Why I Loathe Sterling Lane

by Ingrid Paulson

  My body temperature plunged to absolute zero.

  “What did you say?” Suddenly I was in his face, inches away. I wasn’t sure what my plan was, but it definitely involved remodeling that perfectly straight nose.

  “Well, your good friend Kendall and I have been getting acquainted. You see, she wanted to borrow a little something.” He inclined his head in her direction. A half-empty bottle of vodka nestled next to her like a puppy. I looked closer and saw a tiny cigarette. A joint. Pinched between her fingers. That explained the catatonic glaze in her eyes as she watched our little scene.

  Disgust rolled through me. What kind of malicious monster would exploit Kendall like this? And what kind of two-faced roommate would summon a demon to our room? Just when I’d started to like her.

  “And I wanted to borrow a little something, too.” He reached into the backpack resting on the floor and pulled out the pink Hello Kitty box Cole gave me for my fifth birthday. It housed all five hundred and thirty-seven of my babies.

  “It’s really a lot to memorize,” he said. “One afternoon wasn’t quite enough, so I took the liberty of making copies. Also made a cheat sheet—modeled after your outlines, of course.”

  I wrenched the file box from his hand so hard and so fast he recoiled. His expression had been all smug amusement, but now something else flashed in his eyes: surprise. And apprehension. He’d probably never seen anyone as furious as I was just then, and he probably never would again. My Rules were practically religious relics, the only thing I had left of my mother.

  And he’d desecrated them.

  “You’ve taken this too far,” I said. My voice was terrifying. Smooth and soft, the way a serial killer would sound in order to lure a victim into his windowless white van. “Leave. While you still can.”

  Sterling’s eyes widened. One eyebrow arched. It gave me a wild shot of adrenaline to know he was curious about what I’d do next.

  I wasn’t the only one who was morbidly reluctant to disembark from this runaway train to hell.

  “Leave?” Kendall murmured. “Yes. I told him to, but he wanted to read all your recipes.”

  The cool, calm voice deserted me as I turned on Kendall. “Recipes?” I choked out. “This has nothing to do with recipes. What he did—what he did is like reading my journal. What kind of roommate are you, letting my enemy invade my privacy? Didn’t you see they weren’t recipes?”

  “I’m sorry, Harper. I really am. How should I know what a recipe looks like?” Kendall whispered against her pillow. “We have a cook.” A little puddle of drool had collected underneath her mouth, soaking into her bedspread. She had fallen asleep on her iPhone, and when she lifted her head to look at us, its silhouette was etched in the side of her cheek. I wanted to laugh, to fall in a heap on the floor and laugh until I cried. These things just didn’t happen to me. I had no frame of reference for anything other than being ignored, invisible. The most popular girl in school was stoned and passed out in my room, her hair a tangle of blond cotton candy, while a ruthlessly cunning boy had made it his sole purpose to destroy me. And they’d both just violated every last nanometer of my privacy.

  Then Sterling actually laughed. I caught the corner of his flashy smile as he turned away, composing himself. “I had a feeling she didn’t know what she was doing. Held that joint like she was going to sign her name with it.” He shook his head. “Still, you’ve gotta give it to her. She put up a valiant effort—although for what, I’m not sure. I wouldn’t lay a finger on a girl in that state. And I can’t stand the smell of these things.” He picked up the remains of the joint and flicked it out the open window.

  “Yet you smoke?”

  “That was theatrics,” he replied. “You pissed me off that day in class. Figured it was an easy rule to break, and I know rule-breaking bothers you so much I couldn’t resist.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  When he turned back to face me, the storm had passed. My anger had been blunted by the weirdness of that moment. I had almost forgotten we were mortal enemies.

  “So don’t give Kendall smokable substances in the future, please,” I said. “I have to live with her.”

  “Lucky for me,” he said. “Look forward to lots of cozy little nights just like this.”

  “Why are you doing this?” I demanded. Then I sat on my bed and put my head in my hands because suddenly I was just so tired. “I was protecting my brother. You can understand that. It’s nothing personal.” I wondered whether the arson story was true—whether he’d been expelled while trying to protect his sister.

  “Everything is personal,” he said. “And of course I understand your motives. But your problems are just that—yours. Just like my problems are mine. And I need to protect my assets.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Your little tattling game, which, if memory serves, violates Rules 54 and 467, could have cost me a year’s allowance at the very least, and could have meant I got transferred away from my grandmother. Keep your nose out of my business.” He walked to the window and pulled up the blinds. “A lesson I’ll teach as many times as necessary. So I suggest you leave me alone.”

  “Leave you alone?” I sputtered. “You’re the one who sedated my roommate to invade my privacy. You leave me alone. And Cole.”

  He turned back to face me, those brown eyes sharper and clearer than I’d ever imagined they could be. “Given how little you really, truly know about your brother and the current state of his life, you’re hardly qualified to make that request. I assure you I’m the lesser of two evils.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I hated how right he was. Hated that his words mirrored what Cole had said to me himself.

  “You’re a smart girl,” he said. “Figure it out.”

  He slid the window open and perched on the sill. It was late, and if he were caught in our dorm, all our parents would be called. The irony of what everyone would assume if they found us together made me practically gag.

  “Your rules are collateral,” he said, hitching one leg over the windowsill. Never would I have imagined Sterling Lane would be climbing out my bedroom window and down two stories after curfew. “As long as you behave, they’ll be our little secret.” His shoulders looked even broader when silhouetted against the streetlight streaming in through the window. And I despised myself for noticing.

  “You think you can blackmail me?” I said.

  He turned to look me dead in the eye. “I know I can.”

  “Well, you’re wrong,” I called out to his retreating back. “And before you go, I have a little story of my own. A little pearl of wisdom I’m willing to cast before swine.”

  He froze, perched precariously on the window ledge, so that one tiny little shove would bring an end to all my problems forever. It was a full count of five before he turned his face back toward me.

  “You don’t have a monopoly on asshole fathers,” I told him. “Every year my dad takes Cole on a fishing trip, and every year I ask if I can go, too. But he always told me it was a men’s trip. And part of me agreed—not because I’m a girl, but because I personally don’t have a lot of interest in hurting animals.”

  “I know,” Sterling said. When I tipped my head the side, he added, “Rules 304, and, um, 310, I believe. But I’ll have to double-check.” He smiled like I should be oh-so-impressed by his amazing memory.

  But instead I narrowed my eyes. “In his mind, I should be into clothing and makeup, which infuriated me. But I pretended I wanted to fish because I thought a shared interest would bring us closer, like he is with Cole.” I had no idea why I’d shared that last part, so I glowered at him, lest he think I wanted his sympathy. Because I thought I caught a glimmer of it.

  “Then one year I finally convinced him to let me come along on a trip. I said I should learn to clean and prepare fish—you know, because cooking is girls’ work.” I paused for dramatic effect, but I didn’t need to. Sterling’s eyes followed my every move as I paced across t
he room, buying time so I could make up a new, more interesting story. One that didn’t end with me throwing up in the bathroom after my father sliced into the first miserable white-bellied fish.

  “That year they were headed to the Florida Keys. While they were out in the water hauling in sailfish, I stayed in our rental house. It was actually pretty interesting—nestled in the mangroves, which have a fascinating natural history. Did you know they reach all the way to the ocean floor, so they can be a hundred feet tall?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Sterling replied. He was trying not to smile at my digression. “Never been there.”

  “They came home late in the afternoon, dragging the fish they’d caught behind the boat, partially submerged. And while they were tying up the boat, I heard this thrashing in the water behind it. I look, and there’s a massive alligator attacking the fish, trying to pull them lose from the boat. And all I can think about is that it’s ruining all my brother’s hard work and my big chance to be part of their bonding thing. So I jumped onto the boat and reached under the seat, where my father kept a handgun.”

  Sterling’s outside foot slipped off the rain gutter, and he shifted to keep from falling out of the window. Wide brown eyes met mine. I had his full attention now.

  His hands were wrapped around the windowsill, knuckles white from the effort of suspending himself halfway between inside and out. I thought for a moment he would climb back through the window, but he didn’t. In fact, he looked like he didn’t want to get any closer. I had to bite my cheek to hold back the smile as I watched my lies work their magic. Rule 76 was wrong about the power of truth prevailing over lies.

  I looked Sterling right in the eye and let a tiny, knowing smile tug at my cheek. A little trick I’d picked up in the Sterling Lane School of Intimidation. “You see, I have outstanding aim. Another little tidbit I picked up trying to keep up with the boys. I shot that alligator right between the eyes.”

  Sterling’s eyelids disappeared completely, and seconds ticked past before that smirk was brave enough to parade itself in front of me. That was how I knew I’d gotten under his skin—exactly where I wanted to be.

  Then, with a kick of his other leg, he was gone, leaving me in my room with a catatonic Kendall and a ticking time bomb of emotions so complex that not one of my 537 Rules could tell me how to diffuse it.

  Reason 12:

  My brother is seriously in trouble

  and I know beyond a reasonable

  doubt that Sterling Lane is to blame.

  And to make matters worse,

  I’m pretty sure Sterling cheated

  on his history paper.

  The next morning, in response to a mysterious summons during dinner the previous night, I arrived at Headmaster Lowell’s office bright and early. The administrative building opened at seven thirty, and I didn’t want to be late for Mrs. Stevens’s class, not with Sterling nipping at my heels. I knew in my gut that his little display of academic prowess the other day was just the first shot in a war that quite possibly had no end.

  When I knocked on Headmaster Lowell’s door, my stomach was tied in a perfect sailor’s knot. After my outburst, which was completely against the Rules and therefore my character, I was pretty sure he was about to deliver another little lecture about my temper. Lately that seemed to be the most pressing issue on everyone’s mind, even though this time my explosion was fully justifiable.

  “Come in,” Headmaster Lowell called out. My hands trembled as I opened the door.

  I nearly threw up when I saw my father sitting there in one of the straight-backed wooden chairs Headmaster Lowell reserved to make certified Rulebreakers as uncomfortable as possible during his inquisition.

  It was worse than I imagined it could be. My father had never been summoned to school over my behavior.

  “Headmaster Lowell,” I said. “I really didn’t mean anything yesterday. I had other things on my mind. Really, sir, it wasn’t necessary to call my father. You have no idea what kind of pressure I’m under.”

  My father shot the headmaster a dry smile. “Never amazes me how this one always manages to make everything about her. I’m not even gonna ask what she’s talking about. Gonna keep Cole in my sights this time.”

  I looked at the dark circles under my father’s eyes, at the wrinkled suit jacket draped over his shoulders. Whatever had dragged him on the four-hour drive to school by this hour had to be big—Dad only wore suits when he was dealing with bankers.

  “Even though Cole returned the money, there is still the matter of the disciplinary committee hearing,” Headmaster Lowell said.

  “Returned the money? When did this happen? Cole did it himself?” That would be the same as confessing, and I had no idea how the school would respond. Would he be off the hook for taking responsibility for his transgressions, or punished severely like any other criminal?

  “Not exactly.” Headmaster Lowell cleared his throat. “It was found in the lockbox this morning.”

  “But how?” It made no sense. “You said you confiscated all the keys—so how did they get in?”

  “Cole never produced his key,” Headmaster Lowell replied, leaning back in his chair. “Recall that he claimed it was lost.”

  I shook my head, ready to spring out of my seat. “In the U.S. we require evidence to condemn someone. And if the money is back, why does it even matter? There are a million possible explanations. Maybe there was no crime here at all. Maybe someone just misplaced it temporarily or something. Or miscounted? Maybe the door was unlocked and anyone could have done this. When I sneaked into the boys’ locker room, the coach’s door was unlocked.”

  “You did what?” my father interrupted.

  Headmaster Lowell held up his hand, mercifully cutting my dad off pre-rant. “Harper and I have already discussed this, Cal. She meant well. She was worried about Cole. But you do raise a point that someone else could have done this earlier in the evening. You, for instance—since you were there.”

  “Me?” I sputtered. “I didn’t even know the money in the lockbox existed. I bet most of the school didn’t unless they were directly involved in that stupid fund-raiser.” But Cole would have. I swallowed hard, praying my dad and Headmaster Lowell weren’t thinking the very same thing.

  “What did you do when you left the boys’ locker room?” Headmaster Lowell asked.

  “Well, um, I went back to my room,” I said slowly. “I was already behind on my schedule for the night, so I did my homework.”

  “Did you talk to anyone when you got home?”

  “Am I in trouble here?” I demanded. “Are you trying to corroborate my alibi or something? Because I don’t have one. Kendall Frank came home from the art studio at around ten and went right to sleep. And honestly, with the way that girl snores, I could have conducted a chain saw convention and no one would have heard me.”

  “You’re not in trouble, Harper,” Dad said. “But you and Cole have always been close. If you know what’s going on, you can tell us. We’ll help and you won’t be in any trouble if you’ve covered up for him.”

  “What about Cole?” I asked. Sweat slicked my palms, so I rubbed them dry against the harsh wool of my skirt.

  My dad and Headmaster Lowell made eye contact. That was confirmation enough. I could save myself by tattling, but Cole would be toast. And my dad actually thought I’d go along with that.

  “Cole is fine,” I lied. “Other than the stress of being falsely accused.” I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at both of them. “So the sooner you straighten this out, the better.”

  My dad studied my face carefully. “If I find out you’re lying right now, heads will roll.” Dad had always been an expert in ferreting out my secrets, but this time, somehow I passed the test. His gaze shifted back to Headmaster Lowell.

  “If you don’t mind,” Dad said. “I’d like to speak with Cole again. Alone.”

  “Of course,” Headmaster Lowell replied. “But you understand that I’ll have to move for
ward with this from a disciplinary perspective, regardless of how you handle it within your family.”

  “There’s no way Cole would do this,” I told them, desperation entering my voice. “He organized that fund-raiser himself to buy some ridiculous weight-lifting apparatus.” But that was incriminating, too. He would have known about the money. He would have known where the lockbox was located. That fact alone put him on a whittled-down list of suspects.

  “Harper, honey, this is serious stuff.” Dad was using his condescending voice, the one he usually reserved for his overpriced hunting dogs. “It’s best if you let me handle this.”

  My temper rattled the bars of its cage, but Dad was already focused back on Headmaster Lowell. “I’d appreciate it if you’d take your time scheduling your disciplinary committee meeting. I think we can all agree a confession is the best way to salvage this situation for the culprit, to demonstrate that they’ve learned from and regret their mistakes. And to ensure the school doesn’t jump the gun and expel an innocent student. That sort of action might get a headmaster into hot water.”

  This was one of those moments when my father made me proud. He’d delivered that threat so politely it almost sounded like a kindly intended piece of professional advice.

  “Well now, I suppose we could give the matter a little time,” Headmaster Lowell said. “Give the boy a chance to own up to his mistakes.”

  “Excuse me,” I said, louder this time. “Cole did not do this. Need I remind you that Sterling Lane has a history of illegal activities? Most notably arson. And he would easily be in a position to steal Cole’s keys.”

  My father looked at me, finally seeing me as something more than a piece of furniture. He frowned before turning back to face the headmaster. “Is that true? An arsonist?” A shrewd look entered his eyes. “Are the trustees aware of this? From a liability standpoint, that’s quite a risk to take.”