North Star

⇢ epilogue

2022

As I stared up at the large Aloha Stadium sign looming over us, flanked on either side by my sisters with Kaipo and Keali'i following behind, I executed my best impression of someone who had their shit together.

For the most part, I thought I did. I knew I did. Too much effort had been exhausted working on bettering myself these past three years for me to not acknowledge that. I also had three whole months to mentally prepare for this night to arrive, which should have been more than enough time to get my shit together, but it was a lot scarier than it should have been, so I needed to take a second to collect my thoughts and make sense of the emotions tumbling through me before I stepped through the ticket area turnstiles.

The Hokulani as of late was a completely different person than the one who existed almost three years ago, and they were both different than the one who was about to see him face-to-face again for the first time in over two years.

"You alright?" Kanani asked. The bags under her eyes from her perpetual lack of sleep only made me that much more grateful we found a way to get her out of the house. She probably wouldn't be able to say when was the last time she did something for fun that didn't involve pacifiers, binkies, and endless Spongebob reruns. "It's a big crowd."

"The biggest," I noted, recalling the online article I read a few days ago covering the lead-up to the concert. And I wasn't even exaggerating either. MARS was the most prominent act to come out of Hawai'i, and their homecoming show was destined for the history books. The fact that we were attending in our capacity was as monumental as it was unbelievable. "I'll be fine. I think our seats are in a quieter area."

Kanani didn't look convinced. Even I wasn't sure if I believed there was such a thing as a quiet area at a MARS concert. While it was my first time attending one, it went without saying they had some of the most passionate fanbases, and their concerts reflected that.

"Not really what I was referring to when I asked if you were alright."

I knew that. But sometimes it was fun to pretend otherwise.

The large screen above proved its prowess in comedic timing when it changed to show a picture of Nikau Reed, staring at the camera with a look I could only imagine being described as smoldering had he been written in a book, likely by a woman. It wasn't an inaccurate descriptor, but I had spent so long thinking about him being somewhere else, somewhere far, far away, that remembering he was just steps away now caused my heart to do all sorts of flips. Inner Hokulani was an acrobat, apparently. I learned something new about myself every single day.

While there were no ill feelings between us whatsoever, we also hadn't talked in a while, which wasn't that unexpected. People grew apart, that was life, and we didn't hold onto any illusion that we would maintain frequent communication over the years. But it was also notable that he hadn't been the one to tell me he was going to be one of the opening acts for MARS' massive homecoming concert, and I wasn't sure if that was purposeful or just an unfortunate side effect of being the busy star that he was.

Nikau's album took a little longer than we thought to release, but once it went live, the world fell in love with him just as I had. He had even dropped a surprise EP last winter sung entirely in te reo Māori, which had also been well received. (Unfortunately, neither of those were nominated for Grammys.) (What did the Recording Academy know when they snubbed MARS' Nuclear Fusion of any awards.)

To say he was busy was an understatement of the highest degree, truly. While his label was shit at promoting him the way they did their other talents—it wasn't hard to guess what those artists looked like or where they came from—he still found a way to make a name for himself, and his heightened trajectory wasn't slowing down any time soon. Unsurprisingly so, given his indelible talent. The world was lucky to have him, just as I had been for that year he spent in Hawai'i.