And I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Reason 19:
He thinks he can frame me—
that he’s some sort of prank guru
whose antics shamed me into submission.
But he’s going to learn not even a seditious,
self-righteous Rulebreaker like him
can crack me.
For three days, my outlines languished in neglect while I divided my time between plotting ways to get the best of Sterling Lane and keeping Cole from being expelled.
Thanks to the distractions, I stayed up into the wee hours of the morning almost every night, trying to keep on top of my schoolwork. I spent an afternoon researching high school pranks—infuriatingly, Sterling Lane’s escapades were chronicled on pretty much every single website. Apparently, he was a legend in some circles. I begrudgingly had to admit that he was clever. But I was clever, too, and I knew I’d find a way to prove it that would eclipse anything Sterling had ever done.
It wasn’t until I ran into Cole at breakfast the next morning that a solution presented itself so tidily it almost seemed like divine intervention.
“Where’s your roommate?” I glared over Cole’s shoulder so that my frown was certain to be the first thing Sterling saw when he approached.
Cole rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re still mad about the car thing. It was just a joke.”
“Of course I’m mad,” I told him. “If I’d been caught, I could have been expelled.”
“Actually, I don’t think anyone would believe you put it in your own room. What would be the point? If anything, it would have cast blame on Sterling. Everyone knows how he is. And that you hate each other. He took a stupid risk that you wouldn’t tell.” He wrapped an arm around my neck. “And I’m proud of you for not doing it. You’re lightening up in your old age.”
“We’re the same age.”
“Stop peering around like that,” Cole said. “You won’t see him down here for breakfast. He sets the alarm for five minutes before class.”
“That would explain his hair,” I said.
“Don’t tell anyone this,” Cole said. “It would destroy his image. But Sterling has trouble sleeping the night before games. He takes sleeping pills.”
“Really?”
Sterling Lane, completely incapacitated by a pharmaceutical haze—that thought warranted further contemplation. I glanced up in time to see Parker and Kendall enter the room, holding hands. I wasn’t in the mood to endure the wet and sloppy side effects of their reunion, so I wrapped my breakfast in a paper napkin and headed to class.
As I made my way across the quad, watching bleary-eyed students wandering around, the pieces fell into place. It was a simple prank, one I’d read about in a blog post rife with typos. No one would be expelled or get injured. Except for a certain someone’s pride, of course.
Fortunately, pride was one attribute Sterling Lane had in abundance. It would take me a lifetime to exact enough damage to even put a dent in it. And that would be one thing I’d devote eternity to achieving.
I just had to convince Cole and Parker to play along.
“Why would I want to risk getting in trouble?” Parker asked.
“Because Sterling Lane took your girlfriend out on a date,” I’d replied. “And he’ll do it again.”
Parker raised an eyebrow.
“Maybe not to you,” I explained. “But to someone else—unless we stand up to him now and let him know that’s not how we do things here at Sablebrook.”
Just like that, Parker was on board—which was important, given that there was no way I could move a massive piece of furniture without his help, much less carry it across campus in the dead of night.
The hardest part would be drugging Sterling Lane. Fortunately, thanks to Cole’s reveal earlier that day, Sterling would take care of that little detail himself.
Reason 20:
Even when you think you’ve got him
on the ropes, all bloodied up,
he has a three-punch combination
lying in wait.
It took two days for me to get my plan in place. Per Rule 15, I was thorough and exacting in my preparations. During that time, my thoughts were divided between my impending revenge and my burning need to exonerate Cole. We hadn’t heard a word from the headmaster about the disciplinary committee meeting or whether the school would press charges. I’d left five messages with the police detective who was supposedly investigating the stolen car I’d seen Cole climb out of, to no avail. I’d finally moved on to his supervisor, who was similarly impossible to reach. The private investigator had turned up little as well.
Whenever I spent time with Cole, I tried to steer the conversation toward the weight room and whether he needed money. But he just as quickly steered the conversation back into more neutral waters. So more and more, we talked about his lacrosse or my goals for summer internships and the AP history exam. While this was normal fodder for discussion, it was weird to not acknowledge the uncertainty that loomed over us, threatening to tear us apart.
At times, it felt like Cole was back, acting normal. But other times, he’d lapse into a strange, sulky silence. Yet when I told him my plan, his eyes lit up.
“I’m glad you guys are finally getting along,” he said. “I had a feeling you would.”
“I’d hardly call it that,” I replied. But Cole just grinned at me and changed the subject.
On the big night, I was edgy with anticipation. I told myself it was because I was greasing the wheels of justice, but in truth, it was more than that. Rule 398 shuddered as the realization dawned on me that this was fun—pranks were fun. Especially when people were in on it with me. And ever since I pitched my plan, I’d been the opposite of lonely. I was overwhelmed. Even Kendall delayed her return to her repaired and repainted room to be closer to the action.
Cole confirmed that Sterling took a sleeping pill as scheduled and texted me fifteen minutes after Sterling went to sleep. I’d read online that it takes an average of thirty minutes for that particular medication to take effect.
It was no easy feat to sneak out of the dorm at midnight. The dorm hallway was dark and deserted, and the thick soles of Kendall’s platforms thumped noisily behind me. I gave her a dirty look and her footsteps coalesced into one long, sandpaper shuffle.
The cool night air almost awakened me to my senses, to the idiocy of what I was about to do. But then I pictured the sheepish smile of surrender on Sterling’s face when he realized I had the upper hand again. The public aspect of my little prank would up the ante tenfold—just like I promised. Sterling would have to dredge the bottom of his bag of tricks to one-up me next time.
I knocked softly on Cole’s door and it opened immediately. Cole and Parker stood there, dressed all in black.
“This is as far as I go,” Cole said, motioning with one hand toward Sterling’s bed. “I’m not getting in the middle of your little feud.”
“You already did,” I reminded him. “You helped me get that car out of my bedroom. I’d say you’ve already picked sides. Besides, we can’t do this without you. And I’m your sister.”
“Fine,” Cole said. “But from here on out, I’m muscle only. If he asks, I’ll deny all of it.”
Sterling was sprawled out in his bed, his tan, muscled shoulders visible over the top of his blanket. I’d never seen him vulnerable before. I had the oddest urge to touch him, trail my fingers along his exposed skin, just to make sure he was real. It had to be the sleep deprivation from the planning process, because never in a million years would I do something that disturbing.
My mind was playing the cruelest kind of tricks on me. Yes, he was at my mercy for the moment. But he played rough, and he could handle me playing rough right back.
“Let’s go.” I took position at one corner of the bed. “And don’t forget, if you’re caught, just leave it there and run. The genius of this is that even if we only get ten percent done, he’ll be humiliated.”
I ignored him. This retaliation was more about asserting myself than it was about winning. Or at least, that’s how I wished I felt.
The service elevator creaked and groaned under our weight like it was operated by a team of elephants and a gigantic pulley hidden somewhere in the bowels of the dorm.
The sidewalk leading to the main academic building was lined with lamps that cast broad, overlapping circles of light over the sidewalk. I used to love that the campus was well-lit and that I felt safe wandering back from the library late at night, but when you’re trying to drag a sedated boy across campus, public safety precautions are a serious liability.
When a light flickered on in our dorm monitor’s window, my heart started to hammer. We’d been caught. I took a step to the side, preparing to dive for the shadows lining the path, before Rule 298 reminded me to be brave and to take ownership of my decisions. If anyone was getting caught, it would be me. I’d create a diversion and let the others get away first.
The light switched back off. We stood there for seventeen seconds, waiting to make sure the coast really was clear.
The instant we started lifting the bed again, Sterling murmured something in his sleep. He rolled until he was perched precariously on the edge of his mattress. One tiny nudge would send him sprawling across the sidewalk. Cole and Parker startled and backed up, like they were about to shift into a run.
There was only one way to salvage the situation.
I took a deep breath and wrapped my fingers around Sterling’s shoulders. His skin was warm and smooth, exactly how it looked like it would feel. He shifted again. I used his momentum to roll him over onto the middle of the bed. Without a word, the others fell back into place, lifting the bed and continuing across the quad.
When we made it safely into the academic buildings, we deposited our little delivery in the middle of the first-floor hallway.
“Leave, you guys,” I said. “I have one more little surprise, and I definitely don’t want you involved in case I’m caught. It’s a big one.”
Cole looked at me, tipping his head to the side.
“Don’t even think about arguing with me, Cole Campbell,” I said. “I’ll be ten minutes behind you, max.”
As soon as the others disappeared into the darkness of the grassy quad, I walked out to the white van that was waiting for me. This last little surprise was the cherry on top, and I leaned into the darkened van, inspecting the locks on the massive cage nestled within.
The rest of the night I tossed and turned, worrying my plan would fail. That Sterling would somehow wiggle free from my trap. That he’d wake up and be waiting outside the door for me, all starched and pressed and hankering for sweet vengeance.
But the next morning, exhausted and bleary-eyed, I was up and moving, prepared to be at class thirty minutes early per Rule 10. Plus, there was no way I was going to miss this if my plan worked.
The marble stairs in front of the academic building were slick with drizzle and utterly deserted when I arrived. The rest of the student body was at breakfast. While usually I would have at least dashed through the cafeteria to grab a hard-boiled egg and toast, that morning I was too nervous to even contemplate eating.
I tugged on the front door so hard it slammed open, sending a reverberating thud through the empty hallways, and my tennis shoes pounded like timpani as I sneaked down a side corridor. I was way too nervous to venture into the main hallway to see the aftermath of my handiwork.
But as I turned the corner, headed straight for the history room, I nearly bumped right into two girls who were doubled over giggling. While there were a million possible explanations for their silliness, I knew—the way you can just know—that they were laughing at Sterling Lane. I hid behind a corner, where one crane of my neck would give me an unobstructed view of the main hallway. But I was too nervous to look. Instead, I watched the people who had passed through already. Everyone kept turning to look behind them, like there was something fascinating back there.
Then I heard the sound I had been waiting for—an eruption of laughter. And I did it: I peeked. A crowd had gathered in the main foyer, growing by the second as students opened the double doors of the school, thinking they were headed to class but instead getting caught up in the spectacle unfolding.
Sterling stretched his arms out, above his head. Then he sat up in bed—a bed that had been magically transported to the middle of the busiest school hallway. The sheets fell away to reveal his bare shoulders, followed by the rest of his chest. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who noticed that his even tan wasn’t limited to the parts of him that were visible under ordinary clothing.
His eyes widened. He looked around quickly, his gaze darting over every face gathered around him. I savored the moment as he struggled to decide what to do next, the flash of uncertainty that was gone so quickly I was probably the only one to recognize it for what it was: he was racking his brain for how to save face. And he opted for the usual. His lips quirked into a dry smile. With an impressive display of bravado, he kicked the covers back all the way. The trick had come off even better than I imagined. Sterling Lane had fallen asleep in nothing but a pair of boxers, and he was now trapped, half-naked, in the middle of the hallway with the whole school watching. The only downside was how attractive he looked first thing in the morning. The whole scene came off just one notch shy of a professional underwear commercial.
Rule 67 told me not to gloat, but it was too late. I stepped around the corner, striding through the fringes of the crowd that was now shifting, making way for Sterling to pass.
His eyes met mine as he straightened up to his full height. He just stood there, staring. Or maybe he was waiting for me to make the first move.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea, leaving Sterling and me at opposite shores. I felt everyone’s gaze drift from my face to his and back again.
“Thanks for the lift.” Sterling smiled. My stomach flopped; he was probably just getting warmed up. I shook my head, filled with begrudging admiration. Sterling Lane was absolutely unflappable. Just like Cole had warned, there was no way to embarrass someone so utterly uninhibited.
Then he pulled the quilt off his bed, and I noticed for the first time how lovely it was. Hand-sewn, a painstakingly perfect hodgepodge of expensive-looking cotton prints. The kind of trinket you picked up for a grand at an Amish craft fair. In Sterling’s world, it was just something you’d find in the minor guest room of a Hamptons estate.
He wrapped it around his shoulders, letting it slide down just a little, giving us all an unobstructed view of the excruciatingly chiseled definition in his shoulders none of us had had the opportunity to appreciate before.
He draped his right arm over the shoulder of a cute blond girl I often saw practicing cello on the quad. She looked a little startled at first, but few girls wouldn’t find themselves leaning in a little closer when a guy like Sterling Lane wrapped his arm around them.
“Two hundred bucks for a pair of shorts,” he called over his shoulder. “Fifty for a shirt. Screw the shoes.”
And he walked right toward me, never breaking eye contact. “Who knew?”
“Who knew what?” I demanded, bracing for the onslaught.
He came to a dead stop and looked down at me, smiling in a gently playful way that made all my joints go loose and wobbly in their sockets.
“That we’d be friends.” He grinned.
“We’re not.”
“Au contraire, sweetheart.” He started to walk away with the sophomore girl tucked under his arm like a football. “We have far too much in common.”
A freshman boy scampered up to him with a bundle of cotton. Shorts. My bark of laughter startled me and the other students nearby. Those vultures had probably never even seen me smile.
Sterling Lane might have a point. I’d enjoyed every minute of that morning, each excruciating, tantalizing moment I’
d anticipated watching him squirm. The adrenaline coursing through my veins was probably what had led him to his life of crime in the first place—the sweet siren song of superiority and triumph. It had sucked me under years ago, and only now had I realized it contained more than one melody.
I hummed it softly to myself as I watched him stroll toward Mrs. Stevens’s room just as Kendall reached it and opened the door, slipping inside steps ahead of him. That wasn’t part of the plan. Kendall screamed. She streaked out of the room, followed by an explosion of Sablebrook school colors. I probably should have warned her about the second aspect of our surprise. It hadn’t occurred to me she’d enter the room first.
A piglet the size of a terrier streaked down the hallway with Sterling Lane’s lacrosse number emblazoned across his back—in food-safe paints, of course.
The science teacher joined forces with the janitor to corral the unfortunate swine. But it was tame enough not to be afraid and was easily bribed with a candy bar. We’d left a note with the pig’s contact information taped to Sterling’s sheets, since no prank was worth driving a chubby pink pig into homelessness.
Sterling turned just enough for his gaze to find mine again. He smiled—a smile that I felt in my toes because there was genuine warmth in it. Friends.
Was I friends with Sterling Lane?
Reason 21:
He completely ruined
my lunch with his presence.
The next afternoon, Sterling strolled over to my usual table in the lunchroom and perched on the edge of it, right next to me. He put one scuffed loafer up on the chair. My heart started to pound for reasons I didn’t want to examine too closely. I’d spent most of the night wondering exactly what he’d meant when he said we were now friends.
Somehow I couldn’t imagine us swapping secrets or going out for ice cream cones.
“Your smelly shoe is ruining my appetite.” I glared at his foot until he lowered it back to the ground where it belonged. Then he plopped down into the chair instead. Was he planning to sit here? With me? Panic filled my chest and started rising right up my throat. I had no idea what to discuss with him; we’d never had a conversation that wasn’t a series of barbs and verbal blows.
Why I Loathe Sterling Lane Page 15