accidentally hit the play button and a loud burst of
conversation came out. The Professor swore under his breath as he
fumbled for the stop button. His eyes flew to Marty as he quickly set
the recorder on the table again. Marty let out a deep sigh, eyes still
closed, and rolled over.

Professor Brown waited a moment, to make sure Marty wasn't going to
awaken. He listened to his slow, deep breathing for a second, then
quickly crossed the room to the door. The Professor eased it shut and
continued down the hall. He had to get to the University and look up
the information about nuclear physics. Hopefully, there would be a
answer to send Marty back to the future.

Marty felt warm sunlight on his face. He threw an arm across his still-
closed eyes to block it out, along with the memories. Pieces of the
night before came back to him, being in 1952. Maybe, Marty thought, it
was just a dream. All I have to do is open my eyes and I will see that
it was all part of some bizarre dream....

He sighed as his eyes focused on his surroundings. It wasn't a dream.
He was lying on the bed in the room that Professor Brown had given him
the night before. He was still in 1952.

Marty reached over and clicked on the old radio by the bed, mostly out
of habit. He waited a few seconds, expecting to hear some old song, but
nothing came on. He hit it a few times, wondering if it was broken.
Only a minute later did sound slowly come on, and it was horrible!
Marty made a face as he rolled over and twisted the tuning dial,
skimming the different stations for something better. Nothing that
even remotely resembled any type of rock 'n roll came on. Marty flipped
the radio off, shaking his head in disgust.

He got off the bed and left his room, wandering downstairs to the
kitchen. He opened a cabinet and found a coffee pot. As he was taking
it out of the cabinet, it slipped from his hands and crashed onto the
hardwood floor, separating into different pieces. Marty swore and knelt
down, trying to get it back together. After a minute, he gave up and
set it aside.

Marty turned to the refrigerator and pulled it open. He fished out a
bottle of milk and took off the little piece of foil at the top. Taking
a glass off the counter, he set it on the kitchen table and lifted up
the bottle to pour some milk in the glass. Nothing came out. Marty held
it up and looked down the neck, noticing a cardboard plug keeping the
milk in. He stuck a couple fingers down there, trying to pull it out -
but he couldn't get ahold of it! With a sigh of annoyance, Marty
finally just pushed his fingers through the cardboard and poured the
milk in the glass.

After pulling the bottle back in the refrigerator, Marty sat down at
the kitchen table to drink his milk. He noticed some magazines and
newspapers spread out and lifted a couple of them up for a closer look.
The issue of Time had a cover story titled, The Republicans: Who Will
Win in '52? Photos of the men involved were splashed on the cover.
Marty stared at it for a moment.

MARTY
Eisenhower...

He picked up a Newsweek. Will We Have War With Russia This Year? the
cover asked in big bold letters.

MARTY
No...

He took a look at the local newspaper. Crime Rate Continues to Rise!
the headline screamed. Marty shook his head and noticed a Saturday
Evening Post lying nearby. A picture of some high school students were
on the cover with the words, What's Wrong With the Younger Generation?
He laughed and flipped the magazine over. An ad for Van Heusen Shirts
had Ronald Regan in it.
Jesus, Marty muttered when he saw it, shaking his head again. The
doorbell rang. Marty looked up from the periodicals, uneasy. He stayed
seated, remembering the Professor's instructions from the night before.
The bell rang again and Marty got up from the table and walked slowly
through the dining room and living room to the front door. He stopped a
few feet away from it, staring hard at the wood and feeling torn.

The doorbell rang for a third time. What if it was someone in trouble?
What if someone was hurt and needed to use the phone? Would it be such
a bad thing, then, if he answered the door?
Aw, what the hell, he thought. Marty stepped forward and opened the
door.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Aha!

Professor Brown exclaimed, shoving a finger at Marty's chest from the
porch.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
You answered the door!

MARTY
You were ringing the doorbell!

Marty took a step back as the Professor walked inside.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
I told you not to interfere with any of the events of this time!
Nobody's supposed to see you here! What if I was a mailman? Or a
salesman?

MARTY
What if you lost your keys?

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Then I would have figured out to get back in through the events in the
natural course of history! Don't you understand? The fabric of history
is very delicate. Anything you do could have serious consequences!

MARTY
Hey, look, gimme a break! All I did was answer the door! How's that
gonna change history?

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
I don't know, but I don't want to take any chances! Now you stay here
and don't do anything. Don't answer the door, don't answer the phone,
don't go outside. Understand?

Marty rolled his eyes, having it up to here with the lecturing!

MARTY
Hey, get off my case, would you? I didn't want to come here, and the
only reason I'm here in the first place is because I was a nice guy,
helping you out. So don't tell me I gotta stay cooped up in here and
vege out, because none of this is my fault!

Professor Brown appeared unaffected by the speech.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Let me put it on a level you can understand. You don't belong here. You
don't know anything about this world. You don't know the customs, you
don't know how to talk, how to act -- you don't even look like you
belong here. And if you walked out on the street, you wouldn't get 100
yards without being arrested. Then there would be questions, and where
would we come up with the answers?

MARTY
(sighs) Okay, Professor, I get where you're coming from. The way I
look, the way I'm dressed... (looking down at his silver Porsche
jacket) I'd stick out like a sore thumb.

Professor Brown nodded, looking relieved.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
I'm glad we finally got that straightened out. I'll see you tonight.

He left the house, slamming the door behind him. Marty stared at the
door for a moment with his eyes narrowed, then he returned to the
kitchen.

INT. BROWN MANSION - LATER

Half an hour later, Marty was ready. He'd finished his breakfast and
then had a shower, changing into some of the Professor's clothes
instead of his own from 1982. He had slicked his hair back like he had
seen the men doing so in some of those magazines and was now ready to
explore the town. After all, Professor Brown had said the reason he
couldn't go out was because of the way he looked, more or less. And now
that he looked like a resident of 1952, Marty saw no problem in leaving
the house.

EXT. BROWN MANSION

He opened a window at the front of the house and climbed outside, then
ran off in the direction of town.

EXT. STREET

Less then twenty minutes later, Marty was strolling down the sidewalk
with the other townspeople, trying to look nonchalant, like he had
always lived there. He thought he was doing a pretty good job of it,
too, since no one was looking at him twice.

A cop that had been walking on the other side of the street glanced at
Marty and stopped, pointing a finger at him. Hey, you! he shouted.
Where do you think you're going?

Marty's eyes widened and fought the urge to run. How did he know? he
wondered in horror. The cop walked right for him, then, just as Marty
was ready to accept defeat, he passed him and grabbed the arm of a
tramp several yards behind Marty. He relaxed, letting out a sigh of
relief, and continued to walk down the street. After a minute he
started to get excited again as he looked around at the shops and
businesses up and down the main street.

There was an appliance store that advertised Giant 8 Inch Televisions!
with A screen as big as life itself! Across from it was an old gas
station with the price advertised at 18.9 cents a gallon. A travel
agency had a poster on how to get from L.A. to New York in a mere 12
hours! in it's window.

There was a dance studio with a sign, Everybody's doing the Mambo! on
the outside. Through the window, Marty could see a class in session. A
clothing store with a display of the latest fashions was beside the
studio. They looked a lot more like the kind of stuff in old movies. A
Studebaker showroom had a sign that said it was, the most modern car
ever developed in the entire history of man. Marty chuckled, then
stopped when he saw the next store.

It was a music store. In the display window were posters showing
America's top recording artists. Marty frowned as he studied them.
Frank Sinatra, Guy Combardo, Dinah Shore, Perry Como.

MARTY
Are they kidding?

He decided to go inside and find out.

INT. MUSIC STORE

On the counter was the current number one single, Papa Loves Mambo by
Perry Como. Marty made a face as he examined it. He suddenly noticed
the clerk was standing beside him.

CLERK
Can I help you, sir?

Marty held up the single. He had to ask.

MARTY
This... is the number one single?

CLERK
Yes, sir!

MARTY
I don't get it. How come there's no rock 'n roll?

CLERK
(frowning) I beg your pardon?

MARTY
This is 1952....?

CLERK
Uh, yes, sir...

MARTY
And you never heard of rock 'n roll?

CLERK
No....

Marty grinned as he set the single back on the counter, suddenly having
a great idea.

MARTY
Well, maybe it's time you did.

EXT. STREET

He quickly left the store and headed for a pawnshop he had noticed on
the outskirts of town. There was a guitar in the window, for five
dollars. After studying it for a moment, Marty went inside and told the
Pawnbroker what he wanted. The man took the guitar down and brought it
to the cash register and Marty trailed after him.

That'll be five bucks, he said, setting the guitar on the counter.
Marty reached for his wallet and pulled out the same twenty dollar bill
he had tried using at the cafe the night before. The Pawnbroker started
to ring the purchase up, then took a closer look at the money.

PAWNBROKER
Hey, what kinda funny money is this?

MARTY
Huh?

The Pawnbroker held the money out and pointed to something.

MARTY
It says '1977' on it. What do you take me for, an idiot?

He handed the bill back to Marty. Marty looked at it and only then
realized his mistake. He had used money that hadn't even been printed
yet!

MARTY
Oh -- yeah.

His mind was racing for a explanation to give the guy that didn't sound
too illegal. It wouldn't do for him to get arrested as a counterfeiter.

MARTY
I can't believe I did that. That's a joke. My friend had these printed
up -- see that's his name there... Blumenthal.

The Pawnbroker continued to watch him suspiciously. It didn't look like
he was buying it. Marty dug around in his wallet, but of course he
didn't have any thirty-year-old bills with him.

MARTY
Gee - I don't seem to have anything on me.

He put his wallet away and as he did so, the watch Professor Brown was
lending him caught his eye.

MARTY
Hey, how about this watch? (holding up his left wrist) It's a genuine
antique!

He slipped the watch off and handed it to the Pawnbroker. He carefully
examined it.

PAWNBROKER
Antique? They just came out with this watch last month. But this one
looks like it's been through a war.

MARTY
Yeah, I've been doing a lotta travelling.

PAWNBROKER
Okay kid. You got a deal. The watch for the guitar.

Inside the office of the Midwest Talent Agency, Marty was concentrating
hard on performing Blue Suede Shoes the way Elvis had -- or would.
Dancing around, singing, playing the instrument -- he was really into
it, hardly noticing the forty five-year-old agent that sat behind the
desk and smoking a cigar, his face expressionless as he listened to the
music. Covering the walls of the small office were black and white
pictures of some clients that the agency sponsored.
Marty finished the song and looked at the agent with a smile, waiting
for the praise that was sure to follow. Who couldn't love music like
that? The agent, however, must have been one of those people.

TALENT AGENT
Well kid, (setting his cigar down in an ash tray) it's interesting,
I'll say that. But it's not commercial.

MARTY
Not commercial? Mister, don't you know what you're listening to? This
is rock 'n roll!

The agent shook his head as he heaved his body out of the chair.

TALENT AGENT
Call it what you want to kid, but don't call it music, 'cause it sure
ain't that!

MARTY
But you don't understand --

TALENT AGENT
No buts, kid. I've been in this business my whole life and I know what
people want. The smooth sound, that's what sells. Como, Crosby, Dinah
Shore. Gimme a melody and a nice slow tempo. Now beat it!

He opened the door and shoved Marty into the waiting room. Marty stood
where he was, trying to figure out what had happened. A few seconds
later the agent tossed his guitar case out of the room and slammed the
door. He hardly noticed the black man in a silk shirt approaching him.

REGINALD WASHINGTON
That sound I just heard coming through the door, that was like nothing
I ever heard before! I mean, you got something there, young man!

MARTY
At least one person had recognized rock'n roll for what it was! Who are
you?

REGINALD WASHINGTON
Reginald Washington is my name. I manage some of the local bands around
town and I think you've got something we can promote all the way to the
top! Now, I've got a real important cat comin' in from a New York
record company on Monday the 18th, and I want you to play that music
for him. I think the time has come for a sound like that.

Marty grinned at his words. Reginald took a business card from his
pocket and jotted down the date, time, and place on it with a pencil.

REGINALD WASHINGTON
That's March 18th, Noon. Be at my office. What's your name?

MARTY
Marty Mc - Marty Lewis.

REGINALD WASHINGTON
Marty Lewis. See you on the 18th.

He handed him the card and shook his hand. Marty looked at the card,
not believing his luck.

MARTY
This is great! Right on, brother!

Reginald gave him a strange look.

REGINALD WASHINGTON
I think you're a little mixed up. There is absolutely no way that I
could be your brother.

He turned and walked away. Marty glanced at the card again and smiled.

INT. BROWN MANSION

That evening, Marty stood before the mirror in the bedroom Professor
Brown was letting him use. He had changed back into his 1982 clothes
and was practicing the guitar, making sure he looked good. He had been
doing it for close to fifteen minutes when he heard the front door open
and slam shut.

Stopping in mid-note, Marty hastily placed the guitar in a corner of
the room. He ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it up and adding
to the illusion that he had spent the whole day lying around the house.
On his way out the door, he grabbed the business card off the bed that
Reginald had given him earlier that day and stuffed it in his Porsche
jacket, draped over a chair.

Marty ran down the stairs and saw Professor Brown pouring himself a
drink. He looked up as Marty came in the room, a scowl on his face. For
a split second, Marty worried that he might have found out about his
trip into town.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Well, I found an energy source that can generate the 4200 rads that we
need....

Marty looked at him expectantly, waiting for the answer.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
An atomic bomb.

MARTY
Professor, be serious, would you?

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
I am serious. If we could get you, the time machine, and the power
converter in the vicinity of an atomic blast, we could send you back to
the future.

MARTY
You're talking crazy! An atomic blast would melt me and the time
machine in a matter of seconds!

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
You forget -- time travel is instantaneous. The time machine would
melt, but you would have already travelled through time. Of course,
it's a moot point regardless. The only place atomic bombs are detonated
is at the Army's Nevada Test Site, and those tests are kept absolutely
top secret.

Marty suddenly recalled sitting in class on the day he had left, the
lecture Mr. Arky had given him. He remembered ripping a particular page
out of the textbook for Suzy, and pocketing it in his jacket. He
whirled around and pounded up the stairs to his room.

Marty grabbed the jacket and checked the first pocket. Yeah, there was
the textbook page. He quickly unfolded it, the business card from
Reginald falling out as he did so. Marty's eyes flew to the caption of
the picture: Last above ground atomic test, 15 megatons, March 18,
1952, Atkins, Nevada.

The date seemed familiar.... Marty picked the business card off the
floor and checked the date on it beside the page. They were the same.

Marty looked between the two objects in his hands for a long moment,
trying to figure out what to do. Maybe get home -- or get nuked -- or
stay in the fifties and maybe become famous -- and alive at least. He
crumpled up the page and tossed it in the garbage just before Professor
Brown entered the room.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Marty, what's wrong?

He slipped the card back in the jacket and shrugged, trying to seem
nonchalant.

MARTY
Oh -- nothin'. I thought I left the water running.

The Professor's eyes zeroed in on the guitar in the corner of the room.
He stepped over for a closer look before Marty could stop him.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Say, where did this guitar come from?

MARTY
Oh -- that -- I found it in the closet.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
I don't recall ever seeing it before.

MARTY
Well, it was there.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Curious... Very curious....

INT. BROWN MANSION - MORNING

Late the next morning, Marty stirred and opened his eyes. It was
another bright, sunny day outside. He smiled slowly, thinking of his
audition a few days away, and crawled out of bed. The house was quiet,
with the Professor at work.

Marty went downstairs and into the kitchen. Professor Brown had left
the coffee pot on and he cheerfully poured himself a cup, then opened
the refrigerator and pulled out the new bottle of milk. He got the
stopper out in a matter of seconds, without breaking it, too. As Marty
added the milk to the black coffee, he started to sing.

MARTY
So you wanna be a rock 'n roll star...

The doorbell rang before he could get any further with the song. Marty
rolled his eyes and set the milk down. He was going to have to go
through this again? Marty left the kitchen and headed for the front
door. He shook his head as he reached for the knob.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Look, Professor! I'm not -- oh!

The words died in his throat. Marty stared at Eileen, standing on the
doorstep, hugging books to her chest. She smiled at him and Marty
smiled back, weakly.

EILEEN
Hi, Marty.

MARTY
Uh, hi....

Eileen, his mother jumped in. Marty gave another weak smile. It was
hard for him to say her name.

MARTY
Right. Eileen.

The smile faded from Eileen's face.

EILEEN
You remember me...?

MARTY
(mumbles) How could I forget? (to Eileen) Oh, sure, I remember you.

EILEEN
Well, I was on my way to school, and I just wanted to stop by and see
if you were feeling okay. You seemed like you were in pretty bad shape
the other night.

MARTY
Oh, I'm feeling much better now.

The smile returned to Eileen's face.

EILEEN
How long are you planning on staying?

Marty shrugged.

MARTY
Actually, it looks like I'm gonna be stuck here for awhile.

Eileen's smile grew wider.

EILEEN
Then you'll be going to school here....?

MARTY
School? I never thought of school! If I went to school I could blend in
with everybody else, couldn't I?

Eileen blinked, puzzled.

MARTY
What time does school start around here?

EILEEN
Nine o' clock. (glancing at her watch) Oh, I'm late! Maybe I'll see you
later.

MARTY
Yeah. Maybe so.

Eileen flashed another smile at him, then turned and hurried down the
walk. Marty shut the door and headed for the upstairs.

EXT. HIGH SCHOOL

Not much later, Marty walked up the steps of his future high school,
amazed at the change. The grafitti was gone from the building, as were
the broken windows and overall run-down worn-in look the place had held
before -- or would later. All the tall trees on campus were much
smaller, maybe half the size they were in 1982. The bell rang as he
reached the door, a notebook in hand, and students streamed into the
hallways.

Marty stared openly at his classmates. They all looked like people from
an old movie, with the hair and clothes, the way they acted.... He
walked through the hall and passed an open door. The classroom looked
familiar and he stopped, looking inside.

INT. HIGH SCHOOL

After a moment of hesitation, Marty walked inside. Yeah, he had been
in it before! But everything looked a lot different -- newer. And the
chalkboards were black, not green. He went over to the desk that would
be his in thirty years and ran a hand across the smooth, shiny surface,
devoid of any marks or carvings.

You there! he heard someone yell. Someone familiar....

MR. ARKY
What are you doing in this class?

Marty lifted his head up and found himself looking at Mr. Arky --
thirty years younger! His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened as he
stared at the science teacher. He looked so different, age aside. Their
was an energetic spark in his eyes that hadn't been there when Marty
would have him for a teacher.

MARTY
Mr. Arky?

Marty asked, blinking a few times to make sure he wasn't seeing things.
He wasn't.

MR. ARKY
Yes, that's my name. Who are you, young man? Are you supposed to be
here?

MARTY
Uh -- yeah. I'm new here, and I'm supposed to be in this class.

Mr. Arky nodded.

MR. ARKY
You have a name?

MARTY
Marty. Marty Lewis.

Marty watched the girl in the seat next to him, his eyes focused on the
old fountain pen she was filling with ink. He couldn't believe it.
Where were the pens he was used to?

In the background, Mr. Arky continued with the day's lecture. Marty
listened to him with half an ear, not paying much attention.

MR. ARKY
...and it is, of course, due to science that we Americans enjoy the
highest standard of living in the history of the world. When we think
of the technological advances made in just the past thirty years, it
boggles the mind to imagine what the world will be like in another
thirty years. I think I can safely say that we can all look forward to
a world of plenty, a world free of disease and starvation. There'll be
entire cities built under the sea, cars that can go two or three
hundred miles an hour.

Marty stared at Mr. Arky in disbelief. Could he be serious? Marty
glanced around and noticed the rest of the class looked bored, as if
they had heard the lecture before.

MR. ARKY
You girls will be able to cook an entire meal, clean the entire house,
and do all of your laundry and ironing by push button, the science
teacher went on. You may even have a robot to assist you in all your
duties as a wife.

STUDENT
I hope those robots won't be assisting in all my wife's duties!

The class laughed, but Marty was distracted by something. Where had he
heard that voice before? It sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't
quite put his finger on it....

MR. ARKY
Well, Biff, since you seem so eager to get into this discussion,
perhaps you'd like to tell us what you think you'll be doing in thirty
years?

Marty turned around and saw Biff Tannen -- thirty years younger, of
course -- slouched in the back desk with a bored expression on his
face. Surrounding him were three other guys who were obviously friends
of his. One was missing two front teeth, one chewed on a wooden match,
and the other had a crewcut that made him look nearly bald. Marty
stared at Biff, who appeared just as obnoxious as he was later in life.

BIFF
I know what I won't be doin', he said with a smirk on his face. Goin'
to school!

His three cronies broke out laughing.

GUMS
Hey, Biff, good one!

SKINHEAD
Ataway, Biff!

Biff suddenly noticed Marty's stare. He scowled at him.

BIFF
What are you lookin' at, asshole?

Marty met Biff's glare, then turned away. Mr. Arky continued with his
class, the confrontation unnoticed.

MR. ARKY
Anybody else have any ideas about what life might be like in thirty
years?

The teacher's eyes roamed the class for volunteers. No one volunteered,
as usual. At least this hasn't changed , Marty thought with a chuckle.

MR. ARKY
Mr. Cusimano? Miss Voyles? Miss Kaner? So am I to understand that no
one has anything at all to say about the future? (shifting his gaze to
Marty) How about you, Mr. McFly?

Marty felt his face drain of color. He had been caught!

MARTY
(muttering) Oh shit...!

A few kids turned their heads to stare at him, shocked at his words,
including Biff. Marty hardly had a chance to notice that when the
student in front of him started to speak.

GEORGE
Well, I, uh....well....

Marty glanced at him, and did a double take. That person stuttering was
none other then a younger version of George McFly -- his father! Marty
couldn't believe it! First his mother, now this! George was a mess,
shoulders slumped, hair uncombed, and an overall nerdy, wimpy look
about him

MARTY
Jesus Christ! Dad!

The entire class now stared at Marty. Mr. Arky ignored it as best he
could.

MR. ARKY
Continue, Mr. McFly.

Marty's father stood up slowly, as if he were getting called to his
execution. Marty sighed and buried his face in his hands, shaking his
head.

GEORGE
Well, I -- uh -- could you repeat the question?

BIFF
Sit down, McFly, you stupid moron! I can't see!

A second later, a spitball hit George in the back of the head. His face
red, George sat down.
Marty whipped his head around, furious, and glared at Biff.

MARTY
Hey, lay off!

Biff glared back at him, his eyes narrowed in slits of hatred.

MR. ARKY
Did you say something, Mr. Lewis?

Marty didn't hear him, continuing to give Biff the worst look he could.

MR. ARKY
Mr. Lewis, I'm talking to you!

Marty snapped out of it, remembering who he was supposed to be.

MARTY
Who, me?

MR. ARKY
You're the only Mr. Lewis in this class. If you have something to say,
say it so the whole class can hear.

MARTY
Well, yeah, I was thinking, if cars are gonna be going two or three
hundred miles an hour, they're gonna be using an awful lot of gas.
Like, what if we run out?

MR. ARKY
Run out of gas?

The class started laughing. Marty looked around, baffled. Was what he
said that funny?

MR. ARKY
Well, class, it seems we have a doomsayer in our midst. I must say, Mr.
Lewis, that's a mighty pessimistic attitude for a young man like
yourself. First of all, with all the studies we have indicating the
vast supplies of petroleum in the earth, plus the massive reserves that
have yet to be discovered, the likelihood of any such shortage is
highly remote. And even if the most improbable, catastrophic
circumstances were to occur and we did have a shortage of petroleum,
I'm sure that American technology and ingenuity would overcome the
problem in no time at all. All in all, I'd say your time would be
better spent worrying about the real problems that face our world,
instead of a shortage of gasoline.

At the back of the class, Biff and his group started to make farting
noises.

BIFF
Hey, we got plenty of gas back here!

The class erupted into laughter once again. Marty just shook his head.

Not much later, the bell rang, ending the science class. Everyone made
a mad dash for the door, including Marty. He'd had enough humiliation
for the day with Mr. Arky.

INT. HIGH SCHOOL - HALL

George waited until most of the other students had left before
gathering up his books and heading for the door. Marty separated
himself from the mob in the hall and stood outside the door, waiting
for him. A minute later, George finally walked into the corridor. Marty
waited a moment, then followed him, keeping his distance.

When they reached a hall intersection, Marty noticed Eileen headed for
the two of them, her friend Madge with her. She didn't seem to see
Marty, but her eyes locked on George and she smiled at him.

EILEEN
Hi, George.

Marty watched as George looked over at her and became so flustered that
he walked straight into another student in the hall. Eileen and her
friend giggled and walked away. George's eyes followed her until she
was out of sight, then he walked over to a drinking fountain.

As he leaned over and turned the fountain on, he misjudged the distance
and the stream of water hit him right in the face. Marty shook his head
from a few feet away, as George wiped the water from his eyes. From the
fountain, George headed over to his locker. Marty watched him dial the
combination and, as he opened the locker door, a pile of books fell
out, nearly knocking him over. Marty looked away, sighing.

After George picked up his books, he started moving in the direction of
the cafeteria. As Marty got in the lunch line behind him, he noticed a
large poster tacked on the wall. Something about the Springtime in
Paris Dance on Saturday, March 16th. Not too far off.

INT. CAFETERIA

Marty turned his attention to his father, watching the bored cafeteria
ladies shovel out a overcooked pork chop, wilted salad, and green
stewed tomatoes. Looks like the food isn't much better now then in
1982, Marty thought, amused. George didn't seem to notice. Leaning
forward a little, Marty could hear him muttering to himself.

GEORGE
Eileen, if you're free Saturday night... No... Eileen, would you like
to go to the dance... no...

Something suddenly clicked and Marty looked at the poster again. Yeah,
now he remembered! That was the dance his parents fell in love at!

The lunch line moved slowly, but eventually both he and George got
through it. George looked around the crowded lunch room, searching for
someone. Marty tried to follow where his eyes were roaming and after a
moment, he realized George was staring at the table where Eileen,
Madge, and a few other friends of theirs were sitting. George took a
deep breath, then started walking over to the table. Marty followed,
not too far behind.

As George approached the table, his hands started shaking, causing
everything on his lunch tray to wobble around.

GEORGE
Uh, Eileen?

Eileen turned around and gave him a warm smile.

EILEEN
Hi, George.

Marty watched his future father, a bundle of nerves.

GEORGE
Eileen, could I ask you something?

The creamed corn on his tray suddenly tipped over and spilled.

GEORGE
Ooops --!

Eileen smiled again, obviously not put off by it. George took another
deep breath.

GEORGE
Uh, well, the thing is, that is, what I wanted to ask you....

Marty decided this was too important to miss and crept closer so he
could hear better. Unfortunately, Eileen spotted him.

EILEEN
Marty! (waving to him) Hi, Marty! Over here!

George spun around before Marty had a chance to do anything. The sudden
movement causing George's entire tray to slip from his hands and spill
all over his shirt.

GEORGE
Oh God! Excuse me, please!

He started to run off, but Marty grabbed his arm.

MARTY
Wait a minute -- aren't you gonna ask her to the dance? That was what
was supposed to have happened, wasn't it?

George stared at him.

GEORGE
Huh? How did you know?

Marty pushed him towards Eileen.

MARTY
Go ahead, George. Ask her.

George shoved his arms away.

GEORGE
Leave me alone!

The gesture shocked Marty, but he shook his head.

MARTY
You've gotta ask her to the dance!

GEORGE
Not now....

George muttered, looking around the cafeteria. People were beginning to
stare. Eileen had been watching the whole ordeal with interest. Now she
spoke up.

EILEEN
Is that what you were going to ask me, George? To go to the dance?

GEORGE
No!

George shouted, running away, out of the cafeteria.

MARTY
George! Wait! Get back here! You're not supposed to run off! It doesn't
happen that way!

George didn't look back. Marty threw his hands up in the air
helplessly.

MARTY
Oh, God, this is all wrong!

Eileen stared at him with concern.

EILEEN
What's all wrong?

Marty ran a hand through his hair, agitated.

MARTY
George! He's supposed to ask you to the dance!

EILEEN
But he didn't ask me.

MARTY
But he does! Don't you see?

By the blank expression on Eileen's face, it was obvious that she
didn't. Marty quickly explained:

MARTY
He comes out of the cafeteria line, he's nervous, he spills his corn,
and he asks you to the dance!

EILEEN
Marty, you haven't been listening. Nobody's asked me to the
dance...yet.

She gives him a flirtatious smile before picking up her empty lunch
tray and walking away. Oh, no she couldn't be.... Marty sat down in a
chair, quick, as his legs threatened to give out on him. Eileen, his
mother, she -- she....

MARTY
I know.

INT. BROWN MANSION

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
You did what?!?

Professor Brown yelled as Marty finished telling him what had gone on
that morning. It was later in the afternoon, they were in his study.
Marty had gone to the Professor right away, since he had no idea what
to do and needed some advice. His friend was taking the news better
then Marty had expected.

MARTY
I didn't mean to do it -- it was an accident!

Professor Brown shook his head.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Do you realize what that means? Do you have any idea what that means?

Marty shrugged.

MARTY
Look, it's not a big deal! I can fix it! All I gotta do is get 'em
together and make sure my old man asks her out!

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
You better make sure your old man asks her out, because if he doesn't,
they may never have a first date. And if they don't have a first date,
they won't have a second date. If they don't have a second date, they
won't fall in love. If they don't fall in love, they won't get married,
and if they don't get married, you'll never be born!

Marty swallowed hard.

MARTY
Well, maybe everything is a little worse then I first thought, he
realized.

EXT. MALT SHOP

The next day, Marty brought George to the malt shop. It was after
classes and all the high school students were in there, including
Eileen.

GEORGE
I don't know if I can go through with this!

George moaned as they drew closer to the building. Marty dodged two
kids on homemade scooters as they sped by them on the sidewalk. His
eyes followed them for a moment, the vehicles reminding him of
skateboards.

MARTY
George, she's beautiful, right? She's nice, she's decent, she's the
kind of girl you'd like to marry, right? And there's nothing in the
world you'd like more than to take her to that dance, right?

GEORGE
Well... yeah...

MARTY
Okay, then!

Suddenly, George stopped, turned and faced him, his eyes narrowed
suspiciously.

GEORGE
Wait a minute -- who are you, anyway? What are you doing this for?

Marty hesitated.

MARTY
Let's just say I have a vested interest in you and Eileen going to this
dance, all right? Look, (pointing though the window of the malt shop)
There she is...

Eileen was sitting at a table with Madge and some other girl, each
having ice cream sodas and talking.

MARTY
Go in there and invite her.

Marty nudging George in the direction of the doors, but George stayed
put.

GEORGE
What do I say?

MARTY
Say what you were supposed to say in the cafeteria.

George shook his head quickly.

GEORGE
Oh, no! That was for the cafeteria! This is different!

MARTY
Christ, it's a miracle I was even born! (mutters under his breath,
rolling his eyes)

GEORGE
Huh?

MARTY
Nothing. Look, I'll write it down for you, okay?

Marty took the notebook George had in his hands and ripped a page out.
He pulled his pen out and started jotting down some helpful lines.
George stared at the pen as he wrote.

GEORGE
What is that? A pencil that writes in ink?

MARTY
It was Marty's turn to be confused. Huh?

GEORGE
Lemme see that.

George plucked the pen from his hand and looked it at it carefully.

GEORGE
'Bike fine point?'

MARTY
Bic... It's a Bic pen.

George frowned. How do you fill it with ink?

MARTY
Fill it with ink? You don't fill it -- oh come on, George!

INT. MALT SHOP

He pushed him into the malt shop, tired of the procrastination. As soon
as they entered, Marty steered him in the direction of Eileen's table
and handed him the paper he had written on.

MARTY
There she is, he said in a low voice. Just go and ask her. I'll be
sitting right here.

Marty takes an empty seat at the counter. George looked at him, and
then over at Eileen. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, then
suddenly veered back to the counter.

GEORGE
Gimme a strawberry malted

Marty shook his head, wondering if he would ever get to Eileen. While
he waited for the drink, George examined the paper Marty gave him and
mouthed the dialog to himself, apparently trying to memorize it. A
moment later, the malt came and he took a swig of it, the drink leaving
an unnoticed pink moustache on his face. He turned around and started
to approach Eileen. Finally, Marty thought. George was still several
feet away when Eileen looked up and spotted him.

EILEEN
Hi, George!

He took a step back, startled.

GEORGE
Uh, hi, Eileen.

EILEEN
How are you?

GEORGE
Oh -- I'm all right. Say, listen, about this dance Saturday night --

The door to the malt shop was suddenly thrown open.

BIFF
Hey, McFly, I thought I told you never to come in here!

Biff Tannen stood in the doorway with his gang behind him. George took
one look at him and shuddered. Marty let his head fall in his hands
with a sigh. They had been so goddamn close!

BIFF
Well, it's gonna cost you, McFly. How much money you got on you?

George pulled out his wallet and opened it.

GEORGE
How much do you want, Biff?

Biff crossed the room, on his way to George. As he passed, Marty
stretched his leg out and tripped the bully. Biff crashed to the floor,
taking a chair down with him. People started to laugh, but Biff
scowled. He didn't think it was too funny. He got to his feet and
stepped over to where Marty sat, his back to him.

BIFF
Listen, asshole, he growled, it's about time I taught you a lesson.

Biff put a hand on his arm and at his touch, Marty spun around on the
stool and threw his fist into Biff's face! Unprepared, Biff fell back
onto a table. Marty jumped off the stool. The cafe was deathly silent
and Biff's three henchmen started to approach him. Marty decided it was
time for him to leave the building and he pushed his way out of the
crowded teen hangout and onto Main Street.

EXT. STREET

Marty ran down the street, hearing the pounding footsteps of Biff and
his gang behind him. He cast a quick look over his shoulder and saw
them closing the gap that separated them. He was going to be dead meat!
One of the kids on the homemade scooters sailed by, and Marty suddenly
had an idea. He grabbed the scooter and pulled it away from the kid,
kicking the orange crate off the board with the skates on it and
leaving a crude skateboard!

Marty jumped on it and sped down the street. Biff and his gang stopped
in their tracks and stared at him, amazed. Likewise with the crowd that
had moved out of the malt shop.

BIFF
In the car!

They raced to the black convertible, Biff getting behind the wheel. He
gunned the engine, heading straight for Marty. Marty glanced over his
shoulder and saw the convertible quickly gaining on him. He cut a sharp
turn in the middle of the street and crossed before Biff's car, then
started to retrace his steps back to the malt shop. A car passed him,
and Marty grabbed onto the back of it, ignoring the stunned looks of
everyone around, including Biff and his gang.

Biff executed a quick U-turn and continued his pursuit of Marty. As he
passed the malt shop, the spectators cheered.

MADGE
Did you see that?

Eileen nodded, her mouth open, impressed.

Biff's convertible raced past the cafe, hot on the trail of Marty.
Marty risked another look back. His eyes widened in panic as he saw
Biff's convertible closing in on the distance, quick. Was there no end
to his maniacal determination? Marty turned his attention back to the
front. He saw Hill Street intersecting up ahead. Instinctively, he
released his hold on the car and leaned into the board, turning it onto
the street. Biff once again overshot the street and had to do another
U-turn to get on it.

Hill Street was not named by accident -- it was incredibly steep. At
the bottom of the hill was an intersection with traffic lights. Marty
felt the board pick up speed. Behind him, Biff was putting the pedal to
the metal, the tires actually leaving the ground as he leapt onto Hill
Street! Once again, he quickly closed in on the distance between the
convertible and the skateboard. Marty crouched down, cutting the wind
resistance down, and the skateboard picked up speed. He was approaching
the intersection, fast! The light turned yellow.

Closing his eyes and mouthing a silent prayer, Marty flew through the
traffic, cars skidding to a stop and swerving to avoid hitting him.
Miraculously, he made it to the other side unscathed.
Such could not be said for Biff. His breaks locked up as he tried to
avoid a red car ahead, and the convertible's tires skidded across the
road. Marty winced in anticipation as Biff headed straight for a red
car. At the last minute, the car pulled away and Biff slammed into a
cop car in the next lane of traffic! Two big cops immediately got out
and headed straight for Biff, not looking too happy.

Biff let out an angry sigh.

BIFF
I'm gonna get that son of a bitch!

Marty left the site, a satisfied smile on his face. Biff had gotten
what he deserved. He turned onto a residential street, his mind
wandering as he leisurely skateboarded. About ten minutes later, he
reached an intersection next to his future home, and saw Eileen
approaching the house...with George! Marty skidded to a stop, grabbed
the board, and ducked behind some bushes to watch.

George, carrying Eileen's books, was walking her to the door. They were
talking, but Marty couldn't catch any of the conversation. After a
moment, George gave Eileen her books and they shook hands very formal-
like.

He must've finally asked her to the dance! Marty sighed, glad to have
that mission finally accomplished and dropped his board on the ground,
skateboarding away from Eileen's house to the Professor's place to tell
him the news. He never saw George, after Eileen had closed the door,
throw his jacket down in the street and slump down in the gutter,
dropping his head in his hands, dejected instead of exuberant.

INT. BROWN MANSION

That evening, Marty lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling in deep
thought. Eventually, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out
the business card from Reginald. Marty looked at it for a long
time...then shredded it into tiny scraps. He pushed himself off the bed
and let the papers fall into the trash can. Then he pulled out the
crumpled textbook page and went downstairs with it, heading for the
study.

Professor Brown was seated at the desk, his back to the door, hunched
over something. As Marty entered, he made a quick movement, as if he
was trying to hide the fact he had been listening to the micro-cassette
recorder again, the gunshot portion. Marty didn't notice, too caught up
in his own problems.

MARTY
Professor, you were right about everything. I don't belong here. I
almost screwed up my existence again today while I was trying to put it
back together, and I've had enough. I want to go back to the future.

Marty handed him the textbook page, pointing at the caption under the
photograph. The frown on the Professor's face changed to a smile and
his eyes lit up.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Where did you get this?

MARTY
I brought it with me from 1982. It's from my science book.

Professor Brown looked at it more closely.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
The test is this Monday! 15 megatons... Let's see, we need 4200 rads...
(doing calculations on a slide rule, lying on the desk) You'd have to
be...exactly 800 yards from ground zero... You realize that what we're
going to do could be extremely dangerous.

MARTY
Believe me, Professor, running around on a nuclear test site can't be
any more dangerous than what I've been doing.

The Professor stared at him a moment, then nodded.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
All right, here's what we'll do: we'll get an Army Surplus Truck, mount
the time machine and power converter on it, and drive it to Nevada. If
we leave by Saturday night, we can make it to the test site in plenty
of time. And just to be on the safe side, I'd better build a lead-lined
time chamber for your added protection. I don't know if I trust these
atomic bombs.

The telephone rang before Professor Brown could say anything else. He
reached over and picked it up.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN
Hello? Uh, no, Eileen, he can't come to the phone right now.

Marty stared at him, his heart starting to