Page 50 of Bookish Boys Don't Date Social Girls
I tackle them both with a hug. “What are you guys doing here?”
“I hope we’re not interrupting.” Ines wanders around my room, touching familiar things and studying items that are new to her. It has been years since she last came into my room. She smiles and gently strokes the sculpture Bridget made of me.
Lincoln stands by the door with his hands in his pockets, grinning ear to ear. I’m not even sure I know what he looks like without a smile.
“Not at all. I can use a break, actually. I’ve been online allday.”
“That doesn’t seem like a productive use of your time.” Ines has an eyebrow arched like she’s daring me to refute her.
So, I do, telling her about some of the videos and comments I’ve been responding to. By the time I’m done, Lincoln has wandered over to stand next to Ines, and my sister’s mouth hangs open.
“Sam, I had no idea you were doing all that.” Ines bites her lip. “I’m such a bad sister. I only asked you about it that one time, right after I heard what happened.”
I shrug. “That’s fine, Ines. It isn’t like I feel neglected by you or anything. You’re super busy with work and wedding planning and stuff.”
Lincoln puts his arm around Ines and says to her, “I feel even better about our decision now, hon. Go ahead and ask her.”
I look between the two of them. “Ask me what?”
Ines nods at Lincoln. “You’re right. I’m even more excited.” She looks at me. “Sam, instead of giving us gifts for our wedding, Lincoln and I are thinking about asking our families, guests, and friends to make a donation to support the #NoMoreShame project.”
I frown. My mind races through possibilities of what that can mean, but in the end, my active imagination keeps dumping the money into a bottomless bucket.
“But there is no #NoMoreShame project.”
“That’s the thing,” Lincoln says. “We think there should be.”
“I saw you on the morning show,” Ines said. “One of my coworkers ran into my office and told me you were on. We all shoved into the conference room to watch. Sam, I wish you had been there. After the segment was over, everybody started talking about the shame they’ve had to overcome in their lives. There is so much bullying and harsh judgement out there.I had no idea how many people are impacted in big and small ways.”
Tears shimmer in her eyes and I feel a kinship with my sister I’ve never experienced before. “And later in the day, another coworker came into my office. He was born with a bum hand. It’s a condition that has a long fancy name, but I can’t remember what it’s called. The stories he had from his school days were horrible. But the worst part was that it still happens to him. He’s a grown man in his thirties and people still taunt him and make fun of him for a condition he had no control over. That’s when I started to consider a #NoMoreShame project.”
“I don’t understand.” I looked between her and Lincoln. What is she suggesting? It isn’t like I can open a non-profit like Kate Bellamy can.
Lincoln answers. “We can set up an organization called #NoMoreShame. You can raise money under the organization and then donate the money to any cause you wish. Shame-Less would be the most logical first choice, since your movement inspired the organization, and you know the funds will be used locally. But after that, you can choose to support national or even international organizations as well.”
“And you guys are giving up presents to raise money for it?” I ask. That seems like a huge thing to do.
“We really don’t need anything. We were already considering asking for travel money instead of toasters. This feels so much better.”
Then panic fills me. “I can’t start an organization. That’s nuts.”
Lincoln smiled. “If you’re willing to remain the face of the organization, I can help with the rest. It’s what I went to school for.”
I suck in a breath. “I forgot about that!”
“Yeah. I almost did too.” He laughs. “It’ll be great to putthe education to use.”
“We realize school starts soon, so you’ll be busy,” Ines says. “I would like to help as much as I can, too.”
“She’s got marketing skeellz,” Lincoln says.
“Will you guys have time for this?” I gawk at them, still unable to process what they’re suggesting. Me becoming the face of the organization? That’s crazy.
“We’ll make it work. But only if it’s something you want.” Ines takes my hands in hers. “This is your deal, Sam. You must be comfortable putting yourself out there.”
Overwhelmed, I look around the room. My gaze lands on the open laptop on my desk. I think of the hundreds, maybe thousands of people who have shared their stories in the last few weeks. The number of bleary-eyed hours I’ve spent on the computer desperately searching for stories, hoping to get them all. But I’m constantly afraid of the ones I miss being those who need to be seen the most.
“We could help so many people,” I whisper.
