If Ophelia’s heart wasn't set on dancing but instead fluttered to misguided whims, what was the point of teaching such a student?
The teachers wouldn't find any sense of achievement, and such a student would only distract the others, stopping them from focusing on their practice.
...
On the way back, Balfour clutched Ivy's hand, tracing patterns on the back of it, eyes staring out the window, lost in thought.
Ivy wiggled her fingers, scratching lightly in his palm.
"What's on your mind? Still worried about Grandma?"
Balfour let out a sigh, gazing at Ivy before suddenly pulling her into an embrace. "I'm worried about Grandma, and I'm worried about you too."
"Me? What's there to worry about me?"
Ivy looked up at him, puzzled from within his arms.
"You're just too kind-hearted, and that's why people push you around. If I hadn't shown up today, would you really have kept on competing with that girl?"
Ivy shrugged nonchalantly. "She was just sore about losing, that's all. I won the first round, and I could beat her in another. She's no match for me, and she knows it."
Ivy oversimplified things. Sometimes, it's not as simple as who's right and who's done what.
Take Ophelia today; she had no beef with them, but a few words on the internet, plus Balfour's daily attentions, had sparked jealousy in her heart.
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