No Redheads Allowed

He’d left her house just in time, recognizing how close he’d been to allowing his passions to take control. She’d seemed willing. But his voice of reason told him that she wasn’t that kind of woman. She was the put a ring on it first kind.

Why was he even thinking of what kind of woman she was? She wasn’t his type. Period. He buried the idea of rings beneath a mountain of logic and the images of flour footprints on the floor and a rusty car named Alice.

He sat at his desk, gazing unseeingly at the bowed heads of his students as they concentrated on an impromptu writing assignment. They knew better than to bother him with questions. He’d been morose and grumpy all day. He’d scolded Ben Howard for losing his homework without the usual wink to lighten the reprimand. And Ellie Winslow had barely escaped his ire. He scowled at her bent head, the sight of her frizzy copper hair—almost the same color as her aunt’s—only making him more irritable. He should transfer her to Ms. Lowenstein’s class. Ellie was the root cause of all his trouble, the little sneak. Lying to him about her grandmother. He wondered if Polly had given her niece a lecture yet. The girl had been even quieter than usual today, so maybe Polly had.

Twice now he’d been hoodwinked by a redhead in his classroom. First Ellie, with her mischievous lies, then Polly, employing her infectious smile and pretty, twinkling brown eyes to lure him into agreeing to read her book. He was going to establish a new school policy: No Redheads Allowed in Joe Matthews’s Classroom.

From Her Ordinary Joe
Copyright © 2014 Margaret Desmond

This post is in response to the Daily Prompt: Infect


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