“Is that even possible with the Internet? Twitter alone is wild.” He quirks a single eyebrow, skepticism thick in his voice. “With everyone spouting off their opinions all the time, how do we overshadow that?”
We. YES!
I knew going into this that the biggest challenge was going to be Quinton not feeling like I’m on his team. I mean, I am being paid by someone who wants him to stop doing something that’s very important. So him including me in this, no matter how minor it may seem, is a giant step to this plan succeeding.
“First, don’t go on Twitter or any other social media platform from now on. That’s my job. I will schedule posts for you if you want to keep a presence online. The last thing you need is to get caught up with online trolls.” I’ve spent enough time on social media trying to gauge people’s reactions to him to last a freaking lifetime. I doubt he wants to see all of the “spoiled millionaire complaining over nothing, why don’t we send him overseas and see if he can respect the flag then” and the #ShutUpAndPlay tweets. People also seemed to forget that he led a team to the championship. Way too many people were saying he sucks and isn’t worth the trouble. “But yes, it is possible. I know it sounds difficult and it can be. But there are things we can do to keep the focus where we want it to be. Big companies do it all the time.”
“Big companies? Like the one we both work for.”
Oops.
And just like that, we’re back to square one.
“Yes, just like the company we work for.” I don’t even try to mask the truth; that will only cause his distrust for me to grow. “But lucky for you, you’re the one in charge of this. You control the narrative and can pretty much demand that they support you.”
Fuck. Loose lips again. That was probably not the best thing to tell him. But it’s true. And maybe if he can realize the power he has here, he can focus on finding another way to express his feelings.
And let me help.
He nods his head—that hopefully isn’t getting even bigger from his newly held power—so I continue. “From there, we’ll want to appoint your board, create bylaws, and then the fun part: setting up funding guidelines and picking the first organizations you’ll fund.”
“That all sounds really good. I did some research last night into foundations and what was needed to get started.” He pushes his chair back and opens the drawer to his desk. Pulling out a spiral notebook, he eyes me as if he’s still deciding whether or not he should trust me. Then I guess he decides he does because he opens the notebook and hands it to me. “I listed out some potential members for the board, some ideas on what I want the mission statement to say, and a few organizations I think would benefit from funding.”
My mouth falls open as I read through his scrappy yet pleasantly neat handwriting.
THE MISSION OF THE QUINTON HOWARD JUNIOR FOUNDATION IS TO FIGHT FOR JUSTICE AND EQUALITY ACROSS THE BOARD. BY SUPPORTING AND FUNDING ORGANIZATIONS THAT ARE DEDICATED TO ENDING RACISM AND HELPING PEOPLE LIVE A LIFE WITH DIGNITY, WE WILL HELP MAKE THIS COUNTRY A BETTER PLACE
FOR ALL PEOPLE.
His mission statement isn’t some messy, thrown-together thing. It’s short, to the point, and perfectly describes his objective. He melds together two problems and makes them seem so cohesive that I couldn’t find a place to separate them even if I tried. There are pages and pages of organizations. Some local, some national, all listed with what they do and why he thinks they’d benefit not just from funding, but funding specifically from him. And finally, he has a group of about twenty potential board members.
“This is amazing.” I look at him once I’m finished reading everything. “Why did you act like you didn’t have anything ready when I asked?”
“People tend to act like I’m incapable of doing anything by myself.” He shrugs, but there’s tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there a minute ago and his smile no longer reaches his eyes. “I like to gauge how big of an idiot people think I am. What’s the point of letting someone in who isn’t going to ever take me seriously?”
Ouch.
I know that he showed me in the end, so that means that on some level he senses how much I want this to work. But it also shows that I’m not doing a very good job of hiding some of my personal feelings and he was able to pick up on that.
Just like it wasn’t my fault that I got dealt a hand that held a dead mom and a dad who died a slow and painful death, Quinton didn’t choose to be the son of a professional athlete. And even though I think he was the lucky one between the two of us, it doesn’t discount his feelings and his hurt.
In the end, all people care about is themselves.
I’d do well to remember that.
My sob story doesn’t matter here. It won’t change anything. If I want this to work, I have to focus on Quinton. That means taking him and all of his childhood problems—no matter what I think of them—seriously.
He has a point to make. I have a job to keep.
And there’s only one way to make that happen.
I hand him back his notebook.
“It looks like the Quinton Howard Junior Foundation is well on its way.” I crack my knuckles, a habit my dad detested, and reposition my computer in front of me. “You ready to get busy?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” No smile crosses his face, but he pushes his shoulders back and any shadows of irritation still lingering on his face are replaced by pure determination.
And I can work with that.
Seven
In the two weeks since our first meeting at Quinton’s house, the probability that I will become the newest hostess at HERS has decreased exponentially.
Whereas when I was first assigned this “project,” I was one hundred percent certain I’d be heading to the unemployment office at the end of our four months together, now I’m only ninety percent sure.
But hey, progress is progress! Am I right?
I mean, yeah, Quinton is still covering the League’s logo on his jersey as soon as his cleats touch the field and is definitely still kneeling. And fans are starting to become restless, so their reactions are growing before every game. Plus Glenn Chandler, who is now in full-on campaign mode, has made Quinton a crucial part of his speeches. Every single night, my phone starts to go crazy with alerts showing me the newest YouTube video of Glenn Chandler standing behind a podium in whatever new city he’s traveled to, attacking Quinton. I especially like when he looked directly into the camera and said, “This spoiled child has the audacity to go out on a football field, in stadiums that taxes funded, and disrespect our flag, our troops, and our men and women in blue!”