Rooster by Don Trembath Page A

know how to add?”
    â€œNo. Not really.”
    â€œDo you want me to use my calculator? My sister got it for me for my birthday.”
    â€œThat would be good,” said Tim. “That would be really good.”
    Dorothy-Jane-Anne went to her purse on the bench where their coats were and pulled out a small calculator with large buttons and a screen that clearly showed the numbers. She sat down in Tim’s chair and began to slowly add Roseann’s scores.
    â€œI’m not cheating again,” said Roseann.
    â€œShut up,” said Dorothy-Jane-Anne. “I don’t like it when you cheat.”
    â€œI’m not cheating.”
    â€œYes you are. I can tell already you are.”
    â€œCan you?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHow?”
    â€œBecause I have more points than you have and I only have fifty-seven.”
    â€œOh,” said Roseann, her fingers frozen in front of her mouth. “Sorry.”
    â€œIt’s okay.” Dorothy-Jane-Anne turned the pencil around and began erasing the ninety-three.
    â€œI’m sorry about that,” said Roseann. “I won’t do it again.”
    â€œOkay. I don’t like it when you cheat.”
    â€œI won’t do it again.”
    â€œI’ll turn you over to the police the next time.”
    â€œNo, don’t do that.”
    â€œOkay.”
    Percival returned a short time later with a six-inch stack of paper towels from the washroom. He put them on the bench next to his jacket, picked one of them up and walked over and polished the bowling ball he was planning on throwing when his turn came up.
    Rooster saw him do this, then watched in horror as the bowling alley manager walked up to Percival and asked him what he thought he was doing.
    â€œWhat does it look like?!” screeched Percival, who towered over the manager by at least a foot.
    â€œIt looks like you’re stealing paper towels from my bathroom. That’s what it looks like.”
    â€œYou’re very bright!” said Percival. “That’s exactly what I’m doing! But I have a perfectly good reason for doing it!”
    â€œYou’re stealing for a good reason? I don’t think so. Put them back. Every one of them. Except that one in your hand. You can keep that one. The rest, they go right back where you found them.”
    â€œOver my dead body!” said Percival, taking a stand.
    Rooster arrived to intervene. He introduced himself, apologized for the paper towels and asked the manager for a little extra patience. “They’re very excited to be here,” he said. “They’ve been waiting so long for a chance to come back. They love it here.”
    The manager gave Rooster a once-over, then leveled with him. “Listen, kid, I know who these characters are. I know them from the last time they were here. They’re trouble. They make the little kids cry. They disrupt the other bowlers. I told that lady at Common House I’d give them one chance. Out of the goodness of my heart, I’ll give them one chance. If they blow it, they’re gone. Now I’ll say to you what I said to him. These paper towels go back into my bathroom or you guys can pack up and leave now. Done. Just like that.”
    â€œFair enough,” said Rooster.
    â€œNever!” cried Percival.
    â€œI’ll handle it,” said Rooster to the manager.
    â€œEvery one of them,” said the manager. He pointed a menacing finger at Rooster, gave Percival the evil eye, then turned and left them alone. Rooster looked up at Percival, who was joined by Tim. At the scorer’s table, Dorothy-Jane-Anne and Roseann both stared at him. He took this to be the first defining moment of his time with the Strikers. It was time he held little regard for, but still, he did not want it to end this quickly. He did not want to go out without even a whimper, much less a bang.
    He thought mightily for something to say.
    He cleared his throat.