Why I Loathe Sterling Lane

by Ingrid Paulson

  The headmaster held up one hand again, this time trying to placate my dad. “That was a long time ago, Cal, and Sterling has been to counseling since. I don’t believe he was involved in this incident. What would his motive possibly be?”

  “Motive?” My father’s voice was soft, but I could sense the storm brewing. “And what do you propose Cole’s motive was? This is my son’s future you’re talking about here, and you’re going to assume that some touchy-feely counselor cured a boy like that? A boy who lit someone else’s property on fire?”

  I felt a little pang of guilt that I was letting my dad make false assumptions about Sterling’s motives. Yes, arson was a serious offense, but it sounded like his motives might excuse at least a small sliver of that crime.

  “Let’s keep calm here, Cal,” Headmaster Lowell said, smiling. The tremor in his lip confirmed my father had the upper hand. “Cole doesn’t have a motive, per se, but I wouldn’t be the first to notice a shift in his behavior. And we’ve caught some inconsistencies in his account of what happened that night. His whereabouts.”

  “Maybe he’s lying to protect his roommate,” I volunteered. “Cole’s like that. He believes the best of everyone.” My father looked at me; there was a flash of solidarity and gratitude in his eyes. I’d crafted his argument for him. The hotter Dad’s temper got, the more inarticulate he became. Like the Incredible Hulk. A part of me could begrudgingly relate to that.

  “You won’t mind if I talk to the boys myself?” my father asked. “Give Cole a little time to think this through. Just one week. He’ll see reason once I talk to him.”

  I sincerely doubted that was the case, but no matter what, a little time wouldn’t hurt anyone. And even though a week wasn’t very long, maybe, just maybe, I’d be able to get through to Cole.

  Headmaster Lowell eyed my father warily. “On one condition,” he said. “If you get the truth out of Cole, you have to share it with me. Even if it’s Cole’s confession.”

  My father nodded and reached out his hand to shake on it. In the Campbell world, a handshake was an ironclad contract. I knew my father would give the headmaster everything he found. Honor was a big thing to him, even if it would condemn one of his own.

  I knew what I had to do next. There was only one way to make sure Cole wasn’t entangled in this disaster—even if he was guilty, there was someone who was guilty of far more. And no doubt any crimes Cole committed were directly attributable to that boy.

  After I left Headmaster Lowell’s office, I had ten minutes before class started. My peers were slowly trickling through the hallway, looking groggy and confused, like so many cattle. More than a few of them, I’m sure, hadn’t bothered to eat a proper breakfast before first period. My standard breakfast of a hard-boiled egg and dry toast always powered me through to lunch. Studies showed that a balanced breakfast, including protein, improved focus and concentration.

  Sorting through the details of my plan preoccupied me as I entered history, so it took me a moment to realize that my usual seat in the front row was occupied. Sterling Lane slouched in my chair. He looked like the cat who’d swallowed the canary and washed it down with a parrot or two.

  He smiled when I stopped walking. When I stood still as a statue right in front of my desk.

  “Cutting it kinda close, aren’t we?” he asked. “A mere ten minutes before class begins? I, for one, have been here since eight o’clock sharp. Can’t wait to show Mrs. Stevens this.” He tapped a tidy pile of printer paper at least a quarter-inch thick.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “My essay.”

  “I don’t care,” I lied, even though I couldn’t stop staring at that formidable stack of creamy white pages. “Get out of my chair. Class starts in nine minutes and I need to review my outline.”

  “I’m quite fond of history. May even major in it one day. Why should you always get the best seat in the house?” He was all feigned outrage. So smug and sarcastic. “Give someone else a turn.”

  “Because I’ve always had that seat,” I snapped.

  “That’s my point. It’s time you learn to share.”

  “It’s time you learn to shut up.”

  “You can do better than that,” he said. “‘Shut up’ expired in third grade.”

  The clock was ticking down. My hands started to shake. Sterling tipped his head to the side, waiting to see what I’d do next. Only I really wasn’t sure. I had half a mind to tip his chair right over, sending him hurtling onto the floor. If he didn’t have such a sizable height and weight advantage, I would have attempted it.

  Mrs. Stevens walked into the room and started riffling through the papers on her desk. The other seats were filling up and still I stood there in front of my desk, refusing to surrender.

  “Is something wrong, Harper?” Mrs. Stevens asked. “You’re just standing there.”

  “Sterling took my seat,” I said lamely. My voice broke, letting the whole class know I was prepared to cry over it.

  “We don’t have assigned seats in this class, Harper. Just pick another one.”

  My eyes must have looked as wild as I felt, because Sterling chuckled softly to himself. Then he stood and slipped into the seat directly behind mine. I exhaled one long, exhausting breath. My palms were slick with liquid panic as I touched the surface of the desk and slid into my chair.

  “That was very thoughtful of you, Sterling,” Mrs. Stevens said. Then she gave me a quick glance out of the corner of her eye, once again drawing an unfavorable comparison between the two of us. Instead of being flattered that I needed to be so close to her, Mrs. Stevens was annoyed with me.

  “I certainly didn’t mean to distress Harper,” Sterling said. “But I was so excited to turn this in that I grabbed the first chair I saw.” He picked up the stapled stack of printer paper and extended it toward Mrs. Stevens.

  Her eyes perused the page, slowly. Then she looked up. “This isn’t due until next week.”

  “I know,” he replied. “But I was so fired up by your words of encouragement that I stayed up all night to finish it. I just had to double-check the citations. It was all stuff I already knew.” He pushed his desk forward until it knocked into mine.

  “All stuff you already knew?” Her eyes widened as they returned to the pages. She flipped through Sterling’s paper for what felt like an eternity. “This has seventeen references.”

  I didn’t need to turn around to know that Sterling was nodding vigorously, eagerly. “Yes, ma’am. I was even thinking of taking the AP history exam with Harper—independent study. A little healthy competition, like you said. History has always been a hobby of mine.”

  By now the entire class was listening. He had to know history was my subject—my absolute favorite—even if I’d never uttered those words out loud. The AP test was mine and mine alone. I’d lobbied the school for special permission to take it even though the full course wasn’t offered.

  “And cheating is your other little hobby,” I said. “I don’t think you wrote that paper. What about your carpal tunnel syndrome? Your first day you said you couldn’t even type.”

  Sterling pulled out a laminated sheet and glanced at it. “Per Rule 85, I don’t believe you can speak unless called upon. Class has officially started.” So that was his infamous cheat sheet of my rules. I wanted to jump out of my seat and light that list on fire.

  “Maybe I found a lovely little tutor who enthusiastically took my dictation. Need I remind you, if you accuse me without evidence, well.” He lifted the cheat sheet again. “That’s against Rule 245.”

  “Don’t you dare throw my Rules back at me.” I dropped my voice to a whisper even though everyone could have heard a mouse sneeze in that room full of silent, watchful faces. “You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone about them.” I turned around in my seat to face him.

  “Rule 85.” Sterling was sadistically savoring every minute of this as he waggled his index finger in my face. “You broke our deal by sticking your nose in my busi
ness. Rule 85, Harper.”

  My fingers itched to wrap themselves around his neck and squeeze.

  Mrs. Stevens raised one hand, restoring order. “Both of you, stop this right now.” She had summoned her firm voice, the one no one would dare to contradict.

  Except Sterling.

  As Mrs. Stevens walked to the board to begin her lesson, Sterling shifted forward in his chair, leaning closer until his lips were so close to my ear that if I turned to the side, our faces would collide.

  “Who’s the Rulebreaker now?” he whispered. The chair creaked as he settled back. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched his shoes inch along the floor as he spread those long limbs out in front of his desk until his legs were practically wrapped around my chair, like an octopus strangling its prey.

  Reason 13:

  He’s turning me

  against myself.

  I shot out of my chair like a bolt of lightning the moment class ended. I barely spared a glance behind me, where Sterling was suddenly surrounded by my classmates. Usually, playing a goody-goody wasn’t the way to win the admiration of your peers, but apparently it could be if you did it while being thoroughly obnoxious.

  But I didn’t have time to anguish over not having any friends at school. I had some serious business to attend to.

  During lunch, I made my way across the quad toward Cole’s dorm. I glanced around as I walked, trying to look casual but also making sure I wasn’t seen. It was perfectly within the school rules to return to your room to retrieve forgotten items. But I wasn’t the sort to misplace my provisions, thanks to my comprehensive daily checklists, so any deviation from my routine could potentially attract notice.

  Fortunately, everyone appeared far more interested in eating and socializing. The few students I passed paid me no special attention, but I still flipped up the collar of my coat, hiding my face from view.

  The lobby of the boys’ dorm was deserted, so I slipped through to the side staircase unseen. This less-frequented staircase would bring me to the end of the hall closest to Cole’s room. His keys jingled loudly in my pocket. I took them out and once again counted all twelve shiny pieces of metal. I couldn’t fathom what doors they unlocked—what secret other life Cole must be living in order to have uses for them all.

  It had been all too easy to lift them out of his backpack in the library, proving that Sterling Lane could just as easily have borrowed a key. But if I was honest with myself, I doubted that was the case. The more I processed the various details of the theft, the more I started to fear that Cole was guilty—but that was no reason not to rescue him. Sterling Lane had furnished alcohol for the entire lacrosse team just last week. That alone would have gotten him expelled. With any luck, I’d find a way to simply correct the path of justice.

  It was wrong—so wrong. Against not just my Rules, but the rules of any civilized society. I knew it was wrong, and I did it anyway. Because Cole was on the line.

  I unlocked the door and slipped inside. Cole and Sterling’s room was surprisingly tidy. When left to his own devices, Cole tended to slip into chaos, leaving shoes and clothing sprawled across his floor. But under Sterling’s questionable influence, their room resembled some sort of gentlemanly study from the turn of the last century. Sterling’s brown leather chair sat empty, an iPad balancing on the arm of it. There was an orchid on the windowsill, and three actual framed paintings adorned the wall. Kendall would have approved—even if her own work was far superior.

  Sterling’s desk was the first place I searched. I slid the drawers open, but they were empty, as was the wastebasket beside it. What kind of history prodigy didn’t take notes? I glanced at the two dressers. Was I prepared to go to those lengths? Not quite yet. Instead, I moved my search to Cole’s desk, where I found receipts from the local grocery store and at least a year’s supply of gum wrappers. Nothing incriminating there.

  I glanced inside his wastebasket and saw what looked like a receipt from the bank in town. My eyes nearly popped out of my head when I saw the sum along the bottom—five thousand dollars in cash had been withdrawn yesterday. Where on earth had Cole obtained that kind of money?

  But when I rescued the slip from its papery grave, I saw Sterling Lane’s name printed along the top. He had withdrawn the money yesterday, right before the missing cash was returned. It was incredibly convenient timing—convenient and incriminating.

  I pulled a pen from Cole’s drawer and circled the date on the receipt. Then I carefully placed it in an envelope and stored it in my backpack. I’d anonymously place it in Headmaster Lowell’s mailbox. He’d be able to connect such obvious dots—and he’d be far more likely to place his faith in this evidence if I had nothing to do with it.

  Emboldened by my findings, I turned to face Sterling’s closet. The door was slightly ajar, so I stepped closer, peering in without touching anything. For some reason, searching inside felt more intrusive than rummaging through his desk. Maybe it was the way his clothing hung there, approximating his size and shape, as if he were in the room watching me. A messy tumble of mismatched shoes lined the floor. His clothes were a fascinating mix of perfectly pressed shirts and ones so rumpled it looked like he’d balled them up first on purpose. A stack of tattered paperbacks rested in the corner. I inched closer, nudging the closet door open with my shoe, and reached down to flip the top book over so I could see the cover. Great American Poems: An Anthology—completely unexpected. Sterling didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d read poetry for fun.

  A door slammed in the hallway. I jumped and ducked into Sterling’s closet. His shirts surrounded me, brushing against my skin and swathing me in lingering traces of his cologne.

  Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Running footsteps. Heading right toward this room. I held my breath. I waited.

  The footsteps cruised past the door, reverberating off the linoleum. Another door slammed. The dorm descended back into silence.

  I stepped out and closed Sterling’s closet door three-quarters of the way, just like I found it. Cautiously and oh-so-slowly, I opened the door to the hallway and peered outside. The coast was clear. I slipped out the door, locked it behind myself, and walked briskly down the hallway.

  There was nothing wrong with what I was about to do. Clearly Sterling Lane was up to something with all that money, and before Cole was summarily condemned based on circumstantial evidence, the reasons behind Sterling Lane’s sizable withdrawal needed to be examined.

  The road to justice was never easy and was rarely direct. And apparently on this particular occasion, it came at the price of petty larceny.

  The Rules would forgive me, just this once.

  Reason 14:

  He thinks he can just intimidate

  me into submission.

  And spends his days

  rubbing my nose in my past mistakes.

  The next morning, thirty-seven minutes into history class, Headmaster Lowell appeared in the doorway.

  “Sterling, a word, please.” There was something in the set of his jaw, and in the fact that he’d come to the room himself instead of sending his secretary, that told me something major was afoot. Which could only mean my little piece of evidence had worked.

  Butterflies in my stomach erupted into flight.

  “And bring your things, please,” the headmaster added.

  Sterling’s eyebrows snapped together. Given his wealth of experience with being in trouble, he grasped the significance of this little visit. It took only a moment for his eyes to find me, and when they did, I lifted my hand and wiggled my fingers. Bye-bye, Sterling Lane.

  I felt a surge of exultation when in front of the whole class, loud and clear, he said, “We’ll see about that.” The words were intended for me and me alone, even though the rest of the class looked around, confused.

  Sterling had stopped wearing his sunglasses in class ever since he’d become Mrs. Stevens’s new pet. He picked the aviators up off his desk and perched them on the top of his head.

&
nbsp; Mrs. Stevens could have made a better effort not to look so downtrodden as Sterling disappeared through the door. We’d been fine before he transferred there, and we’d be fine long after he was gone.

  Sterling didn’t return to history that day, and I didn’t catch sight of him again until physics, when he walked through the door and paused. His brown eyes pierced me like a bayonet. He held my gaze until I was forced to look away. I was in the wrong this time.

  The chair behind me creaked under his weight, and I felt his proximity as he leaned forward. I knew he was about to say something scathing, words that would cut to the bone. So I held my breath.

  But nothing happened. He didn’t speak. He just lurked there behind me, a threat even more unnerving because I wasn’t sure exactly when it would be realized. I cowered for the rest of the period, bracing for the blow that never came. I started to wonder if that was his game—torturing me with anticipation so I could never quite drop my guard.

  For the rest of the day, Sterling’s eyes tracked me the way a hungry lion trails after a gazelle. He lurked and lingered and was impossible to avoid. Even at lunch, I heard his voice everywhere. I couldn’t escape his laughter as it drifted through the cafeteria and chased me down the hallway.

  By the end of the day, I was a nervous wreck, harassed into submission by guilt as much as by the impending threat of whatever Sterling Lane was plotting. Over and over again I reminded myself that I’d done it all for Cole, that I’d do it again. I’d been watching for Cole all day, praying for a chance to set things right between us. But while Sterling was everywhere, it seemed like Cole had disappeared into thin air.

  So it was a stroke of unbelievable luck that I saw Cole when I headed to the library. He was walking briskly across the quad toward the parking lot that separated the school from the main road through town. It was close to dinnertime, so I was surprised he wasn’t camped out on the grass outside the cafeteria, begging for food like most of the athletes did after practice. I sped up, because Cole was cruising like a missile. It took a half-run for me to maintain the distance between us, much less catch up.