Page 66 of The Overtime Persuasive

“Did you win at math?” I ask, peering over her shoulder.

“We’ve reached an uneasy truce.” She closes one window, revealing the browser tab beneath it. I take a step closer out of curiosity.

The contest submission page fills the screen, and it looks like at least three photographs are already uploaded. When I look closer, I can see the description boxes beneath them are filled in. The name Side B Holiday Collection is written across the top.

“Is that your entry?” I say, indicating with my chin toward her computer.

She purses her lips. “It could be.”

“Did you submit it yet?”

She lets out a huge breath of air. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because…I was doing my books.”

“You’re done with your books.”

“I know, and now I’m in thought.”

“Thought about…what? Is there something in consideration?”

She closes her eyes, lowering her head and for a second I’m actually worried I broke her. But, she looks up at me a few seconds later, her expression sheepish.

“The something I am considering is submitting the entry.”

“That’s awesome, Eva.” I look at the screen. “You’ve filled out the form. What’s left?”

“Entering.” Eva scrolls to the bottom of the page, There’s one button there and it’s labeled SUBMIT ENTRY.

“Well, here you go. Press it.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m still thinking.”

My mouth hangs open. She has one more step, why isn’t she going for it? “What else do you need to do?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Nothing.”

“Then you’re done. You built the box because you found the contest, right? It inspired you, so you made this product and it’s working. Now, you’ve read every requirement for the contest, because…why not see what it takes to enter, right? You may just end up being a contender.”

Eva watches me as I map it out, using the air around me like a chalkboard, drawing invisible lines to match up fake storylines on my invisible true-crime board.

“What is your point?”

“That you took the pictures, wrote the entry, and left the submission page open beneath your accounting homework. That isn’t someone who doesn’t want to enter, it’s a plea for help.”

She folds her arms while I wait. She’s quiet for a moment before looking toward the laptop again.

“What if I enter and they don’t pick me?” she whispers, the humor disappearing from her voice.

I glance toward the customer in the record section. He’s still browsing, far enough away that he can’t hear us.

“Then they don’t pick you.”