“Quick question.” Reece gets closer to the camera. “Is Dare4Change a goddamn circus now? Somebody better tell me how Dr. Echol’s dick became the mascot of sea lion conservation.”
Blaze lifts one hand.
“Technically—”
“That was rhetorical.”
Blaze sinks into his chair.
Cam’s hand slides over Reece’s bicep. “The donor conversion rate actually—”
Reece doesn’t move a muscle. He cuts his eyes toward her. It’s a silent, “not now” motion.
Cam exhales, a tiny puff of frustration. “Yes, okay, Señor Serious. Conversation for a different meeting, I’ll let it go for now.”
Then she drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “But mijos? Thirty-seven percent above projections. That’s what I call winning!”
“Blaze,” Reece says, arms folding across his chest. “Ground-level assessment. These two. No bullshit.”
“Okay, so here it is,” Blaze says, his face going uncharacteristically earnest. “First off, DR. O? LEGEND. That scepter? Bro, a monument to SCIENCE and SEX! If the fish gig flops, dude’s got a career in adult film waiting for him!”
“Dude, focus,” Reece warns.
“Right. Pro mode.” Blaze high-fives himself. “Cole? That foam rave? TOTAL GENIUS. I was standing right there when the cannon went off. Saw him scope the crowd like a HAWK. Low-key jealous it wasn’t MY idea, but whatever. Cole’s got that SICK INSTINCT.”
Reece gives a single nod. Cole says nothing.
Blaze turns to me, and there’s something in his face I don’t expect, something genuine beneath the restless energy. As if he really thought about this.
“Yo, yo—okay, okay, soooo. The foam rave POPPED OFF ’cause the stream was ready, ya know. The audience was HYPED, that was ALL Ivy’s MAGIC! She made the moment so Cole could find it. Cole’s like the—the dude with the thing—bro, what do you call it? The GUY. Cole’s the GUY, right? And Ivy’s the… the OTHER guy. No wait—”
He pauses. Something clicking behind his eyes.
“Camera. Cole’s the CAMERA! Ivy’s the TRIPOD! You can’t have a camera without a tripod, bro. My dudes, she’s the reason it WORKED!”
My heart does a weird, painful thump. It’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me all year, delivered by a man currently digesting a laundry tablet. I keep my face carefully blank, ignoring the way Cole’s energy shifts beside me.
Cam straightens up, controlling the call.
“You both delivered,” she says. “The numbers prove it. We’ve already raised $1.5 million. Two events left: beach cleanup and the sea lion viewing. Two more chances to prove who the best leader is.”
Her eyes are supportive but all-business.
“What we need more than a problem solver,” she continues, “is a problem preventer.”
She turns toward Reece.
“Ms. Vexford is one incident away from pulling access,” he says sharply. “YouTube’s algorithm is not our friend right now and Saltwater Saviors deserves more than a clickbait catastrophe.”
Reece reaches for his cocktail. Takes a slow sip.
“Are we clear?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.
Beside me, Cole says, “Loud and clear.”
Our boss’ eyes slide to his best friend. “And stop touching things.”
