Why I Loathe Sterling Lane

by Ingrid Paulson

  “Who would bet on high school lacrosse?”

  “Your brother, apparently. A surprising number of people bet on an astonishing number of things.”

  “This is about the money he needs, isn’t it?” I stared down at my food. “He stole that money thinking he could double it or something by gambling. I should have known he would do something rash. I should have been there to stop him.”

  It was a tactical error, saying something so vulnerable to Sterling Lane. I’d set myself up for brutal recriminations. I closed my eyes, waiting for the onslaught, and in part craving it. As if Sterling Lane’s verbal battery would absolve me of my failure to Cole.

  “I don’t think anyone could have seen this coming,” Sterling said quietly. “Even Cole. I suspect he was in part swindled by our pal Gil. Guys like Gil zero in on desperation. Cole told me he borrowed the money from the team because he thought he could quadruple it and come through for the weight room. Twice Gilbert’s advice had doubled Cole’s money—but only small sums. My guess is Gilbert set Cole up—gave him some wins to lure him in, then when Cole was really backed into a corner, he lost the money. Bait and switch. He tempted Cole in deeper with a chance to get his money back, so after losing the money he’d stolen from the team, he bet again. On credit. He’s in pretty far over his head, but only because a skilled manipulator led him down that path. Some people are born to be rule-breakers and some stumble into trouble by accident. Cole is the latter.” He paused, that little grin reappearing. “Perceptive as you are, sweetheart, you can’t blame yourself.”

  “Well, if that’s the case, what Cole did doesn’t seem that bad.”

  “I doubt the disciplinary committee will see it that way,” Sterling replied. “I agree, from a personal morality perspective, what Cole did was well-intended. But it’s still illegal on both counts. Trust me on this one, he’ll be expelled. Your father will probably lock him up and throw away the key.”

  “Any evidence that Gilbert did this?”

  “No.” He looked up right then, spearing me with his eyes. “But we can’t let that stop us, can we? Or at least you won’t.”

  A slow flush crept up my cheeks. He was referring to the evidence I’d presented to Headmaster Lowell.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But I’ve always been a terrible liar, and we both knew the truth anyway. He’d already paid me back in Mini Coopers.

  Sterling reached over and put his hand on my wrist. The warmth of his skin on mine startled me, but my hand refused to pull itself away.

  “It’s okay. Water under the bridge.” He let the silence settle between us. “The question is, are you up for a repeat performance?” He leaned toward me. “This time, working together?”

  “You’ve set this up quite nicely,” I said. “You extracted a vague promise from me, and in exchange you get my help clearing your name as well as Cole’s. Don’t think I missed that part of our little arrangement.”

  “I didn’t think you would. But if you recall, I’m entangled in this only because you turned me in for bailing your brother out. I’d say I’m being more than generous.”

  The waitress arrived with our bill and Sterling slipped her a credit card before I realized what was happening. I pulled a twenty out of my pocket, but Sterling waved it away.

  “I insist,” I said. “I don’t want to owe you.”

  That’s when the alligator smile returned, shattering the thin veneer of camaraderie that had settled over us during dinner.

  “Too late,” he said, rising. “And believe me, sweetheart, I’ll cash that IOU.”

  “Stop calling me sweetheart,” I said. “It’s so condescending.”

  “A pleasure, as always,” he replied. “It’s a wonder you always dine alone.”

  “Shut up,” I muttered as I scrambled to my feet and shoved my book into my bag. Only when I was standing over the table did I notice that my steak was still in front of his place, untouched. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think Sterling had switched plates to be nice.

  “Did you know I’m vegetarian?”

  “Rule 304.” He turned to leave. “Forgot until I saw you picking around your plate.”

  I watched him strut toward the door, all long, lean limbs and broad shoulders, carrying himself like he thought the whole world should stop and admire the way he moved.

  And I despised myself for doing just that.

  Reason 23:

  He absolutely does not deserve those abs.

  Even if he must have endured an infinity

  of crunches, he shouldn’t look like

  that on the outside when he’s

  ROTTEN TO THE CORE

  on the inside.

  I spent the whole night tossing and turning. No matter how I spun the situation in my mind, one thing was clear—we had to fight fire with fire. We had to play dirty. Fortunately, my partner in crime was an expert in that arena. I was so agitated and restless that at two in the morning, I climbed out of bed and Googled our pal Gilbert. Now that I had his name and place of employment, it was easy to run a background check, which led me straight to the real Gilbert—a retiree in Nevada. It seemed Cole’s gambling buddy had a stolen car, a stolen plate, and a stolen identity. Armed with that information, I placed another call to the PI. This time it was worth my savings to have him dig a little deeper into Gilbert’s true identity.

  My neglected outlines were in arranged in stacks between our two beds—stacks that Kendall had knocked over three times that evening as she paraded around the room, trying to get me to vote on which shirt-sized dress she should wear on her date with Parker. Ever since I’d helped get them back together, she was under the misguided notion that I was some sort of relationship guru, that my tell-it-like-it-is style was what was missing in her life. She’d even gone so far as to study with me—in public. And in an unplanned act of generosity, I’d let her borrow my outlines.

  Kendall’s room had been ready for days, but she had yet to mention moving out. And I was afraid to ask, because I both did and didn’t want her to leave.

  By the time Kendall’s alarm went off, signifying the night was officially over, I was nearly caught up in all of my classes. While I’d worked, my subconscious had been busily whirring away, and a plan had coalesced in my mind—a simple plan to extract Gilbert’s confession, but it required both Cole’s and Sterling Lane’s cooperation.

  Kendall spent the entire morning in the art studio. I was so nervous for that night that I spent the morning baking a German chocolate cake so rich Kendall and I could barely put a dent in it, so we gave the rest to Cole and Parker and a group of the lacrosse guys. It was oddly gratifying, the way they dug right in and mumbled their thanks around mouthfuls.

  Cole’s bright smile was more than enough to make my work worthwhile.

  Kendall and I spent the afternoon in the library, preparing for a calculus exam. A steady diet of caffeine held me together that day—that and the hope my plan had engendered.

  After dinner, I walked across the quad to the boys’ dorm, knowing that Cole would be at an extra calculus tutoring session and hoping Sterling hadn’t gone, too. I came to a complete stop in the middle of the hallway to appreciate the odd enormity of the moment—I was actually seeking out Sterling Lane.

  “Entrez.” His voice stabbed my ears immediately after I knocked.

  I dug my fingernails into my palm, willing myself to turn the door handle. It swung open slowly, allowing me to make a dramatic entrance into the room, which was promptly destroyed as I squinted into the darkness, searching for something the size and shape of a person.

  The streetlamp shining in from the window silhouetted his armchair. He was almost completely concealed in darkness. The only giveaway was the curve of his disheveled head, tipped to the side against the wingback.

  “Two nights in a row? You just can’t get enough of me.” I could hear the smile behind his words.

  “Believe me, I’m not here for your company.”


  He reached up and switched on the bronze floor lamp hovering above his head. The warm light illuminated the planes of his face, casting shadows around his angular features. His nose. His cheekbones and forehead. Until he was striking and sinister all at once.

  “You should sit down before you fall down,” he said, rising and gesturing to his leather armchair. “You look terrible.”

  But I just stood there, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. “I couldn’t sleep last night. Worrying about Cole.”

  I set a plastic Tupperware container on his dresser. “Cupcakes. For your grandmother. If she doesn’t like them, maybe the nurses will. I read somewhere that people actually receive better care if their families bribe the staff with food.”

  Sterling tipped his head to the side, studying me. I crossed my arms over my chest, wishing his gaze didn’t make me feel like an exotic zoo animal. “Thank you,” he said, but it sounded more like a question.

  “I told you I couldn’t sleep.” I sounded far too defensive. The truth was, I’d always had a soft spot for grandmothers. I hated picturing her, confused and waiting for her prodigal grandson.

  “I also got caught up in my classes,” I added. “And I have a plan—for Cole, I mean.”

  Sterling strolled across the room, again gesturing me toward his chair. A small mirrored cabinet hung over the built-in drawers, and he reached inside and retrieved a silver flask. He opened his sock drawer and produced two crystal martini glasses, which he filled with clear liquid from the flask. He placed one hand on the corner of a squat bookshelf and tugged. A hidden door swung open, revealing that the books were in fact a false front, concealing a completely contraband mini-fridge. Inside, there was a dizzying array of glass jars and containers with fancy gourmet labels.

  “This will help you sleep. After we discuss your plan, of course. Now, one olive or two?” He turned to look at me. “Sit, please. You’re making me nervous with all that fidgeting.”

  “I don’t drink,” I told him, taking a deep breath and settling on Cole’s wooden desk chair. Sitting in Sterling’s brown leather chair seemed far too intimate.

  “There’s a first time for everything. You’ll never have a better guide for exploring this new world of possibilities.”

  “Why are you so determined to make everyone bad?”

  “I’m not,” he replied, and for the first time, his smile didn’t make me feel like he was dissecting me in his mind with a little scalpel. “I think you need to see the gray before you go around categorizing everything as black or white. You’re missing all of the nuance in life, and that’s where the good stuff is. So I’ll ask again: One olive or two?”

  When I hesitated, because I truly had no idea how many olives I’d prefer, he tipped two into each glass. It was impressive that he crossed the room to me without spilling a drop, and even more impressive that he took a long sip without flinching. I couldn’t help but respect that as I lifted my glass and took the tiniest of sips. After all, Rule 43 said it was okay to try new things as long as they were educational. And this truly was a novel experience.

  I coughed. My entire throat was on fire. I jumped out of the chair, wondering if stop, drop, and roll would save me in this situation. I coughed again and Sterling thumped me gently on the back.

  “You can do better than that.” Sterling appraised the line of the liquid in my glass. “Remember I have Rules too, the most important of which is no wasting provisions. This particular treat isn’t easy to find. I had to have it shipped from New York.”

  “How many Rules do you have?” I blurted out, disturbingly intrigued.

  “Look at you all hot and bothered.” He cracked a grin. My heart thumped a little faster. “I never bothered to count. I just call ’em as I see ’em. Unlike you, I keep things simple, straightforward. Then you’re less likely to get tangled up in details.”

  “Then those aren’t Rules at all,” I said. “Rules are fixed. Unmoving.”

  “They don’t have to be,” he said, the teasing tone fading from his voice. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me—about your Rules and your mother. We’re two sides of the same coin, limiting ourselves based on everyone else’s expectations. For you, it’s guilt over what was probably an offhand comment, and you’ve built your whole world around it. And for me, well, anything my dad wants me to do, I do the opposite. And I don’t even really remember why. One day I just got fed up with all the pressure and expectations and living up to the Lane name.” He deepened his voice, impersonating his father. “What does that even mean when you’re five years old? If they’re all so perfect, why try?”

  “Sterling—” I wasn’t sure what to say. I’d never seen him lose his characteristic cool. I wanted to reach out and touch him, comfort him. But I’d never dare. “You’re actually pretty impressive on your own.” A slow flush crept up my throat and the playful light returned to his eyes. “At school, I mean,” I added. “When you try, that is.”

  “It’s okay—I’m over it. But thank you for the caveated compliment. When it comes down to it, it’s not like my dad was asking anything unreasonable. Sure, he’d love a Rhodes scholar, but he’d also be happy if I’d just try. Most parents just want us to do our best.”

  I swallowed hard. I wasn’t sure I agreed with that last part—I didn’t know what my mom would have wanted, and I’d been doing my best for years and Dad still preferred Cole.

  “Here’s to letting those expectations go and just being ourselves.” His hand motioned to the drink in my hand. “Don’t look so terrified, Harper. I’m not saying let’s fail out of school. You’re a good student—that’s who you are. I’m just saying do it for you, not for them.”

  It made sense, it really did. I wanted to agree, but a little part of me held back. Even if the Rules were started by Mom, they were a part of me now.

  “I’m passing all my classes,” he said. “Better than passing in a few of them. I have you to thank for that.” His glass clinked against mine. “Here’s to hoping my transcript doesn’t give the admiral a heart attack before he gets to gloat.”

  “That’s wonderful, Sterling,” I said. And I meant it. Who knew our little rivalry would help Sterling instead of getting us both expelled. “My dad can be—difficult, too. But ultimately, if we screw our lives up, we’re the ones who have to live those lives, you know?”

  “Funny thing is, I started trying at school to get back at you, and things with my dad have been better since then. You’d think I’d solved world hunger with a couple of Bs. And those Bs came hard. If your dad really doesn’t get it, how hard you work to achieve what you’ve accomplished, then he needs his head screwed on straight.”

  The flush returned, creeping all the way across my cheeks. How had Sterling known exactly what I needed to hear?

  We just stood there. I put my hands in my pockets. Then pulled them out and crossed my arms instead. There was no comfortable place to put them. No safe place for my eyes to land.

  “Tell me about your plan,” Sterling said, deftly changing the subject as he turned away.

  I took a sip of my drink, using it to buy time to think. The fire from a moment before had been replaced with a soothing warmth. It felt good as it spread through my body. So I took another sip. Sure, I was underage, but maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing. A giggle slipped out of me. “This must be what it feels like to be Kendall.”

  Sterling laughed and leaned back against the wall; his eyes never left mine until I was finally forced to look away. Heat crept up my neck—from the alcohol. Not from his razor-sharp scrutiny, tracking my every movement. He took the glass out of my hand and set it on his desk.

  “Changed my mind,” he murmured. “I think we should keep our heads clear.”

  “It was your idea in the first place,” I snapped. “It’s not like I showed up here looking to get wasted.”

  “Duly noted,” he said. “Now if you’re quite finished with this righteous indignation, I believe we had some business to discuss?
”

  “Right.” I settled back into my chair. “We blackmail Gilbert right back. You say they’re threatening Cole—trying to get him to throw a game or something. Well, we secretly record him, get a confession, and threaten to go to the police with it.”

  “That will get us halfway there,” Sterling said. “But Cole’s still on the hook with the disciplinary committee, or had you forgotten that little detail?”

  “Well, that part—that part I might need your help on. I was thinking we spin it like Cole was trying to break up a gambling ring. Like he suspected this was going on and this was all part of his plan to bring an end to it, but it backfired a little.”

  “I like it.” Sterling sat back in his chair. “Ruthless and clean. Leave the details of the last part to me. I may have an idea that bears exploring.” His gaze met mine and lingered. I wanted to believe he was simply lost in thought, pondering my plan, but he looked far too focused on the present.

  I was staring at the way his lips curled around the words and at the heavy-lidded look in his eyes despite the alertness I could sense in his body. He was aware of every movement I made. It sent a completely foreign, but not unwelcome, little shiver down my spine.

  One remaining still-vigilant little brain cell politely pointed out that now would be a good time to leave. We could make a plan to reconvene in the morning, someplace bright and brimming with other people. But another part of me, a part of me that was awake for the very first time, wouldn’t let me move an inch.

  “I should go.” But neither of us believed me.

  I rose from my chair and he did, too, which made me acutely aware of exactly how close we’d been sitting. His breath grazed my shoulder and for a moment, I thought his lips would follow. When they didn’t, we stood like that, both of us waiting.

  “Is that the only reason you came here tonight?” His voice was low and soothing. “To discuss Cole? You could have called or found me at lunch. Is there a reason you chose to come here alone, at night?”

  There was. There wasn’t. A million responses raced through my brain, but when I reached out to grab a hold of them, they slipped through my fingers like sand. Finally, my brain found its footing again, just as my heart threatened to hammer its way right out of my chest.