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his single punch would have sent the bully into oblivion. But even if the bully had hit back and he had learned the give-and-take of combat, might not that have been better than the cowardly limbo, never-take-a-chance attitude George had trapped himself in all these years?
    He sighed. Why bother to relive that moment…Why bother to try explaining to Marty or anyone else why he was such a pushover? He could barely accept the most favorable rationalization himself.
    Now, as if to underscore Marty’s challenge of a moment before, a voice called to him from the window of the house next door. It was that of his neighbor Howard, a forty-year-old, potbellied, generally unpleasant character who, like Biff Tannen, spoke to George only when he needed something or wanted another person to berate.
    His voice was less tinged with scorn at the moment, no doubt because he was looking for George’s help.
    “Hey, McFly!” he called down. “My kid’s selling Girl Scout cookies. I told her you’d be good for a case.”
    “A case?” George replied. “What’s a case?”
    “What difference does it make?” Howard shot back belligerently. “Twelve. Twenty-four. Thirty-six. It’s for a good cause, ain’t it? Or do you want me to tell the kid you’re a cheapskate?”
    “It’s just that—” George began, then hunched his shoulders helplessly. “Never mind. Sure. Tell her I’m good for a case, whatever it is.”
    Marty shook his head and went inside.
    His sister, brother, and mother were already seated at the dinner table; none of them looked up when Marty entered and slumped into his chair. For once, Marty was glad they were so wrapped up in their own lives that they didn’t think to ask how the musical audition had turned out. He didn’t feel like explaining why he had lost or seeing their expressions of fake sympathy.
    “Meatloaf again,” he said flatly.
    His criticism did not keep the jaws from working. Brother Dave, twenty-two, sat opposite him, wearing a Burger King uniform. He kept one eye on the clock and the other on his food, which he wolfed down in large sections, swallowing noisily like a half-starved animal. On Marty’s left sat Linda, nineteen, who was cute in a kind of sleazy way, partly because she invariably wore too much eye shadow. Marty tried to remember when he had last seen her without either purple or green eyelids, and he finally gave up. On Marty’s right was dear old Mom, who was once very attractive and bright. Now, at forty-seven, she was overweight, drank more than was good for her and had more food on her plate than anyone else. The fare, besides the inevitable meat loaf, included Kraft macaroni and cheese, Birds Eye mixed veggies, and French’s instant mashed potatoes.
    Dad, the last to be seated, turned the television to an old Honeymooners rerun and put papers instead of food in front of him. Marty noted angrily that he had already started doing the “homework” Biff Tannen had so ungraciously assigned him.
    For a few minutes, Marty and Dave amused themselves and each other by reciting the Honeymooners’ lines one beat ahead of the TV actors, a routine that finally got Mom’s goat.
    “All right,” she said. “We know you’ve seen it a hundred times. But your father wants it on, O.K.? So let him enjoy it in peace.”
    Marty and Dave shrugged.
    Silence reigned for a minute until Mom finally looked at Marty, smiled, and said: “Well, Marty, how did the audition turn out?”
    Marty exhaled wearily.
    “We lost,” he said simply.
    Everyone tried to think of something to say, or at least everyone pretended to be thinking.
    “It was probably fixed,” Dave said at length, a superficial statement which surprisingly cheered Marty. That, in fact, was what he had been thinking since the sham contest was held.
    “Could be,” he shrugged.
    “They probably knew going in who was gonna win,” Dave nodded. “The rest was just window-dressing.”
    “Sour grapes,” Linda said softly, not