I land back in Los Angeles after a fifteen-hour non-stop flight from Melbourne.

        Jenny picks me up from the airport with a cup of coffee hot enough she could convince me she made it herself right there in the car.

        "How was the race?" she asks once I take a sip and she determines I'm more human than jetlag. "I saw Bash got second. That's a good way to start the season."

        "Could've gotten P1 but Idris was too fast," I grumble. "But yeah, it was good. If you're not winning a race, it's hard to beat at least getting up on the podium for your home Grand Prix."

        In response, Jenny lifts the to-go cup to my lips again.

        "Marty has something to talk to you about and then there's a meeting this afternoon," she announces while flipping on her blinker to merge into the next lane.

        "Something I should be concerned about?"

        "Nothing bad," she assures me. "Just something with the magazine."

        The only magazine we've worked with recently is the profile MARS did two months ago. While it feels like a long time to reach out to correct something, these things take months to complete.

        "If you say so."

        I spend the rest of the car ride sipping my coffee and nibbling on the chocolate croissant. By the time we arrive at the house, the only one awake is Rami but he's got his headphones plugged in.

        Marty's daughter is playing in the living room while the man himself is sitting on the patio. I brush my fingers through her hair, muttering a hello, before joining him. A breeze coasts through the backyard offering reprieve from the morning heat.

        "Where's the protein shake and dozens of egg whites?"

        "Very funny." Marty clicks his phone off. "I thought I'd pull you aside for this one so you can decide when and where you want to let the rest of the band know."

        While his tone indicates this is business, a delicate smile tugs at the corners of his mouth so I assume it's good news. I'm not sure why he's making this secretive, though. Not until he opens his mouth again.

        "Forbes reached out a few months ago saying you were nominated for their upcoming 30 under 30 list, which is subject to rounds of judging and elimination. I thought it'd be best to keep things under wraps for now. But they just let me know you were selected as one of the finalists and they would like to schedule a time for you to come in and do an interview, photoshoot, that sort of thing."

        I almost spill my coffee on the ground.

        I don't check the Forbes 30 under 30 lists every year, but to have my name attached to an iconic name in the industry is something I can only dream of before today.

        I can't explain this feeling in my chest. Maybe I'm making this a bigger deal than it needs to be, but my heart flutters in my chest.

        "Are you serious? I'm one of their 30 under 30?"

        "Yes, I believe that's what I just said."

        I throw my trash at him. "Marty! I can't believe you kept this from me!"

        He flicks the crumbs off his shirt. "I didn't want you to be disappointed if you didn't make it. And you were literally on a flight when I found out so I figured you'd rather learn in person."

        "Wait. Nobody else from the band?"

        He shakes his head.

        "Oh."

        Reading my expression is a skill he's acquired from knowing me for decades. He was there in the hospital waiting room when I was born and he'll be there for every step of my career. That's what it means to be family, the kind of family we choose for ourselves. It's why he knows exactly what to say without me even saying anything in the first place.

        "They're not going to make it weird that you were chosen but they weren't."

       "I know but—"

        There's no middle ground; I either spend so much time overthinking things that I don't allow myself the chance to enjoy a moment fully or I completely shut down and avoid the subject like the plague. My friends would never make me feel bad about something like this, and, yet, part of me feels guilty for being excited. Everything I do is for and with the band. I don't like the idea of celebrating something on my own, even if I know I would be over the moon to see this happen to any of them.

        "Look, they don't hand over their judging rubric or anything but they did mention all the work you've done over the years to help bring awareness to Native Hawaiian issues is one of the reasons they're excited to have you. If you accept. You're the first Kanaka that's ever been featured. It's a huge honor and people back home will be proud of you."

        The general public feeds on discourse. I can only imagine Twitter topics trending now. "Stevie, lead singer of MARS, shows signs that she's ready to break free after securing a spot in Forbes' 30 under 30! Watch out world!" It's not the first time this claim has been made. So-called fans love to speculate we're seconds away from breaking up at any moment.

        Marty pokes me in the arm. "You're supposed to be excited about this, Stev."

      "I am! This is amazing. Thank you, Marty. But can we keep it between us for now? See how this meeting goes and then decide if we want to share it today or not."

        "Technically we're not supposed to share it at all today but—"

        "I didn't sign an NDA."

        "—we know that would never stop you anyway." He shakes his head. "Look, it'll be sometime in July for the interview and photoshoot, and then the list will drop August or September. You have time to think things over. But I promise, they're all going to be excited."

        "I know." Looking past the smog and collective sound of what it means to be human in the land of make believe, I remind myself to breathe. Good news isn't a metaphorical rug being pulled out from under me. It's supposed to be a good time.

...

"I think we should reconsider adding It Was A Bad Time to the tracklist. It doesn't suit the rest of the album and we've always said if we're struggling between two songs, we'd go with the one that's been worked on by more members."

        Seira crosses her arms and leans back in her seat, blazing a fiery red aura under the bright lights of a March midday sky.

        I operate under the understanding that disagreements within the band can be easily smoothed over within a matter of minutes, but we've spent the last fifteen debating between two song options on an otherwise set track list. While including both of them aren't completely off the table, that will also mean going over our desired number of tracks and call us crazy for wanting to stick to it.

        There's almost always a line drawn in the sand with two on each side while Rami, more often than not, has to play mediator. He's the most level headed of the group and can offer pros and cons for both sides, so it makes it an easy role for him to assume.

        For today's stand off, Seira and I are on one side while Jun and Lauren argue against.

        "Are you sure this has nothing to do with us not including your song?" Jun asks.

        Seira takes offense and with good reason. While we did, at one point, consider using the lyrics of a song she wrote by herself, we came to a mutual decision to reconsider it for a future album as it doesn't suit the vibe we're going for with Escape Velocity. The piece is stunning and exactly the kind of inspirational lyrical masterpiece that makes Seira the most underrated songwriter of our band, but timing is a tricky subject to approach when making albums. No one handled it the wrong way at the time, and no signs have alerted me to anything changing since.

        It also paints a rather unfair picture of the way we operate and claim ownership of our songs as a band. Sure, this song Seira worked on isn't making the cut this time, but we all create together. She has a heavy hand on a lot of other songs on the album that are just as much hers as they are the rest of ours. It's not like she's fighting to say she has a song on the album because they all belong to her as well.

        "Give me a break. Just disregard the valid points I'm making, I guess. If I was really that bitter about a song not making it, I would've voted no on Run the Red."

        Run the Red being the song Lauren was working on for a year before bringing to the rest of us to help contribute.

        "Musically, Dead Zone transitions into The L much better than It Was A Bad Time," I present more diplomatically. "And I think the themes of leaving your past behind to find a better future goes with the general feeling we're looking for from Escape Velocity right?"

        "It Was A Bad Time is also a shit title."

        I wasn't going to say that out loud, but I'm not arguing against it.

        "Shut up, Seira." Lauren grimaces. "We can change the title."

        Like a spark against a pile of gunpowder, the living room turns into a warzone as the three start flying accusations at each other. Since I'm still tired from getting off a flight not more than five hours ago, I don't have the energy in me to contribute to this mess, instead absorbing the sharp noises and blunt words with casual ease.

        Even Rami's reaction is delayed, probably debating whether or not to walk out the door. Marty long ago gave up on helping and has been sitting outside with his daughter, enjoying a glass of lemonade.

        "Everyone shut up!" Rami yells when he can't take anymore of the bickering.

        When Rami says jump, we ask how high. That's the way our band works. Without a point of convergence, we all flail around until shadow overtakes all of our lights. He is the one that guides us to where we need to go.

        Rami leans forward with a serious face. His eyes shift; the look he sends me easily the most forgiving of the bunch. While I've done nothing to stop them from bickering, I've kept from instigating anything for the most part.

        "Seira and Stevie are the only ones who have made any decent arguments for why their song choice is better," he says, flickering back to the other two. "Unless you've got something relevant, I'm going to vote in their favor."

        "What do their good points matter when it's a good song," Lauren lambastes.  "A great song, actually."

        "There are a lot of great songs that never make it onto albums," Rami counters. "Give me one good reason why this song needs to be on this album."

        Lauren comes up empty. I don't blame her for wanting this song. It's one she worked on with Jun back when we were still in Hawaii, and after polishing it up in Los Angeles, they've been itching to get it out there. The problem is we've already all agreed on every other song on the album and this one, while great, doesn't fit. Unless we're all willing to compromise one of the other songs on the album, which we're not, it's going to have to last longer in purgatory.

        Their silence is the only endorsement they can produce, and Rami moves to make a note regarding our tracklist for Escape Velocity: complete.

        I excuse myself and head into the kitchen, grabbing a cold Capri Sun from the fridge. By the time I turn around and stab the straw through the packaging, Jun is leaning against the counter. Before I take a seat, I grab another for him and toss it in his direction.

        "Would it be too much for me to ask if you could talk to Rami about it tonight?" he asks quietly so the rest of the group doesn't hear us.

        There's something to be said about having a friend whom you love so much that even just seeing a frown on their face sends your heart scattering into a million pieces. But I'm still 1/5 of a band and that means telling him the truth he doesn't want to hear, even if I know that if I was in his situation, I would feel the same.

        "If you really want me to, I can. But do you not see where she's coming from?"

        Defeated, Jun lays his face against the cool countertop. "No. She's right. This song would have been better on Nuclear Fusion but we didn't finish in time."

        He's not wrong. It would've worked beautifully on Nuclear Fusion, right before When It Rains in the tracklist. But admitting that won't make him feel any better.

        "Assuming this album isn't a flop, maybe we can put it on the next one," I propose. "It really is a great song. You two should be proud of it. But Dead Zone just makes more sense."

        "Yeah, I guess." Jun brushes his hand through his hair. He was out late last night so he doesn't have it in him to fight for a song. "At least we finished the thing. I had a contigency plan for tomorrow in case we couldn't settle on a final track list today."

        I take a sip of my Pacific Cooler and laugh. "As if Marty or Rami would let us. Would just organize it all themselves if they needed to."

        "Did you have a meeting before the track list fiasco, by the way? Meant to ask you earlier. Saw you talking outside when I woke up to piss. Looked serious."

        I don't know why I don't admit it to him. Of all people, Jun should be the one I'm open with about anything. But I think about how tense it was minutes ago and my brain fizzles out. The last thing I want is to get sucked into some weird lead singer syndrome I've tried my best to avoid where a disproportionate amount of the spotlight is shined on me just for being the leading voice of the group.

        "It was nothing." I brush him off. "He was asking about Melbourne."

        "Oh, yeah. Good race. Bash should've been first."

        Sneaking a peek behind him, Jun gauges the mood and whether or not it's safe to jump back in with the sharks. Lauren is still rolling her eyes and Seira looks a little too smug for her own good, but Rami doesn't appear to want to rip his hair out anymore so it's the best any of us have to offer.

        "Take me with you next time. And maybe we won't come back."

        I laugh and shove him away. "I'll see if Brendon will let us bunk with him."