George McFly?
Yeah, I knew a few things about George McFly.
He was a major nerd, with a hooked nose and the personality of a scared deer. Personally, I didn't particularly like him all that much. However, that didn't stop the fact that the smaller half of my brain secretly rooted for him to give Biff Tannen - my best friend - a mean punch in the skull for sometimes being the biggest douche bag of the fucking millennium. His hair was cut in such a ridiculously stupid and nerdy way that every time he was in my presence I had to stop myself from punching him in the stomach for even having the damn thing. Although, I suppose, at least it wasn't a bowl cut. Then I would've really punched him in his nerdy guts.
Nevertheless, it doesn't matter how willing I was to give him a right good decking, I copy his math homework and I don't think he'd be nearly as accommodating for me to copy if I did.
Not that I cared if he wanted to give me the homework. Biff would've beaten him up if he refused. Or pranked him. Or humiliated him. Or all three, really. So you see the poor nerdy guy sitting next me fidgeting with his left shirt cuff really had no choice either way. Ahh, c'est la vie.
Sitting reluctantly next to him as my HB pencil scribbled messily across the page; my eyes scanned back and forth at his page to mine. It was silent between us - rightfully so; he shouldn't be speaking to me. The only noise that could be heard was the milk-bars jukebox playing popular 50's pop music and idle chatters of the customers of the place. I had a Strawberry Milkshake in my right hand and I was unconsciously sipping it with my tongue swirled around the pink straw. The sweet taste of the fake strawberry flavouring exploded into my mouth and the feeling made me just a little bit happier in this dead-beat town of Hill Valley. The clock-tower rang twelve times, signifying that it was officially midday.
"A-Are you left-handed?" McFly asked with his stupid stutter. My eyes flickered from the page to his beryl coloured eyes - which, I had to admit were the only decent looking thing about him. Why the fuck is he speaking? I thought to myself. The expression of anger probably shone through my face because he quickly averted eyes and looked over to where the busboy Goldie Wilson was cleaning the table. It was silent for a few seconds as my anger subsided.
"I am. They do say left-handed people are more creative." He turned back to me and had the audacity to smile slightly. I sighed in annoyance. Due to my reaction most probably, his smile turned into a frown. My hand started scribbling on my paper, perhaps faster now. After a few minutes of awkward silence for him as he tried to recover, I had completed the sheet. My feet touched the polished floor as I swirled on the red stool to get up. I grabbed my copied homework in the pocket of my shorts and then slid his paper back to him. Placing both palms on the table in front of me, I turned my head to look at McFly.
"For the sake of your balls, don't even try and pull that shit again with me. Got it, Candy-Ass?" McFly quickly nodded - slightly terrified - and my mouth lifted up into a smirk. I swiped my half-drunken Strawberry milkshake off of the counter, beginning to sip at it. Before I could finish it, my ears heard Biff's footsteps as he entered the milk-bar with the goons I call my friends.
I count Biff's group of goons as some of my closest friends ever. We had been a closely knit group since young and they're really all I know. I class them all as family. We like all the same stuff - pranking, graffiti, and my personal favourite; blowing up mailboxes with fire-crackers. They're about as protective of me as normal brothers would because apparently I was 'a hot chica' (courtesy of 3D). That I roll my eyes to. I can't help but agree with it however.
I am pretty foxy if I do say do myself.
"Hey Dols, gotten homework done yet?" My eyes locked with his. Patting my pocket, I winked at him.
"Yep. Just done a copy. Better be all correct or he'll be getting a mean right hook off of yours truly." I rudely talked about the nerd behind me without a care. Biff chuckled and nodded, settling his eyes on McFly himself before his mouth turned down into a scowl.
"Hey McFly. You heard the little lady, Any mistakes and it'll cost you," He cracked his knuckles, the popping of them loud and intimidating. "Dearly."
McFly gulped and jerked his head into that of a swift nod. Biff triumphantly simpered to himself. The shy guy then quickly collected his mass of papers - homework and whatever else he did, I didn't particularly care all that much - and he tried to leave. Biff gave him a scornful stare as George McFly backed down into the chair. Biff then gave an innocent smile which was titled right to some but to people who knew him - people like me - it meant that he was up to something.
"Hey McFly, your shoes undone." Biff pointed down at McFly's shoes. McFly stupidly looked down at his shoes and he got slapped in the face by his bully. 'What an idiot' I thought. To both of them, really. Biff for using the lamest most unoriginal jokes imaginable and George for still falling for that joke after the sixth time it's happened. After a few more minutes of bickering and teasing from Biff and awkward laughing from George McFly, I was far more than bored and annoyed. Sighing loudly, I rolled my eyes. That attracted the attention of both of the males that were in front of me.
"If you're done being the dumbest person alive Tannen, we have important business to attend to." I cracked my knuckles a smirked.
"I do believe it's high time for some letterboxes to get blown up. Take me there." I demanded, crossing my arms over my chest. Biff nodded and let go of McFly, who was looking at me with a thankful look. Eww. This Milksop really thinks I'm defending him? I'd never do that in a million years!
Giving McFly a disgusted look, I let Biff put his arm around me as he led me out of the Milk-bar and outside to his car along with his goons, Match, 3D and Skinhead. There, we drove off for hours of fun doing my favourite activity - blowing up shit.
It was 8 o'clock at night. Biff and his goons were all but gone. They had dropped me off, wishing me a good night in their own special way ('Don't fucking die, Dols. You're too good looking for that.' Match said, leading Biff to hit him on the top side of his head. I chucked, 'I'll keep that in mind, Thanks Match.'). I stood outside my house, my hands in my pockets and a shit load of thoughts in my head. They mostly were about my mother, who was currently at work. She barely came home and when she did she was either drunk or asleep. I was alright with it - she provided us stable income as a nurse. However, it felt kind of lonely being an only child in a big empty house. Sure, I had Biff, Match, 3D and Skinhead -- all important people to me -- but they weren't exactly ... well ... parental figures. My mother was never there for me and my father had been practically absent my entire life null early days. I was practically left alone to mature. It was a child's naive dream but a young woman's worst nightmare.
Finally stepping into the dark and museum-like house, I immediately walked into the kitchen where I made myself a suitable dinner for my cooking skill - a cheese toasted sandwich - and sat down with it. I started to quietly and comfortably eat in the heavy silence that filled the house -- that was the norm. Absently eating the food, I realised that I wasn't hungry at all really, so I threw out the sandwich after a couple of bites and started to clean up. It was long overdue that I did the dishes - it had been a week and a half. In that week and a half I had only seen my mother once. She was out cold on her plush bed in the master bedroom, her scrubs half off her body in a pitiful attempt to get changed before bed. I only sighed and closed the door. I hadn't had a full conversation with her in months. That's the way it was, I guess.
Placing the last soapy glass on the drying rack, I went up the fancy floral-carpeted stairwell to the second floor of the masterpiece of a home. My house had two floors, a basement and an attic. It was about seven bedrooms, four bathrooms and three garages big, with a well trimmed lawn and a nice clean picket fence.
For a party of two it was just too big for a duo like us, however it was my grand-papa's estate and he past it down to my mother - the youngest of a child of four. My uncle and auntie - the two oldest - were either in jail or in rehab for similar reasons whereas my other uncle - the one was closest to my mother - died in a gas explosion - courtesy of his own business - in 1945. He used to live in Hill Valley too and he was originally going to have the estate of grand-papa's - however it was then passed to us when they died. I missed both of them - they were my original family and back them I was close to my mother too.
Closing the door to my bedroom, I yawned and messily tried to snatch off my clothes and get into my nightgown. After a few minutes struggling with my heels and tight pants, I finally was freed of them and into the wavy comfortable dress. After that it was onto the night routine - makeup off, moisturiser applied my rollers in and my teeth brushed. It all in all took around forty-five minutes to get done before I was finally ready for bed. Crashing down on my Queen-sized bed, I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
"Cecil Turner?"
"Present!"
School was so overrated. What was I working up to? My mother says that if she had her my dad, she'd be a dedicated house-wife instead of a nurse like she is now. I totally dig the aesthetic of the loyal house-wife chick with the red poodle-skirt and bandana but I seriously doubt I'd be a good housewife. I'm too untamed for that life - too rebellious. I wouldn't want to stay in and clean the house, cook the meals and nurture the baby - it all seems boring. What I really wanted was to be in a band that travelled the world! I'd be a lead guitarist, of course. I have awesome riffs and baselines that would shock the world with my awesomeness! I've always read up about that kind of thing - the whole travelling the world band sort of deal - and it's a shame that that profession is almost always exclusive to males. It was downright absolutely ridiculous, actually.
"Jacquelyn Thomas?"
"Present!"
"Evelyn T-"
"Present!" I quickly whipped my head up and answered before anyone could know. There was a certain reason I didn't hand out my last name so frequently as it was top secret. Very hush-hush. People turned to look at me and I just stared back.
'What?' I thought. 'Come on guys, we do this like every day. Get on with it.'
Eventually people went back to their lives and stopped staring at my partially embarrassed face.
Well, all except one person.
A guy was staring at me. He was directly in the front of the classroom (approximately four rows up from my position) with stupidly nerdy looking hair and the nicest blue eyes I'd ever seen on a guy. We crossed gazes for a moment and I know that my face should've hardened. I should've looked away with a disgusted expression placed upon my face. My normal instinct would've been to kick his arse for even drifting his eyes across to me, but I didn't. I just stared back, my eyebrows wrinkled slightly in concentration. It was a few seconds -- or a minute -- at this moment I wasn't quite as sure; but eventually he turned away to look at the board. Which left me to stare at the back of his stupidly bad haircut on his head.
Ugh.
McFly was such a candy-ass.