Ian Shaw stared intently at the paper in front of him. A gray pencil moved with incredible dexterity in his hand, leaving a mass of numbers on the white sheet. His handwriting was quick and scrawled; from a distance, it looked like random, nonsensical scribbles.
The camera panned over to him.
Renee Jennings immediately scolded him, "Ian Shaw, what are you doing? Why aren't you paying attention to the lesson? Look at what all the other children are doing. Are you not feeling well, or…"
"I don't like listening to your lecture," Ian Shaw said bluntly, his fair cheeks showing a hint of irritation at being disturbed.
Renee Jennings clenched her fists, her voice sounding as if it were squeezed through her teeth. "Well, well. You truly are Nina's good little boy. Just like her. You two, mother and son, are really two peas in a pod!"
"Don't you talk about my mom!" Ian Shaw suddenly dropped his pencil, like a little animal whose final line had been crossed.
