I wrote the score at the top of the page in large, red numbers. 2/10.
Then I slid it back to her without a word.
She stared at the paper. Her hands balled into fists on the table. I could see the exact moment the shame hit her, the way her shoulders hunched inward and her face went blank in that defensive way she had when she wanted to disappear.
See? her posture screamed. I told you. I'm stupid.
I poured the poker chips onto the table. The sound cracked through the library like gunfire.
"Same rules as last time," I said. My voice came out calmer than I felt. "You start with ten. Let's get them back."
She looked up at me, and something dangerous flickered in her eyes. Not anger. Worse. That bone-deep certainty that she'd already lost before we started.
I hated that look.
"Let's try something different," I said, pulling out a fresh worksheet. "Stop trying to solve problems in your head."
"I'm not."
