AllFreeNovel
Share Us
An ominous pause.
“Miss Beck, I’m sorry, but all submissions are final.”
Panic swamps me. “I understand that’s your policy, but I need you to make an exception. The photo I submitted was not the one I’d meant to. It was a mistake.”
“There was a very small window when that could have been rectified,” the woman responds. “We receive thousands of submissions, and judging has already entered the third round. If we allowed photographers to swap out their submissions this late, we would have to redo hundreds of hours of review that has already taken place. Especially in this instance.”
“What do you mean, especially in this instance?”
A sigh. “Changing your submission would affect the process, Ms. Beck.”
A lightning bolt of excitement races through me when I register her meaning. If it would affect the process, that means my photo is still under consideration. I made it to the third round. There are five rounds before finalists are announced. Halfway is a lot further than I anticipated making it.
“Would you like me to remove your photograph from consideration?” the woman asks.
My excitement dims a little, remembering the reason I called in the first place.
“Uh, no. Thanks for your help.”
“Have a good day.”
The woman hangs up. I set my phone down slowly, staring at the photo on the screen, undecided about what to do next. Taking photos of football was one thing when it was an assignment for my internship. But the EPAs were supposed to be my shot at proving my worth as a serious photographer. About pursuing a career with no connection to sports. It’s ironic—the story of my life, really—that I thwarted my own efforts.
And then there’s the unfortunate fact that if I possibly manage to make it to the finals, that intimate photo of Will would be released with my name attached.
Will’s in a great mood when he comes over. Kluvberg beat Manchester United, four to one. An impressive, dominant performance by any measure.
I meant what I told him—that Ansel means nothing to me. There’s not even any resentment or anger there any longer. Just scorn for the person that he is. Or was. I hope he’s changed, but I doubt it.
I’m happy Kluvberg won. Apprehensive about telling him I made a mistake with my EPA submission. Relieved he’s home. All those emotions shift to secondary when Will sets the bag of takeout he brought over on the counter, and I catch the flash of black on the inside of his right wrist. All of his tattoos were contained to his left arm, until now.
I grab his forearm, twisting it so I can see it better. So I can tell if it says what I think it does.
It does.
He got the seat numbers on his ticket—the exact spot where we’d met—tattooed on his arm.
“Will…” That’s all I can manage to say—his name.
One corner of his mouth turns up. “If you hate it, don’t tell me. It’s permanent.”
“I don’t hate it. I love it. I just…I can’t believe you did it.”
He shrugs, pulling boxes of takeout from the paper bag he brought over. “None of my tattoos meant anything. I wanted one that did.”
I rise up on my tiptoes, pressing a kiss against his cheek. “I have to tell you something.”
He glances over. “Okay …”
“Remember the photo I told you I sent into the awards?”
Will nods. “Yeah. The one from the park.”
“Yeah. Except I, uh…I found out this morning that’s not the photo I’d submitted.”
A line of confusion appears between his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I submitted a photo of you, accidentally. The photo I had taken in the locker room, after your portraits.”
