He nods to her and gives her the floor, and I glare at him like the traitor he is. I can’t believe I ever thought he was hot. He’s an asshole. The biggest asshole ever.
“Aristotle is rumored to have said that redheads are of baddish character,” Louisa reports gleefully. “And they were often thought to be witches or vampires in certain cultures, which resulted in them being sacrificed, burned, or buried alive. A practice some believe should be resurrected.”
“I got one, Mr. Carter,” Ethan adds. “In Jewish mythology, Lilith was believed to be a redheaded sexualized demon who wreaked havoc on men.”
“The Thracians worshipped gods with red hair,” Sybil interjects. “And they have a special gene that gives them a higher pain threshold. Just under two percent of the population have red hair, so that makes them pretty unique.”
“Don’t tell that to the ancient Greeks,” Louisa bites back.
Libby adds, “Yeah, I read that they were thought to be conceived through unclean sex in some religions. Usually with the devil.”
“Hitler banned redheads from reproducing,” someone else chimes in.
“Mark Twain thought they evolved from cats.”
“In one of Michelangelo’s pieces, Eve is depicted as a redhead after luring Adam to damnation.”
“There are many notable redheads throughout history.” Sybil raises her voice, counting off on her fingers as she speaks. “Cleopatra, Queen Elizabeth, Venus, Emily Dickinson. They don’t ever go gray, and they can make their own vitamin D.”
“I found a German study that says redheads really do like to have more fun, if you know what I mean.” Ethan chuckles.
And so, the list goes on. For twenty minutes, I doodle in my journal while I listen to my classmates throw out every possible form of ammunition they can against a single hair color. Sybil is the only one who seems to find anything positive, and eventually, even she runs out of things to say. Silence is my only defense, until it isn’t.
“Are we boring you, Stella?” A shadow falls over my desk, and I look up, horrified to see Mr. Carter studying the sketch in my journal.
“No.”
“You don’t have anything to add to the discussion?” he clips out.
“Not really, no. I think it’s all been said.”
“Then perhaps you’d like to share what you’ve deemed to be more important during class.” He snatches the journal from my hands and holds it up for the class to see. “Great likeness of me, wouldn’t you agree?”
Nobody agrees, of course. The devil with Mr. Carter’s eyes and facial structure is undeniably him, and I don’t have the will to argue otherwise.
“That will buy you one more week of detention, Miss LeClaire. Now put it away.”
He tosses it back onto my desk and returns to the front of the class. “Your assignment for this evening is to articulate what approach and method of research you employed for today’s topic. Cite your evidence, detail your own conclusions, and acknowledge any implications of your message. Class dismissed.”
I take a breath and look at Sybil, who’s glaring at Mr. Carter like she’s tempted to say something she’ll regret.
“Don’t bother.” I nudge her in the side. “It isn’t worth it.”
“We need to do something,” she whispers.
I wait until we file out of the doorway and onto the quad before I respond. “I think I should just withdraw from his class. It’s clear he doesn’t like me, and if I stay, he’s probably going to fail me.”
“Ugh, I hate him.” Sybil pouts. “It’s so unfair. That’s the only class we have together. But I think you’re right. Maybe you should go to the office now and talk to an advisor. They can give you a late pass for the next class.”
I nod in agreement, and we hug our goodbyes, going in separate directions. The administration building always has at least one student advisor hanging around during the day to chat with, and though it’s typically by appointment, I’m hoping they will make an exception in my case. When I arrive, the woman at the front desk greets me and checks the schedule upon my request.
“I think Mrs. Hart can speak with you for a few minutes. Come with me and we’ll see.”
I follow her around the counter and into the office where Mrs. Hart resides at her desk, tapping away at her keyboard.
“Cacey, do you have a moment to speak with Miss LeClaire regarding her schedule?”
Mrs. Hart checks the time on her watch and nods, gesturing for me to sit down. “Sure.”