Leaning over my pointy chest so her mouth was only inches from my ear, she said, “I’m not interested in your hard side, Daya.” She gave my hand a squeeze and released it.

Still finding it impossible to form words, I missed my chance as the line started moving and all the Honeys began bunching together and pushing forward, the energy truly like a hive. I tried to stay close to Shanti but got bundled up and away by Charlotte and Lena. I found myself wishing my hand wasn’t empty, then curled it into a fist to distract myself from the void.

As we surged forward, I still had no idea what this event was or why we were here, and now I was even more disoriented by this exchange with Shanti. But things became abundantly clear as we approached the entrance. Disco music emanated from inside, and the entryway became engulfed in the kind of roaming, fractured light that could only be caused by a disco ball.

Disco. Roller skates. Dance moves.

I’d heard of this before. It was a thing. A thing made for other people. Not for me.

Roller disco dance-offs.

Dear God.

I struggled to reconstruct the steel and rock inside my body, but it felt like I was trying to build walls out of straw and dust.

Once we were inside, Lena, Kat, and the other established Honeys ushered us toward a section of benches to get our skates on. As I laced up, feeling more and more restricted by the lacy panties and cone bra I was wearing, I snuck a few peeks around me.

Tinsel and twinkle lights dangled from the walls, and an enormous disco ball whirled slowly from the middle of the ceiling above the rink. A long bar lined one side of the seating area, skate rentals at one end and food counter at the other. The place was packed. Lycra and velour and fake furs everywhere. And a lot of spandex. Like, so much. At the moment, a vaguely familiar disco song was playing over the speakers. Ketchup and boiled hot-dog odors seemed to rise up out of the worn carpet beneath our skates.

I couldn’t quite see the rink itself yet—the barrier around it blocked my view from where I was sitting. But a blur of movement whipping along above the barrier suggested the rink was just as teeming as the seating area.

Lena, Dominique, and Kat had already laced up and stood before the four of us “baby bees” now. Yelling above the music, Lena announced, “Phase Two of the Honey Hijinks will commence! Honey drops, you have thirty minutes to choose a song—it’s gotta be disco, obviously—and figure out a routine, ’cause shit’s about to get real.”