Why I Loathe Sterling Lane

by Ingrid Paulson

  First thing in the morning, I made my way to Headmaster Lowell’s office. His door was shut, which was unusual. He liked to pretend that he was friends with all the students and encouraged casual drop-ins.

  “Is Headmaster Lowell in?” I asked the secretary. As usual, she was dressed like she’d time-traveled in from 1952, creepy android hair and all.

  She nodded. “He’s in with a student, but you can wait here until he’s free.”

  My shoulder blades twitched at the thought of being late to history. “Will I be excused from a tardy?”

  “Of course, dear,” the secretary said. “Now just have a seat.”

  Being late to class was against Rule 87, but I’d never specified whether that included excused absences. My palms were sweating at this obvious flaw in Rule 87, but since I was already in over my head, why not plunge in deeper? Sterling Lane would be shipped off to his penthouse on Park Avenue, where he could squander his smiles on all those Upper East Side girls. With him gone, exposed for what he truly was, Cole would be considerably safer. Then we’d sort out the weight room funding and whatever other trouble Cole had stumbled into.

  It wasn’t equitable that Sterling would get in trouble for something the entire team had done. But life wasn’t fair, plus he’d started it.

  I glanced at my watch. I was now officially five minutes late to history. Was my usual seat vacant, patiently waiting for me?

  “I’m assuming I’ll be fully excused for this tardy,” I told the secretary. “Or can my time just run out—like a parking meter? Is there a statute of limitations on being excused?”

  She looked up at me, rheumy eyes refocusing through the upper half of her bifocals. “Unless you’re here just to skip a quiz, I’m sure Headmaster Lowell will excuse you.”

  “Skip a quiz? Of course not. It’s just that I have the utmost respect for Mrs. Stevens. I wouldn’t want my absence from class to convey anything otherwise.”

  She stared at me for a full count of five before returning to the stack of papers she was sorting into red and blue plastic folders. After that unhelpful exchange, I took out my notebook and started to revise my study timeline for that evening. To no avail. I looked at the clock and back at my notes again. Seconds ticked past—seconds that Mrs. Stevens might be using to administer a pop quiz or to give the details of an extra credit opportunity—an opportunity that I would therefore miss. Not to mention all the extra studying I’d have to do that night to ensure I didn’t lag behind on preparing for the AP history exam. I tried to take a deep, calming breath, but it turned into little panicked gulps of air.

  Headmaster Lowell’s office door finally cracked open an inch, then swung open full force. I shot out of my chair.

  Cole walked out, head hanging. My throat tightened at the regret that radiated from him.

  “Oh, Harper, you’re here already,” Headmaster Lowell said, as if he was expecting me. “That was fast.”

  Cole must have come clean himself, told the headmaster about Sterling’s terrible transgressions, and had enlisted me to corroborate his tale.

  But Cole refused to meet my eyes. His shoulders slumped until he was almost as short as me.

  “I’m sorry about what I said last night,” he whispered. “You know I didn’t mean it, right?”

  “I’d hoped you didn’t,” I replied, sighing. It was the first time I’d been able to take a full breath since last night. “But I’m sorry, too—I wasn’t judging you. Or trying to make you feel worse. I wanted to help.”

  “I know,” he said quietly.

  Relief washed over me. Everything between Cole and me was going to work out just fine.

  “Just, whatever you hear, don’t hate me, okay?” he said.

  “I could never hate you,” I replied, emphatic. “Never. And what happened last night wasn’t your fault.”

  Cole looked at me, really looked me. Then he dropped his gaze. “You’ll see,” he mumbled.

  Headmaster Lowell turned away from his secretary, whom he’d been conferring with quietly. Then he handed her a sheet of paper.

  “Bring the rest in, but stagger it,” he said. “I’d like to talk to Sterling Lane next. He’s your roommate, correct, Cole?”

  Cole nodded without looking up.

  “Of course you need to talk to him next,” I said. “It really doesn’t concern anyone else, does it?”

  Headmaster Lowell frowned. “Maybe we should move into my office, Harper.” He held the door open and motioned me inside.

  His office looked like what a Hollywood set designer would imagine a headmaster’s office should be. Because Headmaster Lowell didn’t recognize the difference between books that were actually important and books he figured people would expect him to have read. Or between real antiques and flea market specials.

  Two spindly, cheaply made wooden chairs perched on the rug in front of his broad mahogany desk. Matching bookcases full of outdated leather encyclopedias and second-tier classics lined one wall, while the other was littered with gaudily framed Picasso reprints and a certificate from a weekend seminar on adolescent psychology that hadn’t benefited him one bit.

  I sat in the chair nearest Headmaster Lowell’s desk. I’d been there only a handful of times, and only when I was being given a commendation for my grades or perfect attendance. It was unexpectedly intimidating to be there for any other reason.

  Because I was suddenly nervous, I started spilling my story before the headmaster had even settled into his cracked leather desk chair.

  “I know Cole technically incriminated himself if he told you all the details of what happened last night. But really, it wasn’t his fault. Sterling is a master manipulator. I have firsthand experience with that.”

  “Sterling?” He looked genuinely taken aback. “Sterling was involved in this? Do you have any proof?”

  I’d watched enough crime dramas to know that the cigarette butt was circumstantial at best. And in this age of digital tampering, admitting photos into evidence was always rife with controversy. First, I had to lay a foundation of facts.

  “I think we should start with my testimony,” I said.

  “Then let’s hear it.”

  “Well, it all started yesterday morning.” I leaned forward in my chair. My nervousness dissipated. I told Headmaster Lowell all of it, from Sterling’s rude interruption of Mrs. Stevens’s class to the way he’d tried to bribe me into doing his homework under the auspices of tutoring him. I was just finishing my itemized list of his dress code violations when Headmaster Lowell held up one hand.

  “Maybe I should explain why we’re here,” he said. “While it’s clear you and Sterling have had a misunderstanding regarding his tutoring needs, due to his, um, medical conditions, that’s relatively minor in light of what happened last night.”

  “Oh, I know all about that, too,” I told him. “I was watching.”

  “Watching?” His jaw dropped. It was the perfect opportunity to finish my story without any further interruptions.

  “Well, after everything Sterling did yesterday, I had a feeling that any alleged lacrosse meeting he arranged was probably suspect,” I explained. “I should add that since my own record is above reproach, I’m trusting that you’ll overlook this minor indiscretion.” I paused to suck in oxygen. “I snuck into the boys’ locker room on a hunch they were up to no good. And I was right. I have photo documentation.”

  Headmaster Lowell’s eyes widened, like he couldn’t believe his good fortune at having a firsthand witness. But instead of rejoicing at his windfall, the headmaster massaged his forehead with his fingers, just like my father does every time I try to explain something important to him. “Before you tell me anything else that could incriminate you,” he said, “you need to hear why we’re here. Last night someone stole one thousand dollars from a locked box in the athletic department office. Based on security’s detail, we know it occurred between midnight and six a.m., and there were no signs of forced entry. Cole and the rest of the team raised t
hat money with their annual barbecue fund-raiser to purchase weight room equipment. The administration intends to launch a full investigation.”

  I was so caught off guard that my brain couldn’t switch tracks and process what he’d just said.

  “What does this have to do with me?” I demanded. “Or Cole?”

  “Nothing, at least directly.” He took off his glasses and set them on the surface of his mahogany desk. “Whoever did this had a key. Cole was given a key due to his responsibilities as lacrosse captain so that he could have access to the locker room before games.”

  “Then all the other sports captains have keys, too.” I wasn’t at all surprised that the headmaster had missed something so obvious. “Not to mention all the staff and teachers. That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “A key was found at the scene of the crime. Which is why I’ve asked everyone to produce their keys, as proof of their innocence.” Headmaster Lowell dropped his voice. “Cole claims he lost his key during practice yesterday. While I want to take his statement at face value, I was told by several members of the faculty, most notably his coach, that Cole has exhibited unusual behaviors the last two weeks. He has been withdrawn and has struggled to complete his assignments. The faculty and I have been discussing the possibility that substances are involved. It’s not at all uncommon for these types of incidents to indicate a deeper underlying issue.”

  “Cole wouldn’t do this.” But the sinking feeling in my stomach wouldn’t let me lie to myself and to Headmaster Lowell. I hated that I wasn’t certain how far astray Cole’s desperation would carry him. Still, it made no sense—why would Cole steal from his own fund-raiser when he was desperate to increase the funds?

  “I keep telling myself the same thing,” Headmaster Lowell replied. “After knowing him for years, it just doesn’t add up. Which is why I wanted to see if he’d said anything to you. Anything that would shed some light on the matter.”

  It was a crossroads—tell the truth and betray my brother, or throw my lot in with him, knowing that somehow I’d find a way to make this right.

  “No,” I said. “But you should ask Sterling. I wouldn’t put it past him to steal Cole’s keys and take that money just for laughs.”

  Headmaster Lowell sighed. “I was hoping we could keep on topic here, Harper. Sterling is working hard to turn his life around, and I won’t have you or anyone else discriminate against him based on his past mistakes. We don’t fling mud just to protect our families.”

  He was defending Sterling and criticizing me all in one breath. Worst of all, he seemed determined to blame Cole, no matter how much reasonable doubt I cast upon the situation. My hands wrapped around the seat of my chair, squeezing so hard my fingers ached. But nothing I did was enough to hold it back.

  The Sterling Lane fury clawed its way right out of its cage and hurled itself at Headmaster Lowell.

  “How is this off topic? I know why he got kicked out of his last school. Arson. And I just told you he tried to bribe me to write his papers, and that he was drinking in class. Does it really seem all that amazing that he’d do something like this?” Somehow, I was on my feet, yelling in the headmaster’s face. “On the one hand we have Cole, who’s never stepped a toe out of line, and on the other we have an absolute reprobate with unfettered access to Cole’s keys.”

  There was a soft knock on the door. “Everything all right in here?” The secretary peered around the corner of the door. “I heard shouting.”

  “Everything is fine, thank you,” Headmaster Lowell snapped.

  His secretary was eyeing me like I was vermin she wanted to chase out of the room with a broom. “Sterling Lane is here,” she said. Her voice warmed as it wrapped around his name, like he’d been sitting out there charming those knee-high, flesh-colored nylons right off her. “Such a polite boy. Shall I send him in?”

  Headmaster Lowell glanced at me, visibly annoyed, and I assumed I would be dismissed. Given how raw and out of control I was, that would be the safest course of action—even if it meant I’d failed, again, to expose Sterling Lane in all his horrifying glory. I was primed for detonation and Sterling Lane was missile-grade uranium.

  Headmaster Lowell examined his glasses, turning them over on the surface of his mahogany desk and adjusting his nose pads. Finally, he nodded. “Yes, send him in.”

  I started to rise, ready to flee, but Headmaster Lowell extended a hand toward me. “No. Sit for a moment, please, Harper.”

  Panic consumed me—palms sweating, crippling nausea. I couldn’t be trapped in that tiny room with Sterling Lane. But per Rule 305, I couldn’t defy the headmaster, or any other teacher. Maybe I could throw up right on the faded beige carpet and get banished to the nurse’s office.

  Then Sterling Lane sauntered in, dressed to perfection in a starched white shirt and pressed khaki slacks with a crease down the front. I had to admit, he cleaned up well. But it was a trick. He was trying to win Headmaster Lowell over to his side. When he smiled, it was mild and sedate. Every last ounce of viper venom had vaporized.

  “Good morning, Harper.” Sterling sounded genuinely delighted to see me.

  “You’re not fooling anyone. We all know your views on the dress code.”

  Sterling’s eyebrows snapped together. Then he cracked a grin and looked down sheepishly. It was an Oscar-worthy performance. “I know,” he said, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. “I’m grateful you filled me in. It’s hard to learn the ropes at a new school. But you’ve been so helpful, pointing out everything I’m doing wrong.”

  Headmaster Lowell missed the sarcasm, and his warning glare was aimed at me and me alone. “Sterling, I’m afraid I have two things to discuss with you this morning rather than one, as I’d intended. Let’s start with what I believe will be the easiest to resolve. It has been suggested that you may have been relapsing into some of those behaviors that got you into trouble in the past.”

  Sterling looked at me, eyes narrowed. But he quickly schooled his face into a novice nun’s meekness. “It has been difficult, sir. But I assure you, I’ve been fighting hard against those old patterns like you encouraged me to do.”

  “Your father says you’ve spent a lot of time visiting your grandmother at Crest Haven—I know he’s pleased to see you’re rising to the occasion since it’s one of the reasons you asked to attend this school.”

  “I’ve always been close to my grandmother,” Sterling replied. “And my father knows it. I’d never let her down.”

  I glanced at Sterling out of the corner of my eye. Crest Haven was a private residence for Alzheimer’s patients, designed to feel like a normal community instead of like a nursing home. It was famous—world-renowned for its innovative approach—and located just a few miles away. Somehow I couldn’t picture Sterling playing the diligent grandson, but I’d heard him on the phone with my own two ears, sounding almost sweet. But that wasn’t enough to vindicate him from the rest of what he’d done.

  “Just be careful, Sterling,” Headmaster Lowell drawled. “The human mind longs for patterns, for the familiar. We need to wear down the path of positivity in your brain so that when you face a difficult decision, you naturally choose the right path. The good path that leads to solid grades and a brilliant future. As long as you avoid slipping back into those negative paths, they’ll soon become overrun with weeds and dust, and won’t call out to you any longer.”

  “An excellent metaphor, sir.” Sterling nodded, all solemn and contrite.

  I couldn’t help it. I snorted.

  “This is very serious, Harper,” Headmaster Lowell said. “We’re talking about Sterling’s future. A future that is full of promise.”

  “Yeah, the promise of the penal system. He’s playing the contrite little sociopath just to keep you off his back. Rest assured he’ll return to his room and his snifter of brandy. I can’t believe I’m the only one who sees through this crap.”

  Headmaster Lowell dropped the pen he’d been twirling absently between his fin
gers. “I’ve warned you once already, Harper. Sterling’s not the only one who needs to work on positivity. I’ve talked to you before about your temper, and it seems to me you’re losing control of it again.”

  As Headmaster Lowell bent down to retrieve his pen, an invisible force tugged at the corner of Sterling’s mouth. He leveled me with a horrible, wicked smile that slipped back undercover just in time to avoid detection.

  “He’s mocking you,” I said. “As soon as you bent over, he cracked into his sadistic little grin.”

  Sterling put his hands up in the air, eyes wide with innocence.

  “Harper, you need to control your outbursts.” Headmaster Lowell shook his head at me. “Now as you know, Sterling has an injury to his hand and can’t take notes. Given your academic achievement and the little misunderstanding that seems to be at the heart of this, I think it would be a good exercise for you two to work together. This is an excellent opportunity to help someone who’s trying to better himself. What is the point of excelling if not to bring others up with you?”

  “To get away from people like him,” I said. “That’s the point of excelling. To separate the wheat from the chaff. I’m not helping him. He’s a deceitful, manipulative psychopath, and one day you’ll eat your words. And if you don’t believe me, take a look at this.” In a fit of impulsive recklessness, I pulled out my phone and flipped through the photos, searching for the right one. “He got the entire lacrosse team drunk in the locker room last night. I took a photo to prove it.”

  Sterling tried to strangle the laugh, but it exploded in a fit of coughing. He covered his mouth with one hand, fighting it so hard he bit his palm to keep it in check. I hoped to God he really was choking to death like it sounded.

  “Water,” Sterling coughed out, doubling over.

  Headmaster Lowell flew out of his chair and rushed to the office door. I could hear him outside, filling a glass from the cooler.

  “Go ahead, choke on my vindication.” I crossed my arms across my chest. “I’ll dance on your grave wearing tap shoes.”