The Rest Is History | ✓

35 | the support

Archer left me alone in the next few days.

It's not like I wanted it that way, but maybe it was best for both of us to take some time to clear our heads.

He didn't completely avoid me but he talked far less than before and honestly? I didn't feel good about it.

I thought I needed time away from him but it only made me miss him more.

I thought by keeping my distance, my feelings would eventually dim, and fade away. But no, nothing of that sort happened. They remained as strong and frustrating as ever.

One morning, I was in my Math lesson with Mr Montgomery. Archer shared this class with me and he was sitting diagonally in front of me. He looked straight ahead, a stony expression on his face, from what I could make out.

Mr Montgomery had a habit of digressing from the topic at hand and venturing into completely different areas. He quite literally would go off on a tangent (no pun intended) and start talking about the time he went to Thailand, or why meditation is good for our health, or how he has an irrational fear of moths.

Today's lesson was no different.

While teaching us differential equations, he started digressing again, and went into the topic of our career choices. He started asking some of us what we wanted to do after sixth form.

Soon, it was my turn.

"Miss Wentworth, what about you?" Mr Montgomery said (he was the only teacher to still address us as Mr or Miss), "What are you planning to do after sixth form ends?"

I perked up. "Sir, I want to be an artist--a painter. I'll study art, at hopefully Oxford or Cambridge, and then I want to be a professional full time artist."

Mr Montgomery frowned. "But why, Miss Wentworth? Why painting? You won't have a steady income with that kind of a profession. Those artsy types are never any good."

My forehead creased as I stared at him. I knew he tended to be a bit conservative, but I didn't know he was this narrow minded.

"Sir," I started, "With all due respect, I don't think they're any bad either. These artists create beautiful things everyday and I want to be one of them. I want to create paintings which make me hapoy, which leave a lasting impact on anyone who sees them. I don't want a boring dead-end job just to make some money. I want to do something real, something which I want for myself, something that's my dream."

Mr Montgomery's frown deepened. "Well, Miss Wentworth, I would normally encourage everyone to follow their dreams, but I expected you to have more...concrete ones. Not things like art which should be more of a hobby than a profession."

What. The. Hell. What the bloody hell.

Before I could open my mouth in indignation, Archer beat me to it. He raised his hand and when Mr Montgomery saw him, he started speaking.

"Sir, personally I feel we should let each and every person chase their dreams no matter what they are. No dream is bigger or smaller than the rest. No dream is unimportant or irrelevant. And I think if Vivian wants to paint, then we should encourage her to paint instead of forcing her into a job she doesn't want and cutting off all her creativity and opportunity. We all have different talents and different wishes, and we all deserve a chance to fulfil them. Vivian shouldn't be any exception."

He said this with the all the seriousness and gravity of a mature, well brought up and developed person.

I stared at him in wonder, as did the rest of the class.

Why did he suddenly choose to defend me?! Why is he being so understanding when I'm trying so hard to forget my feelings!

He continued facing our teacher, not looking back once at me. Mr Montgomery stared at him slack-jawed for a few seconds before regaining his composure.