Rooster (3 page)

“Jayson doesn't know what he's gonna do yet,” said Jayson the last time the topic of his future came up. At six feet, 190 pounds, with a shaved head and a tattoo of a scorpion on his right shoulder, Jayson looked the part of a jock. He also talked like one, in third person. “Jayson's not even sure he wants to go to school next year. He might wanna stay home and make some coin working for his dad.”

Jayson's father owned a successful construction company.

“Maybe Jayson should stop calling himself Jayson before someone puts Jayson in a home,” said Puffs one day.

“No one's gonna put Jayson in a home,” said Jayson.

“Puffs will,” said Puffs. “Puffs will build a big home for Jayson so Jayson can run around all day by himself, talking with all his friends named Jayson.”

At the start of the school year, as a joke, Rooster put his writing talents to work and began sending Jayson love letters typed on an old typewriter that he had found during an outing with his mom to a thrift store. The first few were sent anonymously, but then he and Puffs came up with a better idea: he would give Jayson one letter at a time of the name of the person who was supposedly writing the letters. The next one he sent said,
Hey fella, I loved that move you put on that guy
in the rugby game last weekend. I hope you save a few
of those tricks for me. L.

The name Rooster was spelling was Lavender. “It's the perfect stripper's name,” he told Puffs. “Just what we're after.” He got as far as Lav before Jayson said anything.

“Hey, Rooster,” he said discreetly one day after school, before basketball practice. “Is Lav a name?”

“Lav?”

“Yeah.”

Rooster took a moment to think about it. “I don't think so. Unless it's short for something, like lavatory. As in bathroom. Why?”

“No reason.”

“You know someone who goes to the bathroom a lot? Maybe it's a nickname.”

A week later, Rooster had added two more letters.
Hey Jayson, wouldn't that scorpion on your shoulder
like a playmate? I have tattoos too, you know. Laven.

“Laven?” said Puffs, after Jayson stopped him in the hallway. “Sure, Laven's a name.”

“It is?”

“It's the lead actor's name in that TV show,
The Gay
Prince.
Laven McDonahue. Why?”

“There's no TV show called
The Gay Prince.
”

“Sure there is. It's on Bravo! the no-sports network. That's why you've never heard of it.”

“
The Gay Prince?
”

“It's a good show from what I hear, if you're gay.”

Finally, after Jayson had received two letters with the entire name Lavender spelled out for him, he told Puffs and Rooster what was going on.

“Holy crap,” said Puffs. “That's awesome. You're getting love letters from some woman you don't even know. She's, like, a secret admirer.”

“How do you know it's not just a girl?” said Jayson. “Like some kid our age who goes to a different school.”

“Come on, buddy.” Puffs gave Jayson a knock on the shoulder. “Nobody names their kid Lavender. Lavender's a name you change your old name into after you become an exotic dancer.”

“He's right,” said Rooster. “A name like Joan doesn't cut it in that line of work. Or Joanne. Or Brenda.”

“So, her name used to be Joan, Joanne or Brenda, and she changed it to Lavender?”

“No,” said Puffs, rolling his eyes. “Those were examples. We're just saying that the person writing you these notes must be old enough to change her name. She must be over eighteen.”

“And she's not a doctor,” said Rooster. “Or a lawyer.”

“Or a dentist,” said Puffs.

“Or a real estate agent,” said Rooster.

Puffs hesitated after that one. “She could be a real estate agent.”

“You think so?”

“Uh-huh. That could be a name you see on a sign selling real estate. Lavender. Lavender McLeod, something like that. ‘For a great deal, call me, Lavender McLeod. I'll put you where you want to be.'”

“I'll bet she would,” said Rooster, as an aside.

“I think that's believable,” said Puffs.

“All right then.” Rooster looked back at Puffs. “There you go. She's either a table dancer, a stripper or a real estate agent. Take your pick.”

Jayson had been overwhelmed by the idea of having a secret admirer, especially such a flamboyant one. Rooster and Puffs eventually told him it was a gag. He'd been vowing revenge ever since.

“Jayson will make you guys pay for that. He will make you pay big-time.”

“Take a joke already,” said Rooster, tired of the threats.

“The Jay-man is on alert. He will conquer.”

Rooster met Jolene in grade nine. She had just moved to Winston from Ottawa with her mom and dad and her little sister, Raquel. She arrived at the high school in November. She was small, thin and had big lively eyes and soft pale skin. She kept to herself and had made only a few friends by the time Rooster's eyes found her shortly before Christmas.

“Who's that?” he said to Jayson one day in the cafeteria.

“Who's what?” said Jayson, devouring his lunch.

“That girl over there. With the brown hair.”

Jayson turned and looked over his shoulder. “That's Tammy Kyle.”

“Not her. The other one. The little one in the blue sweater over there.”

“Oh. That's Lindy Raymond. I play volleyball with her brother.”

“Are you an idiot? I know who Tammy Kyle and Lindy Raymond are. I'm looking at that little blue girl over there with the empty tray in her hand. She just got butted out of line.”

“Where?”

“I just told you where.”

“Jayson doesn't see a little blue girl anywhere. Oh, now he does. Jayson knows her. She's in his math class.”

“What's her name?”

“Jayson doesn't know.”

“She's cute.”

Jayson shrugged his shoulders. “Jayson's pretty big on Belinda MacPherson at the moment. He's gonna ask her to go to the dance with him this Friday.”

Rooster took his eyes off Jolene and frowned at Jayson. “Belinda MacPherson?”

“Uh-huh.”

“She eats her lunch with her mouth open, you know that? Puffs told me about it the other day and we watched her.”

“Jayson likes her. He couldn't care less how she eats her lunch.”

“The way you eat, that's probably true. I like that chick over there. What's her name again?”

“Jayson doesn't know. Jolene, maybe.”

“Jolene?”

Jayson nodded and chewed another bite of his sandwich. “Something weird like that.”

In spite of his cocksure ways, Rooster was not a natural when it came to girls. He had never had a steady girlfriend. He'd made out with Casey Tatum in grade eight, at a party, and he had almost undone Tanya Smyl's bra one hot afternoon in the summer between grades eight and nine. When her mother came home unexpectedly, Rooster had been forced to hide under Tanya's bed until her mom went back to work, at which point Tanya broke up with him, saying he was bad luck and too clumsy.

“What's so clumsy about me?” he had said on his way out the door.

“What's so clumsy? My God. I can undo my bra in my sleep. It felt like you had boxing gloves on, the way you were doing it.”

His only other fling with romance occurred at Christmas break when he was fourteen. He met Jayson's cousin, Louisa, at a tobogganing party. She was visiting with her parents from Saskatoon. She had flaming red hair and freckles all over her hands and face.

“You should see me in the summer,” she said after everyone had returned to Jayson's house for pizza. “I have them all over my arms, my legs, my back.”

“I'd love to see that,” said Rooster, whose bravery was enhanced by the flask of whiskey and Coke that Jayson's older brother, Russell, had smuggled to the tobogganing hill. “Let's set it up.”

“You're drunk,” said Louisa, shoving him away.

“You are not,” said Rooster. “I mean, I am not.”

On her final day in Winston, Louisa confessed to Rooster, stone sober with a headache, that she did in fact have a crush on him, but she also had a boyfriend back home.

“Marvin wants to be a boxer,” she said. “He works out every day in the gym. You should see him hit the speed bag.”

“She liked me, though,” Rooster said to his friends after she'd left. “You could see it in her eyes.”

“She had a cold,” said Jayson. “Her eyes were running all week. She couldn't stop blowing her nose.”

“She told me she had a crush on me.”

“She was being nice,” said Puffs. “She felt sorry for you.”

Rooster asked Jolene out after school the next day. It was an awkward moment for him, especially with Puffs and Jayson lurking around the corner. Jolene told him she would think about it and get back to him before the dance on Friday.

“You sure knocked her out,” said Puffs.

The next afternoon, she stopped him in the hallway and said yes, she would like to go out with him, providing he met her parents first. “And they're super strict,” she said, “so be ready.”

Mrs. Delaney answered the door when Rooster rang the bell early Friday evening. She was a short stout woman, with glasses attached to a gold chain around her neck and a thick novel in her hand. Her face fell into a frown as soon as she saw him.

“You are…?” she said after giving him the once-over.

“Rooster Cobb. I'm here to take Jolene to the dance tonight.” He had done his best to pull himself together. His hair, usually spiked high with gel, was slicked neatly to the side. He wore a white shirt buttoned to the collar. His blue jeans were clean, and he had taken a Kleenex to the toes of his black boots before leaving the house.

Mrs. Delaney invited him inside. “That's a very interesting name you have, Rooster. Why don't you tell me about it?”

Rooster smiled to himself. The story was one of his favorites. “When I was a kid, like, really little, I used to go and stand on the end of my parents' bed and make noises until they woke up. One day, my dad told me I reminded him of a goddamn rooster.”

Mrs. Delaney continued to frown. “He didn't have a problem using that kind of language in front of his children?”

“I'm an only child, so I guess it didn't matter.”

Mr. Delaney joined them a short time later. He was a tall, regal-looking man with a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. He wore a dark brown cardigan and corduroy pants. He, too, was holding a book. Behind them, in the background, Rooster could hear classical music coming from the stereo.

“Conroy Delaney, son.” Mr. Delaney extended his hand and nearly crushed Rooster's fingers. “A man is only as good as his word and his handshake. That's what my father used to say.” His voice was strong and clear and used to being listened to.

“You should hear the language this boy's father uses around him,” said Mrs. Delaney.

“Fill their ears with goodness and they will grow up to be good,” said Mr. Delaney before Rooster could explain that his father was no longer living.

“Tell him where your name comes from. No, on second thought, don't bother. He'll only get upset.”

“You can tell me what you plan on doing with my daughter tonight. I hope that doesn't make me upset.”

Rooster said something about just going to the dance and maybe taking a little walk after.

“After what, son?”

“The dance?”

“And what time will that be?”

Rooster shrugged his shoulders. “I'm not sure. Ten? Eleven?”

“No, it won't be that time.” Mr. Delaney shook his head, in unison with Mrs. Delaney.

“It won't?”

“It won't be ten and it won't be eleven. It will be nine thirty, and you'll be right back where you are right now or you won't be seeing our daughter again.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Is that understood?”

“Yup.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said yup, I get it. Nine thirty, right back here.”

They hit it off at the dance, and for the next two years Rooster saw Jolene at school every day and occasionally on weekends. The reason they did not spend more time together was that Mr. and Mrs. Delaney did not share her sentiments for him.

“My mommy and daddy don't like you, you know,” said Jolene's sister, Raquel, one day. She was seven years younger than Jolene.

“They don't like you, either,” said Rooster. The two of them were alone in the kitchen while Jolene finished getting ready upstairs. The babysitter had not yet arrived for Raquel. Mr. and Mrs. Delaney had gone out for the night.

“Yes, they do.”

“That's not what I heard.”

“They do so!”

“Not as much as they like me.”

“They don't like you at all.”

“They don't like you at
all
, at all.”

“I'm telling on you.”

“I'm telling on
you
.”

Jolene was clearly different from most of the other girls he knew. She did not smoke and she rarely swore. At parties, whenever she was allowed to go to one, she drank Coke or water with a twist of lemon. She read novels like
Jane Eyre
, by Charlotte Bronte, and
Pride
and Prejudice
, by Jane Austen. She encouraged Rooster to write more and even suggested one day when they were home alone in her living room that he join the staff of the student newspaper and become a reporter.

“Deadlines make me crazy,” he had replied. “I could never do that.”

“You're just chicken, that's what it is,” she said back.

“No, I'm not. I don't even like writing. Why would I do that?”

“Because you're good at it, that's why. And you do so like it. You just don't want to admit it. It's not cool enough for you.”