I spin in a circle, scanning the terminal as if a tuxedo-wearing welcome agent is going to pop up with a sign that says:Camila is on Flight 1207. Go get her dumbass.
Nothing.
Not one heroic airline employee ready to break FAA regulations in the name of love.
I stare at the departure board, panic clawing up my throat. There are too many damn departures to Los Angeles. My brain is frantic, flipping through options. I could call every airline. Hack into the security cameras. Maybe bribe one of the bag handlers—
“OH MY GOD! It’s reallyyou!”
The squeal hits my eardrums like an ice pick. I spin to find a teenage girl with braces, phone aimed at me. “You’re Reece Dare!THEReece Dare!“ She bounces on her toes, sparkly phone case catching the fluorescent lighting.
I force a smile. “Hey there.”
“AND BLAZE TATE TOO!” Her shriek reaches a pitch only dogs should be able to hear.
I glance at Blaze, who’s wandered back from his snack-finding expedition with an armful of chips and candy. His blonde hair is hidden under a backwards cap that says,Beach Please, and he’s wearing sunglasses indoors, which he proudly callsIncognito Mode. He notices the fans and hastily grins, bringing his full-on party boy energy.
“Sup, DareSquad!” he shouts.
Then, like shark bait in open water, one excited fan quickly attracts others. Within seconds, we’re surrounded—teens, twenty-somethings, moms with their kids, an overly smiley dude with my face on his sweatshirt.
Cameras flash. Questions fly from all directions.
“Can we get a selfie?”
“Will you sign my boarding pass?”
“Reece! I just donated to the Lahaina fund, man!”
“My aunt lost everything in the fires. Thank you for helping!”
“You’re actually a good person?! I’m shook!”
More people join the crowd. More phones. More questions.
I pause, taking in the faces of my followers. These aren’t just admirers asking for stunts or selfies. They’re genuinely moved. I see it in their eyes—a connection deeper than viral videos and merch.
I should be grateful.I am grateful.These fans are helping raise millions for Lahaina’s recovery. They saw what Cam saw. They believed in something real.
And all I can think is—this is Camila’s moment. She should know that her work mattered.That she matters.
But right now, I don’t have time.
“Guys,” I say, raising my hands, instantly commanding the crowd. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you supported Lahaina. Seriously. Every donation, every share—you made a difference. And I will be matching those funds dollar for dollar. But I gotta find Cam ASAP. Have any of you seen her?”
Everyone shakes their heads.
The teen girl with braces pipes up. “Go live! Ask the whole DareSquad!”
“I was gonna think of that!” Blaze says.
I pull out my phone, open the YouTube app, and hit theGo Livebutton.
The second the stream starts, the numbers climb. Ten thousand viewers. Fifty thousand. Four hundred thousand—no sign of stopping.
“DareSquad. I know this is a long shot, but I need you.” My own face stares back at me—rumpled, desperate, the most unfiltered I’ve ever been on camera. “I’m at the Maui airport, and I have to locate Camila. But I have no idea where she is. If anyone has any clue where she might be—please, drop it in the chat.”
The comments flood in immediately:
