Free Malcolm and Juliet by Bernard Beckett

only one acceptable answer, and Malcolm’s mood told him not to give it.
    ‘Oh no, I’ve tried to be far broader than that. I think teenage sex could be easily misinterpreted, out of context. I’m more interested in sex in general. Actually, it’s good you raised this because I was rather hoping I could interview you, if you don’t mind.’
    Mr Ramsay The Bully rose in his chair, his face contorted with venomous rage.
    ‘Of course I mind!’ he spluttered.
    ‘I think people would be quite interested.’
    ‘I don’t doubt it young man. That, however, is not the point.’
    Any other day Malcolm might have read the signs and beaten a tactical retreat, but Malcolm wasn’t in the mood for humouring bullies. Mr Ramsay was, after all, a fairly dim-witted man, and the law was very clear on just how far he could take his little pantomime.
    ‘Honestly sir, you really could be quite helpful. For example, I am in part interested in the nature of the male orgasm. If you were to imagine a simple scale, where one is a satisfying sneeze and ten is the greatest moment of your life, where would your average orgasm lie?’
    ‘Malcolm!’ Mr Ramsay was shouting now, and the stationery in front of him grew damp with spit. ‘I am warning you. This sort of filth may find favour amongst your grubby peers but it is not appropriate in my office, nor indeed in my school’s entry in the National Science Fair.’
    ‘I’m sorry sir,’ the still seated Malcolm calmly replied. ‘But I have to disagree.’
    ‘You do, do you? Well perhaps it is not your place to disagree.’
    ‘Sex is all around us you know. Why, it is this very school that taught me the names of body parts I didn’t even know I had, where I was briefed on puberty, warned of disease and loaded up with condoms. In fact, without naming names, it is fair to say that my own interest in the topic was—’
    ‘Malcolm!’ Mr Ramsay advanced another step. Malcolm did not flinch.
    ‘Sex is all around us sir. Everybody is fascinated by it.’
    ‘I most certainly am not,’ Mr Ramsay assured him, ‘and neither is my school. All Science Fair entries come through me for approval Malcolm and I will not be approving yours. End of discussion.’
    It was a heavy blow to an already sputtering spirit and Malcolm crumpled. ‘Then I will find a school that better appreciates my talents,’ he blurted.
    ‘And I’m having my video monitor back.’
    ‘You can forget the work you wanted for the open evening.’
    ‘Don’t be so childish.’
    ‘When in Rome.’
    ‘The entry is out. That’s my final word.’
    Mr Ramsay broke away from Malcolm’s stare, as if deep down part of him knew how ridiculous this was. ‘Now leave before you make things worse.’
    Malcolm did as he was told. He was shaking and close to tears and needed to be alone. He found the toilets deserted and chose the only cubicle with a functioning lock. Just yesterday two competing dreams had fought for space inside his heart: winning the Science Fair and winning Charlotte. Now he was reduced to that saddest of all things, a man without hope. Through the blur of his tears he focused on the single piece of graffiti in front of him.
    I love you Brian — K
    ‘Lucky bitch,’ Malcolm sniffed. ‘At least you’ve still got your dreams.’

Frustration
    The dreams remained locked behind their glass cabinets, where they could be viewed from any angle but never touched. And the people, tired of just looking, turned down the lights and slid between their heavy sheets of frustration.
    Frustration. The itch that cannot be scratched, the sadness that words cannot bury. Juliet sent off her letter of intent to the blackmailer’s post box, still no closer to finding his identity, or finding the money to pay him. And with every day that passed she became more certain her secret was almost out. It became so that just looking at her father, seeing the seeds of disappointment already planted in his eyes, was too painful. He sensed