“Have you talked to Mom lately?” Isaac asked, midway through the main course.
I put down my fork and slid my plate forward, happy to latch onto a subject as benign as our parents. “Not since last week,” I answered. “Have you?”
“Yeah, yesterday. But just about house stuff.”
“What’s wrong with the house?” My parents had been out of the country on an extended tour of Europe—which sounded way too fancy for our middle-class upbringing—for close to six months. They’d converted their house into a temporary vacation rental before leaving and hired a management company to do the heavy lifting, but Isaac still ended up making decisions, overseeing repairs, and doing other tedious stuff that made me grateful I lived out of state.
“One of the renters reported a ceiling leak through the vacation rental website. It’s minor, and the house is still functional, but we’ll have to fix it eventually. Before hurricane season, for sure.”
I studied my brother. The way he spoke of the repairs so matter-of-factly, without any disdain or annoyance, felt . . . different. I would have expected him to grumble about the extra work or make some snide remark about cleaning up after our parents while they basked in the European sunshine. But there wasn’t a trace of malice in his voice. Before I could reflect further on the why behind Isaac’s behavior, the check arrived, and Alex picked up the tab.
“I can cover mine,” I said, reaching out for the check. “Please. I want to.”
Alex shook his head. “It’s a business expense. Isaac’s business expense and I promise he can afford it.”
Before I could argue further, Alex cleared his throat and motioned over my shoulder to Isaac. I turned around and saw a man in a bright blue bomber jacket and yellow-tinted aviators walking toward the table. Isaac stood and greeted him with a weird handshake turned half-hug shoulder pat thing. “Rizzo. Good to see you,” he said. He motioned for Rizzo to join us at the table.
I looked at Alex, eyebrows raised in question. He gave me an apologetic look and shrugged his shoulders as if to say it wasn’t his idea for Rizzo to join us.
“The pleasure’s all mine,” Rizzo said. He nodded a hello to Alex—they’d apparently met before—then turned his attention to me. He lifted his sunglasses, revealing a pair of dark brown eyes and thick, curly lashes. His mouth lifted in a sly, half-grin. “There is a beautiful woman at the table that I have not met,” he said. He looked at Isaac. “How can we amend this situation?”
Amend the situation? Who was this guy?
“Rizzo, this is my twin sister, Dani,” Isaac said. “Dani, my friend, Rizzo.”
It still wasn’t clear why Rizzo was at our dinner table, but it didn’t take long for me to figure it out. Apparently, he was a YouTuber like Isaac, only with more subscribers, and more overall success. Rizzo really liked to talk about himself. He’d been invited, by Isaac, to join us to finalize details of a charity event Isaac and Alex were planning to which Rizzo had been asked to contribute.
That enough was a lot for me to wrap my brain around.
Isaac was planning a charity event?
“So I’m not a hundred percent sure I’m following,” I said, as soon as there was a break in the conversation. “How does the scavenger hunt play into the actual party? And it’s all happening here in New York?”
“The five YouTubers that are acting as sponsors,” Alex said, “two of whom are Isaac and Rizzo, are from all over the country. New York felt like a great place to meet up. Plus, we needed somewhere populous for the scavenger hunt to work—somewhere with no shortage of people that could use help.”
“The scavenger hunt?”
“So here’s the basic gist of it,” Isaac said. He leaned forward, both elbows on the table and excitement in his eyes. “We’re calling it the Compassion Experiment. Each YouTuber will sponsor a team of five people. They can choose their team however they want. Auditions, random selection, whatever. It’s up to them. All five teams will report to the main event, happening Christmas Eve here in New York. The time will start, and each team will head out into the city. Instead of looking for certain things, the teams will have to accomplish certain tasks. Charitable stuff. Acts of kindness. They’ll document it as it’s happening, and we’ll live stream the video feed from each of the teams online, and at the main event. The winning team, whoever completes the tasks and makes it back first, wins twenty grand.”
“But more importantly,” Alex added, “all the proceeds from the entire event will be donated to charity. All the ticket revenue, which should be substantial, plus everything from the auction. It will all be donated.”
“The auction will conclude that night, at the main event, but it will also be happening online,” Isaac said. “Which is kind of the beauty of the entire thing. People at home will be able to attend virtually and participate from wherever they are.”
“Right.” Alex picked up where Isaac left off. “And there will be entertainment throughout the night as well. We’re still working to line up a few acts connected to the YouTube community, but we’re hoping to get at least one big name that might draw in a new audience.”
I perked up. My piano playing Elliott Hart had gotten his start on YouTube. He was legit famous—had risen far above YouTube notoriety—but I couldn’t keep myself from asking. “Entertainers like Elliott Hart?”
Isaac didn’t know to make fun of my question or he probably would have. But Alex immediately smiled. He knew firsthand how much I loved Elliott Hart and, from my influence, had quickly become a fan himself. I felt a sudden urge to share the advanced copy of Elliott’s new album that Darius had given me with Alex. The second track was a classical interpretation of a Coldplay song he would love.
“I actually asked the same question,” Alex said. “But we think he might be a little more than we can afford.”
“Even for a charity event?” I said. “It can’t hurt to ask, right?”
“Elliott would be great, but his fans are mostly millennials and younger, the same age bracket where my audience already hangs out,” Isaac said. “But Red Renegade is releasing a revival album next year. I’m kind of thinking a Christmas Eve performance would be a great way for them to reach a new, younger audience.”
“Wait,” I said. “Red Renegade, the band you idolized for all of seventh and eighth grade? Weren’t they kind of old, even back then?”
“They were not old. They were amazing. Are amazing,” Isaac said.
Alex leaned toward me. “Red Renegade is even more of a stretch than Elliott Hart. I’ve tried to reach out to their agent but haven’t gotten a response. From what I understand, the band hasn’t performed together in years.”
I almost asked him if he’d tried texting Darius but thought better of bringing it up in front of Isaac. It would for sure get his hopes up, and even with Darius’s connections, odds were probably still low.
“Either way,” Isaac said, “we’ll figure it out.”
“What charity will it benefit?” I asked.
“It’s an organization called Thrive,” Isaac said. “It focuses on increasing educational and social opportunities for underprivileged neighborhoods through mentoring and outreach programs.”