All That We Know

by Shilo Kino

Genres: Literary Fiction

Synopsis

'I don't want to be a pioneer. I want to be the last; to enjoy the fruits of everyone else's hard labour' - Māreikura

'Whatever you do, please don't read me a grief quote from the internet' - Chloe

'God loves you' - Eru

'You're never too much for the right person' - Jordana

Meet Māreikura Pohe: she's in love with her best friend Eru, who's leaving to go on a church mission, and she's an accidental activist - becoming an online sensation after her speech goes viral. But does she really want the spotlight?

Navigating self-diagnosed ADHD, a new romantic relationship, forging friendships and reclaiming her language all at once is no easy feat. And as her platform grows, Māreikura is unwittingly placed on a pedestal as a voice for change against the historical wrongs of colonisation. The question remains: at what personal cost?

Set against the vibrant backdrop of Tāmaki Makaurau, Auckland, All That We Know is a modern take on family and friendship and how, even in a divided and often polarising world, the resilience of friendship, love, and connection can defy the greatest challenges of our times.

The stunning debut adult novel from award-winning writer Shilo Kino, All That We Know interrogates the far-reaching consequences of colonisation while simultaneously making you laugh and cry. Perfect for readers of Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow, Greta & Valdin and Such a Fun Age.

Release date: June 5, 2025

Publisher: Hachette New Zealand

Print pages: 304

Sample

Māreikura sucked her puku in and squeezed her legs into her tights. First her left leg and then her right. The black tights she bought from Save Mart three years ago were not fitting like they used to. They were stuck on her thighs, so she jumped a few times and squeezed into them until she got them past her waist. She chucked on her black Nike shirt with the little holes and found her shoes under the bed.

‘What are you up to, girl?’ her nana commented from the couch, eyeing up Māreikura with suspicion.

‘Going for a run,’ Māreikura said like it was normal, like it was something she always did. But it wasn’t normal, and do you know what else wasn’t normal? Her best friend leaving to go on a colonising mission to Hawai‘i.

Her nana said nothing and turned her head back to the TV. Māreikura sat on the doorstep, jammed her feet into her Nikes and checked her phone for the time. 8.20 a.m. She said bye to her nana and fast-walked past the Johnsons’ house, trying not to look, but she did look, and their black Range Rover was still parked outside their home. She wondered what Eru was up to, if he’d locked himself in the bathroom, which is what he usually did when he had an anxiety attack, even though he denies having anxiety. He also denies that he is gay and says he has ‘same-sex attraction’, which is the term his church uses instead. Māreikura told him it was the same thing and he should just say he’s gay, but Eru asked Māreikura to please respect his journey so she didn’t bring it up again except for that time they went to Piha. But they don’t talk about Piha.

Māreikura started running and it was not as bad as she expected. When she was young and forced to do cross country, she used to imagine Edward Scissorhands chasing her and it would make her run the whole track without stopping, even if she had a bad stitch. She’d hated that movie ever since she was little and snuck out of her room and watched it while her nan was asleep. The white skin and scissor hands gave her nightmares so now she had an extreme phobia of scissors and white men.

Māreikura ran until she was bent over in front of Splitz Cafe holding her stitch just like in her cross-country days. She tugged at her shirt, which was sticking to her skin, and realised the little holes were supposed to be for air. She wanted to collapse on the footpath.

Māreikura checked her phone. 8.25. It had only been five minutes. She had been running for five minutes.

‘Mōrena.’

The Pākehā guy with a man bun and a cross earring dangling from his left ear was wiping down the table outside.

‘Oh, mōrena,’ Māreikura said. She raised her arm in the air, pretending to stretch.

‘Kei te pehea koe?’

‘Yeah, good,’ she said, wiping her forehead.

She’d walked past this cafe so many times and the Pākehā guy was always there, always waiting to pounce on Māreikura so he could practise his Māori with her. Last time, he’d told her he was doing a te reo course and Māreikura did a thumbs up and kept walking. Wasn’t there another Māori in Ponsonby he could harass about his new-found love for her culture?

Today was a different day and Māreikura was feeling adventurous. She walked into the cafe and skimmed the menu. Mrs Bell taught Māreikura how to skim read when she was seven, and it was her superpower. She could read anything fast. The menu reminded Māreikura why she never ate out.

Smashed avocado on hand-cut sourdough bread with grilled tomatoes: $23.50. Ridiculous, Māreikura thought. Especially when you can get two avocados from Pak’nSave for $2 and a loaf of bread for $1.19.

‘He aha māu?’ The bun man grinned at Māreikura as if waiting for her to compliment him on his incredible language skills. When she didn’t, he cleared his throat.

‘Ah, what can I get you?’ He had a nice smile. Not as nice as Eru’s but still nice enough.

‘Flat white, please,’ she said, like she always ordered coffee.

‘Small, medium or large?’

‘Large, please.’

‘And is that takeaway?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘That’s $6.80.’

Māreikura flinched at the price but handed over her card anyway and decided it was Eru’s fault for her decision that morning to buy an overpriced cup of coffee she didn’t even want.

The man-bun guy made her coffee while she scrolled through her Instagram stories. It was November and nearing summer so it was boring videos of Takapuna Beach, gym selfies and girls in bikinis. Hailey Simpson posted a photo of her and Chris Campion kissing and Māreikura cringed at the caption. Love doing life with this one. Everyone knew, Hailey included, that Chris cheated on her almost every weekend, and Māreikura felt second-hand embarrassment for Hailey. She clicked on Hailey’s profile and muted her posts and stories.

‘Large flat white?’ Man-bun guy asked but it wasn’t really a question because he handed her coffee over, knowing very well it was her order. She said thank you and walked to Western Park.

Māreikura sat on a bench. 8.45. She blew on her coffee that was too hot to drink, and wished she’d got water instead. She was thirsty after her run and forgot to drink water. Have they left yet? She clicked through her Instagram stories again and it was still boring people seeking validation, so she went on the ‘Nowhitesaviour’ Insta page and found a quote from John Henrik Clarke that she thought about sending to Eru.

‘Religion is the organisation of spirituality into something that becomes the handmaiden of conquerors. Nearly all religions were brought to people and imposed on people by conquerors, and used as the framework to control their minds.’

She really wanted to send it. It would be her final statement. Her goodbye. A bold ending to their friendship. But he’d never listened to her before so why would he start now? Plus, she didn’t want to look desperate, like she didn’t want him to leave, even though she couldn’t care less. And why should she have to message him first? He knew where she was. All he had to do was walk through her door and apologise.

She sipped on her coffee and it was warm now so she sculled the rest back in less than a minute. 9 a.m. Why was time going so slow? She wandered back down Ponsonby Road and noticed she looked like every basic girl on that Saturday morning wearing active gear and sipping takeaway coffee. She chucked her cup in the rubbish bin in disgust. A girl in denim shorts whizzed past on a Lime scooter.

His flight leaves at 1.40 p.m., Māreikura. There’s space in our car if you wanna jump in.

Eru Senior had texted Māreikura last night and Māreikura hadn’t replied because she didn’t know how to respond to a text like that. Her best friend was leaving the country for two years. Ex-best friend. It’s weird when you break up with your best friend. It’s not really a thing you talk about. No one ever says, ‘I broke up with my best friend.’ It just happens. It’s part of life. You get on with it.

He was gone. The Range Rover was gone. Māreikura was standing in front of Eru’s house. Eru was gone. She would not see him for two years. She breathed what she thought was a sigh of relief but it felt more like the beginning of an anxiety attack.

‘What are you watching?’ Māreikura asked her nana, even though it was the same thing her nana watched every Saturday morning.

She looked Māreikura up and down. ‘You okay, girl?’

Māreikura kicked her shoes off. ‘Did anyone come around?’

‘Not that I know of. You expecting someone?’

Māreikura said nothing. She went into her room and lay on her bed in her sweaty clothes. This was how Māreikura knew she was not okay. Wearing outside clothes on a bed you sleep on is absolutely vile. It was Eru’s fault. It’s not like Eru going on a mission was a new thing. It had always been Eru’s dream to serve. All young men in the Mormon Church were expected to go on a two-year proselytising mission from the age of eighteen. It was optional for women in the church.

But they were older and educated now. The world had changed. Times had changed. She thought he would change. Māreikura didn’t care that Eru was Mormon. She always went along to his church things to tautoko him. She went to his baptism when he was eight and watched him get dunked under the water. Afterwards, Eru’s face was all glowy and he was smiling heaps and then they all went into the next room and ate cupcakes. She was at his priesthood thing where he was ‘ordained a priest’. Even though Eru had explained so many times that no, he wasn’t the new bishop because he was only twelve, Māreikura still didn’t really get what was meant by ‘priest’. He said he was able to pass out bread on Sunday and she asked him when he was going to be bishop of his own church and he said when the Lord decides and it wasn’t up to him.

Māreikura used to go with the Johnsons to church sometimes. One time all the young men and women were in Sunday school and Sister Ferguson held up a photo of a mum, dad and five kids and told them it was the ultimate goal to be with your family together for all eternity. ‘How do we achieve this goal?’ Sister Ferguson asked, and someone yelled out, ‘Be obedient,’ and someone else said, ‘Be kind to your siblings,’ and Māreikura put her hand up and asked, ‘What if I don’t want to be with my family forever?’

Sister Ferguson paused for a moment. She wasn’t expecting a question like that. Then she chuckled and said, ‘Oh, sweetheart, I know sometimes we fight with our parents but it’s our goal, isn’t it, kids? To have an eternal family,’ and Māreikura said, ‘My mum gave me away when I was a baby.’

Sister Ferguson gasped, trying to find the right words. The other young men and women stared at Māreikura with wide eyes. After class, Sister Ferguson gave Māreikura a big hug. ‘God loves you,’ she said, then she handed her two pieces of chocolate.

Afterwards, Eru and Māreikura sat on the basketball courts waiting for Eru Senior, who was the bishop, and Eru’s mum Eden, who was the church librarian. Eru stuffed his chocolate wrapper in his pocket and started twirling his basketball with his finger. He stared at the basketball hoop longingly. He wasn’t allowed to bounce the ball. It was the Sabbath. No sports on the Sabbath day.

Then he asked Māreikura if it was really true, if her mum gave her away.

‘She gave me away to my nan when I was a baby,’ Māreikura said. ‘Before she died. She left me.’

‘I will never leave you,’ he told her. And she believed him.

Mission, marriage, education – that was Eru’s life plan, in order. The missionaries were his superheroes. He had a pretend name badge stuck to his mirror that said ‘ELDER JOHNSON’ and two little stick-figure missionaries on his desk – two men in white shirts and a black tie. Sometimes Eru would dress in a white shirt and put his badge on and he would role-play with Māreikura. ‘Hi, I’m Elder Johnson, and I’m a missionary. Can I share a message with you?’ and Māreikura would pretend to be the investigator and listen to his message. He would teach her the lessons from the beginning.

Once he was teaching her about the plan of salvation and Māreikura threw food at him.

‘Why did you do that?’ he asked, pulling mashed potato out of his hair.

‘Because that’s what might happen on your mission,’ she said. ‘Atheists on the street might not like your message. They might abuse you. I’m trying to prepare you for the real world.’

Eru had opened up his mission call three months ago and read the words, ‘You have been assigned to serve your mission in Honolulu, Hawai‘i.’

Eru Senior cheered and his mum Eden cried and so his sister Erana started crying too and his brother-in-law Matt had a big smile on his face and Māreikura didn’t know what to do. She was really bad at hiding her emotions so, after everyone hugged him, Māreikura just patted his shoulder and said congratulations in her most cheerful voice.

Hasn’t Hawai‘i been colonised enough? Now you wanna go and colonise the Indigenous people over there more with your colonised God? How can you honestly preach something that forcefully converted Indigenous people all around the world?

It was like Eru could read her mind because after that things started to get weird between them.

Māreikura was lying on her bed now thinking of the worst-possible-case scenarios. What if she never saw Eru again? What if the plane plummeted into the water on the way to Hawai‘i and he died? Or what if he got to Hawai‘i and the locals killed him for spreading a false, white, patriarchal message? Her greatest strength was overthinking.

The book From a Native Daughter: Colonialism and Sovereignty in Hawai‘i was sticking out of Māreikura’s shelf, as if begging to be opened. Māreikura had borrowed it from the Auckland City Library two years ago and she loved it so much she never gave it back. She opened to page 2.

‘Our country has been and is being plasticized, cheapened, and exploited. They’re selling it in plastic leis, coconut ashtrays, and cans of “genuine, original Aloha”. They’ve raped us, sold us, killed us, and still they expect us to behave … Hawai‘i is a colony of the imperialist United States.’

Māreikura underlined the quote and decided Eru needed to read this. It would be her final farewell. It was her duty.

‘Bye, Nan,’ she yelled before her nana could ask her a million questions and make her late.

She scooped up the keys hanging above the shoe rack on her way out the door and got into her car. The petrol dial was just above E and she had no money to fill it up but it added to the adrenaline rush. Was she going to make it to the airport or would she run out of gas in the Waterview Tunnel and never see Eru again? Time would tell. She felt like she was in a movie and chasing after a love, even though he wasn’t actually her love because Māreikura hated him, so it was more like she was chasing after a hate, driving 110 kph on a 100-kph motorway and dodging through cars like a dominoes game, trying to make it in time, even though she’d checked the time and she would definitely make it.

She parked at the McDonald’s down the road from the international airport and fast-walked to the terminal, still in her active gear and still buzzing from her coffee.

HONOLULU DEPART 1.50 p.m. GATE 21.

She followed the international departure sign and practised her speech to Eru in her head as she went up the escalator.

Hey, e hoa! Just wanted to say all the best and here’s a book that might help you on your mission. And then she would hand him the book and leave quietly.

The top floor was swarming with Mormons. Māreikura could tell because the men were all freshly shaven, baby-faced and accompanied by their wives, usually women way out of their league.

Eru was standing under the departure sign talking to Mrs Sorenson from his church. Māreikura didn’t like her because she’d once asked Māreikura, ‘If Māori want to hear their language, don’t you have your own channel for that? Why do we have to hear it on 1News?’

Kayla Tairua was there too. She was hanging around Eru like an annoying fly and Māreikura instantly felt a pang of jealousy.

‘Māreikura!’

Eru waved her over so she pretended to be interested in the departure sign so she didn’t have to make eye contact with him while she slow-walked over. HK: 1.38 p.m. LA: 4.45 p.m.

‘Hey,’ Māreikura said. ‘Hi, Mrs Sorenson.’

‘Hello, dear.’ She peered at Māreikura. ‘Glennis’s granddaughter? Is that you?’

‘Yup.’

‘Oh, lovely,’ she said, then she turned her attention back to Eru because that’s what people always did.

‘Now, dear, my daughter Kimberly is in Lā‘ie, only two roads down from the temple. I’ve written her address in the card – go and see her when you get there, okay? She’s looking forward to meeting you, so whenever you feel hungry or need a break, you go and see her, okay?’

‘Aw, thank you, Sister Sorenson.’ Eru placed his hand on her shoulder. ‘Sister Sorensen, is it okay if I talk to Māreikura for a minute? I haven’t seen her in a while.’

‘That’s fine, dear.’

Mrs Sorenson scurried off to where Eru Senior was standing. Eru watched her walk away then he turned back to Māreikura, eyeing up her active gear.

‘You look different.’

‘You look different.’

‘I shaved,’ he said, rubbing his chin. ‘Does it look weird?’

Usually Māreikura would mock her best friend and say something like, There’s nothing on your face to shave, but they didn’t have that friendship now. It was kind of awkward. Māreikura studied his face and wondered how a person could be born with a perfect nose that wasn’t too big or too small, just perfectly pointy and with no blackheads. Then she thought about how he had nice skin with no acne and how it wasn’t fair and that made her hate him again, because he got everything good in life. Good skin, good nose, a good family.

ELDER JOHNSON. His new name was pinned to his white shirt.

‘I got you something.’ She rummaged through her bag and found the Whittaker’s Peanut Slab that was still in there from the day before.

‘Thanks.’ Eru ripped open the wrapper with his teeth and then did the thing where he chewed with his mouth open and Māreikura saw bits of chocolate in his teeth. It used to gross her out but now she missed it.

‘Not that.’ She showed him the cover of From a Native Daughter. ‘This,’ and then dropped it in his shoulder bag before the Mormons tried to confiscate it.

‘Thank you,’ he said, swallowing another bite.

A hand touched Māreikura’s shoulder. Eru Senior.

‘Hey, girl, I’m glad you came. You okay?’

Māreikura nodded.

‘Son, you have to board soon.’

‘Okay, Dad.’

Māreikura watched Eru Senior walk away and then she turned back to Eru.

‘What’s your number?’ she asked him.

That’s how they checked up on each other. They never asked how they were doing, they asked for the number: 1 meant really bad – that was Te Pō: darkness, doom, depression. Number 10 was Te Ao Mārama: the light – ecstatic, blissfully happy, content. Sometimes they wouldn’t even say any words, they’d just send a text with a number. There had only been a few times that Māreikura had sent a text with the number 1, and Eru had come straight over to pick her up and they’d driven to McDonald’s in silence until Māreikura was ready to talk.

‘I’m at a 9.5,’ he said. ‘What’s yours?’

‘I’m a 10,’ she lied. ‘I’ve never been happier.’

He was giving her that stare. At school when she’d had to stand up and say a speech in front of the whole assembly, she’d look at all the faces in the crowd and his would be lit up watching her, like all the people in the room didn’t matter and all he could see was her.

‘You’re a bad liar.’

‘Not as bad you, Elder Johnson.’

‘Love you.’

‘Make sure you read the book,’ she said to him. ‘Don’t colonise the Hawaiian people even more.’

And those were the last words she said to her best friend before she heard Eru Senior yell the opening line of the haka and Eru and Māreikura turned to watch. The feeling of dread, of loneliness latched onto her like an unwanted peril so she crept over to the escalator and then, when she was out of shot, she ran. She was pretty sure it went against tikanga leaving during a haka but Māreikura hoped her ancestors would forgive her. She couldn’t be there any longer. The caffeine from earlier that day sparked her feet all the way down the escalator and onto the footpath until she was back at McDonald’s, hyperventilating in her car.

Māreikura wanted to run back to the airport and grab Eru by his stupid tie and drag him out of there and away from the Mormons and stupid Kayla Tairua, who had been in the corner of Māreikura’s peripheral vision staring at them the whole time. Māreikura wanted to go back to how things used to be, before the blackface incident and when it was just the two of them walking to Gretton College eating mince and cheese pies from the bakery and arguing over whether Police Ten 7 was racist.

Love you, he’d said, so casually cruel.

Eru wasn’t going to die in a plane crash or get ravaged by the Hawaiians. But he was going to come back a completely different person. God took away her mum. God took away her culture. And now God had taken away her best friend. Eru was now dead to her.

I’m here.

So sorry! I’m on my way.

Māreikura was definitely not on her way. She was still at home, her head in the fridge looking for something to eat. Māreikura was supposed to meet her Bumble date at 6.30 p.m. at Pacific Inn but she got distracted looking at the menu online and realised it did not align with her budget and now it was too late to cancel or change the venue. The mains were around $38 and the cheapest food on the menu were the chive dumplings: $23 for three. Māreikura could buy twelve dumplings from Mount Eden Noodles for half that price. She decided she would order the dumplings and eat something now to satisfy her hunger. She was looking in the fridge but couldn’t find anything and then she’d looked at her phone and Kat was already there. I’m here. She even used a full stop, which definitely meant she was pissed at Māreikura for being late and not respecting her time. Māreikura did respect her time but her lateness was a combination of anxiety, self-diagnosed ADHD and poor time-management skills.

Māreikura took one last look in the fridge and spotted the apple on the bottom shelf, next to the bag of brown carrots she bought a week ago when she told herself she was going to eat only carrots for snacks, which she did not end up doing. She grabbed the apple and glanced in the mirror on the way out. She was wearing the green dress Eru’s sister Erana had given her. It was long and flowy and slipped past her knees and everyone always gave her compliments when she wore it. Māreikura said bye to her nan, put on her white sneakers and headed towards Ponsonby Road.

Sorry I’m late, Māreikura practised in her head over and over again. Being late was a symptom of ADHD. Māreikura had diagnosed herself from TikTok and other unreliable sources. She couldn’t afford the psychologist appointment to prove she had the disorder. In her notes app, she’d typed out her symptoms, which were, in no particular order:

The last one was because one time she did not put the lid on Eru’s Sprite bottle and it fell over and spilt on the floor of his car. Ma, he’d said, in his non-angry passive way. You always forget to put the lid on properly. And he was right, he had told her so many times. Māreikura didn’t know it was a symptom of ADHD until a girl on TikTok told her.

Māreikura reached the top of the street and saw Kat through the window of Pacific Inn, sitting down at the table. She recognised her from the Bumble photos, and looking at her from afar, from the outside, she was clearly out of Māreikura’s league. Māreikura went through phases where she was wildly confident and had the audacity to match with girls on Bumble who were a solid 10 when Māreikura was a solid 6, 7 at her best. The conversations on the dating apps always di. . .