The game had turned into a small war.
Voices were sharp. Faces were flushed. Dopamine from “winning” had been replaced by cortisol from “I’m not being treated fairly.”
Everyone talked. No one listened.
Except Lily.
Her body was in the corner with a box of crayons. But her brain was tracking every tiny shift in the room: the kid who went quiet, the one who got louder, the one who looked ready to quit.
Once she walked to the table and slid a new sheet into the middle. “I made a different way,” she said.
The score sheet was simple, colorful, and – most importantly – fair. Something subtle happened: the argument lost its oxygen. Brains that had been locked in threat mode suddenly had a clear map again.
Lily didn’t win the game that day. She did something bigger: she regulated the whole group.
No vote. No speech. They just… used it. In story language, this is the moment the “side character” quietly saves the scene.
