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Christmas and “Happy Birthday” at least a few times a year, her voice hadn’t stood out at all. Sometimes Kyra thought Amy was making all this up, creating a better, glamorous, version of their mother. But the strange part was that Amy didn’t need their mother to be talented, because Amy’s own voice had always stood out. Even when the two girls sang along with “We Are Family,” Amy sounded as good as the famous sisters who’d recorded the song. She’d been picked for every solo in grade school, and her high school chorus teacher had begged her, each year, to try out for the musical, but she was working and saving money for college and she didn’t have time.
    Zachary Barnes wanted to help Amy, and Kyra had given up trying to argue her sister out of her “dream.” He knew a guitar player, a guy who called himself Peanut. Peanut’s band was doing gigs in town, nowhere fancy, but they were making a living doing cover tunes. When Zach brought Amy to one of their rehearsals, Peanut decided they could use a “chick talent.” And just like that, Amy wasn’t a student anymore; she was a singer in a band.
    Zach and Amy had been dating for nearly a year when Amy broke his heart. The first time. It was at a bar on the Country Club Plaza, the most upscale place Amy and the band had ever played. Kyra had just finished the last finals of her sophomore year, and she was only at the bar reluctantly, because Amy had begged her to come to the gig. She was sitting at a table by herself, as far away from the music as possible. The waitress was already annoyed that she was only sipping a Coke. If she’d been closer to the stage, the waitress might have carded her and thrown her out.
    As always, she was impressed by how good her sister sounded, belting out pop songs like “We Didn’t Start the Fire,” and “Right Here Waiting.” But the song that moved Kyra the most was Amy’s cover of George Michael’s “Faith.” The song wasn’t actually about religion, but the happy, up-tempo chorus line about having faith made her feel lonelier and strangely lost, like she wasn’t sure where she belonged. It was partly because she and Amy hadn’t been to Mass since they moved to Kansas City, but it was also because she felt like she didn’t even know her sister anymore. Who was this girl standing in front of these four men Kyra had barely spoken to? Amy called the guys in the band her “mates.” Kyra was almost positive she’d slept with Peanut, and she suspected she’d slept with Tim, the drummer, too. Amy rehearsed with them at a run-down house in the suburbs, and often, she was gone all night. She said they were “jamming,” but she came home smelling of weed and sex. When she woke Kyra to tell her how well it had gone, she seemed drunk or high or both. Kyra tried locking her bedroom door, but it didn’t work. Amy would knock and beg, “Hey. Let me in, okay? I have to tell you about the coolest thing! I want to give you a morning hug, too, you goofball!”
    No wonder Zach loved Amy. Although she was no longer the good girl she’d been, she was still so sweet and affectionate. Whenever Kyra was unhappy—at least on the rare occasions when she couldn’t hide it—her sister worked so hard to cheer her up. She went to the bakery and got a half dozen of the giant cinnamon rolls Kyra loved; she spent hours straightening up her room and the rest of the apartment, knowing that Kyra got depressed when things weren’t put away; she gently brushed Kyra’s hair and worked it into braids. Kyra suspected that even her sleeping around was mostly driven by her desire to make the guys happy, to give them what they wanted, especially since, as she said, shocking Kyra, sex was “such an easy thing to do for someone.” Everyone loved Kyra’s sister, even the girls who otherwise would have called her a slut. Kyra did, too, though Kyra’s love had become stern and unforgiving. She truly believed Amy was in danger of ruining her