Our song choice must have been passed on to the DJ, because “I Feel Love” surged out of the speakers and we took the first eight beats just to get into our line. Sage pushed off and dove right into the first moves and we did our best to follow her, the crowd immediately responding with laughter and whoops. It didn’t feel like cruel laughter, though—more like the genuinely entertained kind. Not that that made me feel any better. As Sage started to thrust herself forward, making up the voguing moves we’d all agreed to mimic no matter what form they came in, I could hear the individual voices of Honeys through the music and cheers, encouraging us to “Boog-ayyyyy!”

I focused on Sage’s legs ahead of me and the sensations of my muscles tensing and releasing with each stride. Anything to avoid thinking about the bigger picture—the reality that I was making a fool of myself and didn’t fit here. Just get through this, I kept telling myself.

But the faster Sage skated, the less in sync my arms were with hers. And I’d bet Grace and Potts weren’t much better. The crowd still seemed to be enjoying it, though, and the other teams were clapping for us too. I had to repeatedly disregard the burning sensations in my stomach and face and just keep going.

Just. Keep. Going.

I guessed Sage felt more comforted and encouraged by the crowd’s response than I did, because as we made our third lap of the rink, she decided to get really low and increase her momentum. She’d clearly been chosen by the Honeys for her speed, because it didn’t take long for her to pull away from us. As the three of us busted our butts to try and catch up, Sage attempted a spin move. I’m not sure whether she was selected for her agility, too, but I doubted it. She lost her balance and ended up skate-running a few steps and then tumbling over. Predictably, the rest of us skipped the skate-run and proceeded straight to the falling-over part.

Skidding to a stop at the feet of some folks dressed in leopard print, we ended as a tangled mess of legs, arms, skates, and haphazard costumes. Somehow I’d managed to avoid piercing anyone with my cone boobs, though, so that was a plus. After a moment where all four of us blinked repeatedly in a daze, Potts let out a “Yee-haw!” that sent the others into giggles and cackles. I was pissed that we’d messed up, but it was hard to maintain my frustration with Potts whipping their boa over the top of our heads like a lasso.