Rooster by Don Trembath Page B

hadn’t made him cry.
    â€œPercival? You’ve been unusually quiet so far,” said Mrs. Yuler. “What would you like to ask Rooster?”
    Percival was a towering man with messy gray hair and a brooding face. He shook his head glumly from side to side in response to Mrs. Yuler. Then he turned away from her to look out the window.
    â€œOh, come on now. What’s the matter? You always have something to say.” Mrs. Yuler prodded him for a question.
    Percival remained silent. Then, finally, he faced her again and exploded. “The man’s a moron!” he said, slamming his hand on the table. His voice hissed out of his mouth like air from a high-pressure hose. “He drops bowling balls on his toes! He gets lost with his parents! I can’t work with someone like him! Throw him out!”
    Mrs. Yuler was used to these outbursts from Percival, as were the other members of the Strikers. “No name-calling, Percival,” she said. “That’s a house rule and it will not be broken.”
    â€œI can’t help myself! I’ve sat here too long without saying anything! Now it’s coming out of my ears!”
    From his chair, Rooster stared at Percival with a mixture of fear and horror.
    â€œHe doesn’t even like bowling! How can we work with someone who doesn’t even like bowling?!”
    â€œHe got me into trouble,” said Roseann. She was waving her wet fingers in front of her face. “Goddamn hill. Heh, heh.”
    â€œRoseann,” said Mrs. Yuler, “did you just say what I think you just said?”
    â€œI’m sorry. I won’t say it again. I’m sorry.”
    â€œThat’s the absolute last time.”
    â€œHe started it.”
    â€œRoseann.”
    â€œDo you like it when Percival calls you a moron?” said Dorothy-Jane-Anne.
    Rooster looked at her in surprise. “Do I like it?”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œNo. Why, am I supposed to like it?”
    â€œHow come you didn’t say anything?”
    Rooster had no immediate answer to that question. Under any other circumstances, he would have retaliated for the remark, either with a choice selection of name-calling or with his fists. But he was way out of his element now. He was no longer thinking of ways to blow the interview. He just wanted to survive it.
    â€œI guess it didn’t bother me,” he said in reply to Dorothy-Jane-Anne. “I don’t know.”
    â€œIt didn’t bother you that he called you a moron?”
    â€œI don’t know. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything.”
    â€œHave you been called a moron lots before?”
    â€œI wouldn’t say lots.”
    â€œA few times?”
    â€œProbably, yes. A few times.”
    â€œDid you ever say anything?”
    â€œI probably did, yes.”
    â€œWhy not this time?”
    Rooster shook his head. He was on the brink of an eruption himself when Tim piped up and interrupted him.
    â€œI’ve decided that I like cold pizza too,” Tim said. He was rocking in his chair, and his eyes were as big and lively as a squirrel’s. “I think, I think Rooster has a really good point there. It’s a really good point, and after thinking about it long and hard, I’ve decided that I agree with him. There’s nothing wrong with cold pizza. It doesn’t burn you. It’s easier to eat. And it’s a good way to make the pizza last longer. That’s one that he didn’t think of. So I’m with you on that one, buddy. I’m with you. Rock on.” He raised his fist in the air and shook it toward Rooster. “I’m with you on that one.”
    Rooster stared at Tim for a moment and didn’t respond.
    â€œRock ’n’ roll,” said Tim, beaming with the decision he’d made.
    â€œI really need a cigarette,” Rooster said finally, to no one in particular. “I need air.” He rose to leave.
    â€œMaybe we