Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“There’s no need to waste precious time in class on that answer,” Stella bites back. “I can already tell you… I sold mine to the devil.”
My gaze returns to Stella, and despite her bravado, I can tell she doesn’t like this. And why would she, being the only redhead in the class? Louisa’s suggestion is designed to make her feel small, and admittedly, I want to see how she responds to the pressure. So even if it is utterly bullshit, I decide to roll with it.
“The curse of red hair throughout history. You have twenty minutes to do your research, and then we will discuss as a group.”
Stella’s mouth falls open, and Sybil foolishly tries to make her feel better about the situation. Perhaps it is cruel, but Stella will learn. My God will she learn.
CHAPTER NINE
STELLA
“I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS,” Sybil whispers beside me. “This isn’t fair.”
“It’s okay.” I maintain my attempt at stoicism even though I feel anything but.
“It’s not okay,” she hisses. “This is basically a roast. You’re the only redhead in here, and Mr. Carter knows it. He seriously has it out for you.”
“I know.” I choke back the awful feeling in my throat. Stupidly, I came here this afternoon hoping to make a better impression. But instead, he chose to put a target on my back. I don’t get it. I really don’t understand how he can be so cruel.
“Just don’t let anything they say upset you,” Sybil advises. “That’s what they want. A reaction. And besides, I wrote down all the good things about redheads. I promise it won’t be one-sided.”
“Don’t get yourself in trouble on my behalf,” I whisper. “I’ll be fine, I swear.”
But as Mr. Carter calls time on our research, I don’t exactly believe that myself. He stands in front of his desk, expressionless with his hands stuffed into his pockets. “Who would like to go first?”
“I will.” Louisa flips her hair over her shoulder.
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.”