TYBALT
BY STEPHEN BARR
Adolescence is a perilous time—whether
it is the adolescence of a man,
or of the whole race of Man!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1962.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The physics teacher, Howard Dax, dismissed the class. He picked upa felt-covered block and erased the diagrams he had drawn on theblackboard. He noticed with annoyance that the lines were shaky, and inone place was an irregular star where the chalk had broken because ofhis exasperation at his pupils—or more exactly, one particular pupil.
When the blackboard was clean to the corners—Howard Dax was a veryprecise man—he turned around and saw that the particular pupil wasstill sitting at his desk. He was a thin boy of fifteen, calledMallison, whose dark, wavy hair was too long. It rose in a kind ofbreaker over his forehead, and he had sideburns cut to a point. Hisexpression was neither sullen nor impertinent, but Dax had alwayshad the feeling that Mallison was concealing intense boredom and onlylistened to him perforce. He was sure that the narrow, rather handsomeface was on the verge of sneering. But there had never been quiteanything that he could put his finger on. The boy was definitely notgood at physics, yet he wasn't at the bottom of the class. The thingwas that he gave the impression of being above average intelligence. Heobviously could do very much better if he wanted to. Dax was convincedthat he despised physics, and school in general.
"Yes?" Dax said. "What is it?" He tried to make his voice sound naturaland casual.
Mallison stared at him impassively for a moment. Then he said, "Youdon't like me, Mr. Dax, do you?"
"My dear boy, I neither like you nor dislike you," Dax said. He couldfeel his hands beginning again to tremble slightly. Damn adrenalin! "Iam merely trying to teach you elementary physics. Why do you ask?"
"Why do you give me such low grades?" Mallison said, but with no senseof urgent curiosity.
Howard Dax thought that the boy's manner was altogether too adult. Hedidn't expect deference from a modern teenager, but neither did he liketo be spoken to in such a man-to-man way. No; come to think of it,man-to-man wasn't quite the phrase. It was off-hand. And yet it wasartificial: Mallison never spoke in this way to his contemporaries. Heusually talked like a ... what was it? Hipster?
"I give students the grades that in my opinion they deserve," Dax said."In your case they are low because I don't think you're trying."
"I am trying," Mallison said, then added, "sir."
"You are," Dax said. "Very." He thought the remark was rather neat,but the boy looked at him without any change of expression. Why was hehere? What did he want to say? "I must confess," Dax went on, "that Iam surprised at your interest in grades. I should have thought thatrock-and-roll was more your style. That and ... er ... racing aroundat night in a fast car!" He felt that he was sneering, and made hisface blank.
"I'm too young for a driver's license," Mallison said.
"But old enough to pull yourself together and do some real work. Youcould do much better in class. You're not stupid."
The boy said nothing and continued to stare at him without expression.
"When I see signs of an improved attitude," Dax said, "and a littlemore work, I shall mark you accordingly. One gets the impressionusually that your mind is