Why I Loathe Sterling Lane

by Ingrid Paulson

Rage simmered under my skin, bubbled through my veins. “I was planning to avoid him, like I do everyone else. But now that you’re involved, I can’t just—”

  “I’m really sorry,” Cole interrupted me, not even waiting to hear the rest of what I was going to say. A sharp, stabbing pain struck my chest as my darling brother wasted a placating smile on Sterling. “She’s not normally like this. Just close your eyes and pretend she’s the girl I told you about. The first day of classes gets her all wound up.”

  “Really?” Sterling said. “Maybe I can help with that.”

  He winked. Right at me.

  Cole glanced at him, for an instant seeming to catch that flash of malice. But he was fooled by the thick layer of innocence Sterling immediately slathered all over his face.

  “It’s good, I mean, that she’s so intense. Her grades are amazing, like I told you,” Cole said. “And she’s really warmhearted and sensitive, deep down. So let’s just start over. Both of you. Tabula rasa. Clean slate.”

  Cole searched my face, begging me to go along with it. The creases of tension in his forehead I’d noticed earlier that day had deepened. Cole had enough on his plate with the weight-room drama. The last thing he needed was a feud between his sister and his roommate.

  And he was right. I did make rash judgments and regret them later. How many times had I wished for a fresh start at school? I had to walk away and let this go. For Cole. I locked my righteous indignation away in a little box inside my brain.

  Cole faced me, his eyes pleading. But I looked past him, at Sterling. I opened my mouth, the word “truce” forming on my tongue.

  Sterling’s gaze locked onto mine. He lifted his hand to reveal that missing cigarette butt, pinched between index finger and thumb. Then he flicked it out the window and waved at me—a ridiculous beauty pageant wave.

  “You’re an asshole,” I said.

  “Harper!” Cole sounded beyond exasperated.

  Even though I could sense failure looming, I had to make one more plea to win Cole back over to my side. “You don’t understand what you’re dealing with here. He didn’t just want my help in school. He tried to bribe me to write his papers. To cheat.”

  “Is that what all this is about? All that shouting?” Cole asked. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.” He glanced from me to Sterling, as if searching for consensus. “Sterling needs help with his classes while his hand heals. And he’s had a rocky ride at all those other schools. He wants to turn over a new leaf, really try this time. I told him you’d help.”

  “That you did,” Sterling drawled, leaning forward in his chair like the show was just getting interesting. “Sang her praises and all that. But I understand her reservations. After all, my own mistakes have put me in this position. Which is why I wanted to compensate her for time spent tutoring me. It’s the least I could do.” He was a model of contrition as he uttered this bald-faced lie. I narrowed my eyes, ready to pounce. But the way his lips twitched when he took in my expression was revenge enough. That expert liar had almost blown his cover.

  “She’ll help you—of course she will,” Cole said. “You don’t need to pay her.”

  “Like hell I will,” I said, shaking Cole’s hand off my arm. Of all the outrageous suggestions. I’d never help that horrible cheater—especially for free. Not when Cole desperately needed money. But ultimately that didn’t matter, because I wouldn’t help Sterling if he emptied his trust fund and laid it at my feet. I spun toward the door. I needed space. Air. But most of all, I had to get out of there before Sterling Lane took a sledgehammer to the wedge he’d just driven between Cole and me.

  Cole had been a starting midfielder on the lacrosse team since freshman year. And for a good reason—he was fast on his feet. He easily blocked my escape. “Sterling’s new at this school. He and I have been stuck here for the last two weeks for lacrosse practice. He’s a good guy. It’s your responsibility as a top student to help him.”

  “No, he’s not, and no, it isn’t.”

  “Do it for me.” His voice softened. “I pinkie promise you won’t regret it.”

  He reached out and wrapped his little finger around mine. The moment hung there between us, weighted down by a million memories. I’d do anything for Cole. Anything. But this—Cole had no clue what he was getting us both into.

  “No.” Cracks spread across my aching heart. “I can’t believe you’re taken in by that—that libertine.” I slammed the brownies down on Cole’s desk. “I came here to help you—to talk to you about—about what you told me today.” As I said it, Cole’s eyes shot to Sterling. He was terrified I’d say more. “And instead Sterling ambushed me. For the third time today. And for the record, he drinks in class. Alcohol. He puts it in his pretentious little coffee Thermos.”

  Cole just stared at me, eyes wide with disappointment. Or maybe it was shock. I wasn’t about to stick around long enough to find out.

  “Harper, wait,” Cole said, reaching for me.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised you’d side with him.” I had to make Cole see, and I knew somewhere inside me were the words that would make it happen. “Given your other mistake in judgment this week.” But as they slipped out, I knew those were the worst ones I could have chosen.

  He took a step back. The hand that had reached for me a second ago dropped to his side. I wanted to suck those syllables back down my throat. But it was too late—the shattered look on Cole’s face said it all. Once again, my temper had taken things too far. And I’d failed, so quickly, to live up to the rules Mom had given me.

  I pushed past him and forced myself to walk away calmly. But as soon as I hit the stairway, I broke into a run, repeating Rule 26 with every thud of my tennis shoes against the polished linoleum.

  I do not cry.

  Once outside, I looked up at the building and counted seven windows over, figuring out which one belonged to Sterling and Cole. Then I pushed through the low shrub skirting the building and dropped to my knees. I searched from left to right, moving aside leaves and branches until I found it. A half-burned cigarette butt.

  I pulled a piece of notebook paper from my bag, folded it into an envelope, labeled it exhibit one, and placed the butt inside.

  Evidence was evidence, irrefutable and undeniable. And I had every intention of gathering an overwhelming pile of it.

  Sterling was up to something—something so nefarious that it involved keeping in Cole’s good graces while showing me his wicked side in all its glory.

  As much as I wanted to ignore Sterling Lane, his entanglements with Cole made that impossible, at least for the time being. He needed Cole for something, and I could guarantee it wasn’t something good. So I would rescue Cole from his fibs and financial mistakes, and I’d also protect him from Sterling Lane. He’d hurt Cole over my dead body.

  Reason 5:

  He’s turning

  EVERYone

  against me.

  With exhibit one safely filed away in my Master Course Binder, it was time to focus back on the problem at hand: Cole. I whipped out my phone.

  It was time to call in reinforcements.

  Even though I told her it was an emergency, it took me almost four minutes to get past his assistant and talk to Dad. By then, I was pacing back and forth, not bothering to acknowledge the people who walked past. Still, my chest felt tight when three girls I’d partnered with for a physics lab shook their heads and looked bewildered after I brushed them off. That behavior was hardly helping me overcome my social issues. Add that to the tally of Sterling’s transgressions—distracting me from my goals, both academic and otherwise.

  Finally, my father’s gravelly voice was on the other line. “Harper.”

  I could tell he was irritated from the clipped way he said my name. Only Dad could reduce it to one syllable.

  “I’m taking an additional SAT prep course—” I said.

  “That’s not an emergency,” he cut in, talking right over me. He sounded far away. I must’ve been on speak
erphone, being broadcast into a room filled with God knows who. “That’s an update. This is the third time this month you’ve called me at work with fake emergencies. Do you need me to explain the difference?”

  “No, I don’t. But you’re not letting me finish,” I said. “I need to pay for it.”

  “Send the invoice—you know I’ll handle it.”

  “The thing is, I’m late to register, so I need you to send money so I can pay today.”

  “You?” Dad sounded skeptical. “You’re never late for anything.”

  I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. I’d never lied to my father—not like this. “I didn’t know about it until today. I need eight hundred dollars. It’s—it’s important. Please, Dad.”

  The genuine panic in my voice must have resonated with him on some level, because his voice softened as he said, “Of course. I’ll transfer it into your student account. Is there anything else? How’s Cole? He didn’t call Sunday.”

  No doubt Cole didn’t want to hear Dad praise him for the fund-raising he’d lied about.

  “I’m worried about him.” The truth slipped right out, surprising even me. “He has a new roommate—a transfer student.”

  Dad cleared his throat, paving the way for whatever lecture he was about to unfurl. “Transfer students need roommates, too.” The gentle tone of moments ago was gone.

  I closed my eyes. “You don’t understand. He’s horrible. He—”

  But Dad was talking again, his voice cutting through and shredding mine to pieces. “You can’t form an opinion of someone in one day. We’ve talked about these snap judgments, Harper. He’s a new student. You should welcome him, not judge him. Cole seems quite fond of him already, so I can’t imagine he’s that bad.”

  “Yes, he is.” My voice cracked as I tried to summon words potent enough to re-create what I’d witnessed in Cole’s room, what had happened to me in class earlier that day.

  I pictured my voice drifting down a conference table lined with people. Bored businessmen wishing my dad would keep his private life private and let them close whatever deal they were working on. I should have been embarrassed that strangers were probably listening to this family spat, but I was accustomed to Dad’s folksy business practices, tracing all the way back to the days when he was a plain old general contractor who taught us to unclog drains after school. That was before he got his big break—before he started Campbell Construction and attracted the attention of some of the state’s biggest developers.

  Money was new to our family. As was my fancy private-school education. But Dad’s own meteoric success was due to charm and networking, so he focused on charisma as the key to success. I would never, ever measure up on that front.

  Dad sighed. “Cole can take care of himself.”

  “No. No, he can’t,” I said, struggling to keep my voice calm. “He’s too trusting. You’re always saying that, too. Sterling Lane cheats and drinks and tried to coerce me into helping him cheat.” I held my breath, waiting for my words to settle in Dad’s ear and steal back the three-quarters of his attention I’d already lost to whoever was in the room with him.

  “That’s right. This is the Lane kid? Not a bad connection for Cole if he wants to take over my business one day. Politics are in the Lane blood, just like stubbornness is in yours.” He laughed at his own joke. “And who knows, maybe Cole can be a good influence.” Dad’s attention was gone. Drifting away on the river of blueprints and papers I could hear him shuffling on his desk. “Influence can go both ways, Harper. Influencing people for good or bad. We all deserve a second chance. And Cole has a real way with people. He told me you’re trying to make a friend or two this year, and well, maybe this is a good place to start. Listen to Cole. You could learn from him.”

  The bile rose in my throat. I was so tired of being the defective one. Cole wasn’t perfect, either. But I pulled the reins on that thought. I couldn’t let anything or anyone come between Cole and me. Not Dad, not Sterling, and not the ugly face of bitter jealousy that had just photobombed my psyche. Cole valued me—he understood me. And I understood him and his patient, forgiving heart. I’d even tried unsuccessfully to emulate it back in junior high, when it became glaringly obvious that Cole made friends just as quickly as I drove them away.

  Way with people or not, this time Cole was in over his head. He owed money he didn’t have and he was rooming with a boy who’d probably embroil him in some scheme and get him expelled. Whatever reason Sterling had for pretending to be rehabilitated around Cole was unlikely to be a good one.

  There was a shuffling of papers and my father barked, “Don’t touch that!” at someone in the room. Clearly, his patience was being burned at both ends. I could picture him leaning on his elbow, pressing his forehead into his palm, like he always did when I exasperated him. Something I often achieved by merely existing.

  So I was surprised that his voice had softened when he spoke again. “Harper, honey, I know you mean well, but you need to let Cole be. He can take care of himself. Focus on yourself, your grades, and this whole making-friends thing. I was so happy Cole told me about that conversation.” Dad paused. “Give Sterling Lane the benefit of the doubt. You know how boys can be. A little friendship with the right person could make a world of difference.”

  “Right,” I said, hoping the acid in my voice could burn right through the phone line and into his ear. “Cole can rehabilitate anyone just by trusting them. And fortunately, he’s immune to deceit and manipulation.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Dad replied. Apparently my sarcasm didn’t transmit over speakerphone. “See? There was no reason to get all emotional,” he added. “If you want to be a trial lawyer one day, you’ll have to be able to handle boys like that just being boys—without sounding like you’re about to burst into tears over it.”

  “What about girls just being girls?” I asked.

  “That’s what you just did, honey. Overreacting. Now, be sure to call your grandmother next Tuesday. It’s her birthday. And remind Cole. I’ll call you this weekend.” And with that, I was dismissed.

  Boys being boys? Boys like Cole spending money they don’t have. Boys like Sterling drinking and lying and trying to coerce me into cheating. Boys being boys could have consequences Dad would regret overlooking. I blinked back the moisture in my eyes and shoved my phone into my bag. There was no reason for self-pity, since ultimately the call had been a resounding success. Cole and I were now eight hundred dollars closer to our goal. Better yet, the moment that goal was achieved, I’d find a way to sever all our ties with Sterling Lane before he wrapped Cole up in his web.

  Reason 6:

  He’s amassing an

  army of miscreants.

  Boarding school is like a four-year plane ride. Confined in a cabin with a bunch of grumpy strangers, feeling obligated to be polite or make chitchat simply because you had a common destination. Roommates are the man in the next seat who smells like blue cheese and hogs the armrest. Give them a half-smile or a hello, and there’s no going back. Not that I’d ever been paired with a roommate who wanted to be best friends, but I’d still prepared a list of potential disadvantages of that situation, just in case.

  When I reached my room that afternoon, I slammed the door behind me and locked it immediately. It was a stroke of outrageous luck that I had my own room that year. Apparently the student who’d been randomly assigned to room with me successfully lobbied the administration for alternate accommodations.

  Fortunately, she hadn’t been replaced.

  My room was small, with two twin beds on opposite walls and two scuffed and scratched desks side by side between the beds. I was particularly fortunate that my room overlooked the quad, affording a view of the entire campus—the brick-and-ivy library was always my favorite, as much for the content as for the stately architecture. I also had a soft spot for the administration building. It was newer than the rest of the historic brick buildings on campus, but its architecture was Greek Revival, helping it ble
nd into the overall ambiance. When I was a freshman, I would weave between the pillars and imagine I was at an ancient font of learning in Athens, drinking in the knowledge of the ages. I still enjoyed reading there, perched behind the pillar on the far right and hidden from the casual observer.

  I unpacked my bag and popped open my laptop. Sure enough, the wire from Dad had already hit my account. He had his faults, but he always came through for us when we needed him. The next morning, I could take a bus into town and withdraw the money in cash to avoid any sort of paper trail. The bank could also cash my savings bond.

  We still had a considerable sum to raise, but we were moving toward our goal. My phone chimed, reminding me that it was time to review my notes from the day.

  A return to my regular routine would mitigate the horrors of that afternoon. There was nothing like a well-organized regimen to restore order and decency to my universe.

  Halfway through outlining the physics chapter for the next day’s lecture, the door flew open. The handle slammed into the full-length mirror and the door ricocheted back to conceal the intruder. I rose, shocked that someone had a key to my room when the only duplicate was securely locked in the office of campus security.

  Kendall Frank blew into the room. She was a little out of breath, and her highlighted bangs were in uncharacteristic disarray. Kendall always looked glossy and airbrushed, like she’d just walked out of a magazine. When we were freshmen, I’d actually pause at times to ponder how she maintained such a perfect exterior. Perfection should always be admired, even in a discipline I didn’t prioritize.

  Kendall was dragging a suitcase behind her.

  My stomach plummeted through the floor.

  I could handle mean and overlook spoiled, but it physically pained me to watch a girl play dumb. I’d accidentally seen Kendall’s transcript while waiting in the office for a copy of my own. Her grades were quite commendable, even though she was always rolling her eyes in class and complaining that the subjects were too hard. Not only was it disingenuous, in my mind it was far worse than actually failing. Kendall could use the power of her popularity to inspire others. She could be a role model; instead she opted to be an albatross.