Rooster (4 page)

“Well, okay. So I don't want to admit it. What's the big deal?”

“If you're good at something, you should at least give it a try.”

“Maybe someday I will.” He put his arm around her shoulder. “But anyway, shouldn't we be making out or something? Can't we save this conversation for when your parents get home, or that irritating little sister of yours, at least?”

From the beginning of their time together, Rooster was never exactly sure what it was that he liked most about her. She could be feisty, funny, cranky and smart. She liked to kiss and touch, but she made it clear from the beginning that she would not be going all the way until she was much older.

“Do you know what my dad would do if he caught us in bed together?” she said one night.

“Do you know what
my
dad would do if your dad caught us in bed together?” said Rooster.

“Your dad's dead.”

“Exactly. He'd say, ‘Welcome to heaven, Rooster. What did you go and do a dumb thing like that for?'”

Near the end of grade eleven, the Delaneys realized that their daughter had not gotten into any real trouble during her time with Rooster. Her marks had not suffered (which had been one of the conditions for her seeing him at all), and really, around them at least, he was not a bad kid. That is, he was very well-mannered whenever they had him over for supper, and he was always cordial at the door and polite on the phone.

“We just wish he had a little more
ambition
,” said Mrs. Delaney one night at the dinner table.

“A young man must have drive before he can steer his way to the future,” said Mr. Delaney. “A man who knows, goes. We never hear him talk about what he wants to be when he grows up. Where he wants to go to school.”

“You never talk to him about anything,” said Jolene in Rooster's defense. “You have him over here, but you never say anything to him.”

“What we're saying, honey, is that we never hear you talk about him that way.” Mrs. Delaney smiled patiently. “We don't want to see you held
down
by anyone, especially now. My goodness. Grade twelve awaits you, and then it's on to the world!” She beamed at her daughter. “It's an exciting time for you and for Rooster too, we hope.”

“He should really think about changing his name,” said Mr. Delaney, as a final thought on the subject before dessert. “I don't see myself hiring a young man named Rooster to work in my department, and I don't think I'm alone in that.”

Jolene shook her head. “I don't think Rooster will ever change his name. He got it from his father.”

Rooster walked for about an hour along the path in the ravine. Out of boredom, he smoked one cigarette after another. The dominant thought on his mind was that Jolene would be mad at him for skipping again. She'd been on him a lot for that lately, to the point where it was starting to bother him.

“You're starting to sound like your mother, you know,” he'd said to her recently. “Pretty soon you'll start sounding like your dad. ‘Son, a young man who walks away from learning ends up with sore feet and an empty head. You can't go if you don't know.'”

“I don't care. It's time to stop skipping so much.”

“Says who?”

“Says anyone with a brain big enough to figure out that skipping school so close to graduation is not a good idea.”

“Well, I think it's time to skip
more
. This time next year I won't be in school. I won't be able to skip at all.”

Jolene shook her head. “That's a really good theory, Rooster.” There were times when she thought a lot like her mother too.

“I think it makes sense.”

“Well, it won't make much sense if you're back in school again next year, now will it?”

She had a point there, and he knew it. He also knew that with Puffs doing so well with his computer business, and Jayson on the verge of becoming an even bigger star athlete or making tons of money on his father's construction crew, and with Jolene focusing so hard on getting into university, he was the one most likely to be left behind.

That was the thought that scared him most when he thought of his days ahead: being left behind while his friends went on to make something of themselves. It was also the one he tried hardest not to think about.

He knew it was a problem that he would have to deal with someday, though.

He also knew that his meeting with Mrs. Nixon the next morning, whatever it was about, would not solve anything. He did not see himself walking out of her office with a sudden love for learning, or a burning desire to do as well as he possibly could in his remaining classes.

He had seen her too many times already to believe anything like that was about to happen.

3

“Y
ou want me to what?”

Mrs. Nixon, sitting in her comfortable black leather chair, the one Bernie had bought for her two years ago, covered her mouth and pretended to cough. Really, she was smiling and did not want Rooster to see. The two of them were sitting in her office. It was shortly after nine o'clock, and she had just told him about the plan involving himself, the Strikers and the bowling alley. She was quietly delighted with his reaction.

“Mrs. Helmsley and I agree that it's a good idea. We think it will give you a chance to … ”

“Say it again. You want me to what?” Rooster leaned forward in his chair so he could hear her better. Her “ office was small, tidy and full of books on counseling, addiction and coping with troubled teens. Adorning the walls were pictures of her and Bernie skiing on a gloriously snowy mountain in Whistler, B.C., sharing a laugh and a kiss at a beach resort in Maui, and posing with their golden retriever, Nana, named after the lovable dog in
Peter Pan.

Mrs. Nixon cleared her throat and told him again what they wanted him to do.

“Are you serious?”

She nodded. “Absolutely.”

“And you think I'm actually going to do this?”

“We think you actually want to graduate, and we know your mother wants you to do this because we know she wants you to graduate.”

“You talked to my mother?”

“I did. About fifteen minutes ago.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her everything. The whole story.”

“Which is what?”

“Which is that you had better get your act together in a hurry or else you'll be back in here again next year or out on your own without a grade twelve diploma. That's the truth, Rooster. That's the way it is for you right now.”

Rooster shook his head. “And this is your version of helping me out? Supervising a bunch of clowns at a bowling alley?”

“No one said they were clowns.”

“Whatever. This is your bright idea?”

“As a matter of fact, it is, yes. This is my bright idea. Mrs. Helmsley had input. She chose you for it, actually. I was thinking of someone else entirely.”

“Who?”

“Well, I had thought that someone like Ainsley Miller would have been good for it, or Mackenzie Ashcroff.” “Ainsley Miller or Mackenzie Ashcroff?”

“Uh-huh.”

“They're, like, the smartest kids in the whole school.”

“That's right.”

“How did you ever go from them to me?”

“I didn't. Mrs. Helmsley thought of it. She turned my idea from being a learning opportunity for our finest students to a final opportunity for you. After thinking about it, I see her point. This is your last chance, Rooster. We're doing you a favor.”

Rooster stared at her for a moment. In spite of all their quarrels in the past, he had never actually disliked Mrs. Nixon. But at this moment, he disliked her very very much.

“Well, I'm not doing it.” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I'm not going to take a bunch of people I don't even know down to the bowling alley and sit there and watch them bowl. I don't even like bowling. It's a stupid sport and I'm lousy at it. So forget it. I'm not gonna do it, and there's nothing in the world that's gonna make me change my mind.”

Mrs. Nixon held her ground. “Yes, you are doing it, Rooster.”

“No way.”

“You're going to meet them today after school.”

“Uh-uh.”

“You have only yourself to blame for being in this situation. Defiance is not going to help you here.”

“Oh no?”

“No, it's not.”

“What is then?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What is going to help me?”

“Well …” Mrs. Nixon had to think for a moment. The reason she had added counseling to her portfolio as a teacher was so she could get to know her students better and do more for them. The courses she had taken gave her fresh insights into a young person's world and new perspectives on communication and relationships. True, it was more work being a counselor and a teacher, but she loved it. She absolutely loved her job, in spite of her occasional objections to Mrs. Helmsley's ways, and she loved working at Winston High. Right at this second, however, she was in a helluva jam. What skills and abilities did Rooster Cobb have that would help him serve as a team leader to a group of mentally handicapped adults who wished to go bowling once a week? She smiled and cleared her throat. Compounding the problem was the simple fact that for every tick on the clock that she had to think about it, the credibility of what she came up with was reduced.

“Well, Rooster.” She shifted her position in her chair. “When you put your mind to it … ”

Someone knocked on her door. Before she could say anything, Mrs. Helmsley walked in. “How's it going?” Her presence filled the room immediately, like an airplane wedging itself into a two-car garage. “He's all for it, I'm sure? Ready to go?”

“Not quite,” said Mrs. Nixon. “At the moment, as a matter of fact, he's wondering what skills he has that we think make him suitable for the job.”

Mrs. Helmsley turned the full force of her attention to Rooster, who remained slouched in his chair, but slightly less slouched than he had been when he was alone with Mrs. Nixon.

“Skills?” said Mrs. Helmsley. “This isn't about matching you with something we know you can do, young man. This is a challenge. This is about seeing whether or not you have the courage to stand up to something new, take it on and excel at it. It's for
you
to show
us
what skills you have, not the other way around.”

Rooster looked briefly at Mrs. Nixon, then back into the blinding glare of Mrs. Helmsley. “Well, forget it then,” he said. “I told her I wasn't going to do it, and I'll say the same thing to you. Find someone else.”

Mrs. Helmsley stared at Rooster for another moment, then she looked at Mrs. Nixon, then back at Rooster. “All right,” she said finally. “Get out.”

Rooster began to lift himself off the chair. “Finally someone who actually listens to me around here.”

“But if you go now, you leave this office, you leave this school and you never come back. Not this year, not next year, not the year after that. You're through.” She spoke with the power and clarity of a judge sentencing a criminal. “We've broken our backs for you in here. We've put up with your bad behavior, your poor performance, your disrespect. Not anymore. If you get off that chair and leave this office, you're done. That's it.”

Rooster froze in mid-motion. The game had changed to hardball, as his stepdad, Irving, would say, and he was woefully unprepared for it.

Mrs. Helmsley continued. “It's not my wish to fill my hometown with high-school dropouts. But I am not going to stand here and watch you walk away from an opportunity to get it right, for the first time in your life, and say nothing. That's not my style. So go now and be done for good, or stick around and try to make something of yourself. Take your pick.”

Rooster hesitated. He wanted to leave. He wanted to walk away from Helmsley and her stupid power trips, but he knew there would be severe consequences. His mother would have a fit; Jolene might never speak to him again. Even the guys might think he had made a dumb decision, although he wasn't sure about that one yet. Still, he knew he would regret it.

Slowly, painfully, he lowered himself back into his chair.

“That's a very good idea.” Mrs. Helmsley watched him sit down. “That shows what we've suspected all along. You have a brain; you just don't like to use it.”

He remained silent.

“Mrs. Nixon will fill you in on the details. But let me add this.” She pointed a rigid finger at Rooster's head. “No funny stuff. I want to see effort, commitment and respect from you, and when this is over, I want to hear from the staff at Common House that the people you were working with are better off because of you and what you've added to their lives. Do you understand that?”

Rooster barely nodded his head once.

“Good.” Mrs. Helmsley left the office. A moment of silence followed.