Amal stands in front of the gymnasium, she doesn’t fidget, she stands straight. Jeremy hisses, Why does your cousin always have to sing? and I shrug my shoulders. The gymnasium is almost quiet, it’s Christmas and students whisper like crinkling wrapping paper. Girls blow greasy bangs off their foreheads when they see her on stage. Her. Again. When Amal opens her mouth a crystal liquid pours out . . .