Gabrielle stands in front of a full-length mirror and rolls her hips in a slow circle. The movement is supposed to be sexy, but it just looks awkward and jerky. She tries again and then again, but she feels like a rag doll. No matter what she does, she can't get it right.

There is a crack and whip curls around her calves. She jumps into the air and winces with pain. Her lower legs are covered in criss-cross welts from hours of what Anna, the dance teacher, calls a correction.

"Move your ass like you mean it and suck your fat waist in," Anna shouts. "What's wrong with you? Don't you want the customers to like you?"

Gabrielle sucks in her breath, straightens her back, and tries again. She pretends there's a hula hoop around her waist as she rolls her hips from side to side. Her reflection looks sweaty and rigid—nothing like the effortlessly sexy girls who dance throughout the club.

"You look terrible," Anna says, flicking the whip again. "I swear, I've never had such a stupid student before. What's wrong with you? I've taught virgins who were sexier than you."

"I'm sorry," Gabrielle gasps. "I'm trying, I swear."

"You're just wasting my time," Anna says. "You know I could be making millions right now, but instead I'm here with you. If Jackson hadn't personally asked me to teach you, you'd already be back out on the streets."

Gabrielle scowls at Anna's reflection in the mirror. The women who work and live at the Top Girls Club are divided into four categories: Rose, Lily, Jasmine, and Blue. Blue girls are the newest and least experienced, and Rose girls are the most beautiful and expensive. Anna is a Rose, and the other girls say she can make several million in one night.

Gabrielle looks down at her gangly legs and flattish chest and compares herself to Anna. Anna has curves in all the right places and an impossibly slender waist. Her plump lips are always bright red, and her long black hair falls down her back to her round ass. When she dances, men fight to be alone with her.

She's smart too, Gabrielle thinks. The other girls say she graduated from one of the top universities, and she's fluent in four languages. I'm nothing compared to her—just some little girl who wanted to study nursing.

Gabrielle closes her eyes and tries to remember all the complicated steps in the routine. It's a basic striptease, but she hasn't even learned the stripping part yet. Is it a hip shake and then shimmy or shimmy and then hip shake? She can't remember. She sighs and gets into the first position.

"Is there something you want to say?" Anna asks.

"No—no, nothing," Gabrielle stammers.

"Then why are you sighing?" Anna asks. "You need to lose the attitude—no customer wants some awkward, sulky girl like you. Now practice this another twenty times, and don't stop unless I tell you to."

The music starts to play, and Gabrielle tries to move her body in time with the thudding bass. She runs her hands up and down her body and bites her lip as Anna taught her. She swishes her hips across the room and bends over to wiggle her ass. It looks like she's having a stroke.

"Ugh, you're hopeless," Anna says.

The dance studio door swings open, and Ashley May struts in. She's at least a head shorter than Gabrielle, but her hair adds several inches to her height. Today she's wearing her dark, fluffy curls piled on top of her head with a scarlet scarf. The scarf is the same color as her clingy, wrap dress. She's wearing tall stilettos, and she walks like she's performing—each step makes her boobs bounce and jiggle.

Gabrielle tries to ignore her and continue the routine. She swishes her hips and kicks her leg up into the air. As soon as her foot leaves the floor, she realizes it was a bad idea. She wobbles back and forth on the skinny heel and waves her arms in the air, but she can't get her balance. She crashes onto the hard wooden floor, and Ashley laughs.

"I brought you some coffee, Anna," Ashley says, offering Anna a paper cup. "It seems like you're going to need it."

Anna rolls her eyes and pushes the cup away. Ashley shrugs and drinks it herself. She comes closer to Gabrielle and prods her with the toe of her shoe. Gabrielle groans and climbs to her feet—she doesn't want to look weak in front of Ashley.

"So, is she a newcomer?" Ashley asks Anna.

"Are you blind or stupid?" Anna asks.

Ashley ignores the insult and says, "She's obviously a hopeless dancer. Does she have any other skills?"

"Not that I know of," Anna says.

"Hmm, it seems like anyone is allowed to join the club these days," Ashley says. "This place is really going downhill."

Anna nods in agreement and restarts the music. Gabrielle stretches her aching muscles and repeats the beginning of the dance. She kicks her leg in the air, wobbles, and keeps her balance. It's a small improvement.

"Anyway, when will Jackson come down and see us?" Ashley shouts over the music. "I've been here for two years, and I'm still just a Blue girl. I've never even gotten to entertain Jackson."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Anna asks. "You've been here for two years, and you still don't understand how things work. The only way you'll get to entertain Jackson is when you're ready. You're clearly not ready yet."

"I know," Ashley groans. "But I have to do something. My little brothers and sister all rely on me to pay their school fees, and I can't keep doing it as a Blue girl. I'm lucky if I make a few hundred dollars in a night."

"Well, that's none of my business," Anna snaps.

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a long, slim cigarette. She lights it and blows blue smoke rings into the air. She finishes the cigarette, tosses it onto the floor, and crushes it beneath her high heel. The butt of the cigarette is stained bright red with her lipstick. Gabrielle has heard that some of the men try to steal her cigarette butts as souvenirs.

"I have to go," Anna says. "Why don't you watch her for me? Make her do the routine as many times as it takes."

"What are you looking at?" Ashley asks Gabrielle. "Did I tell you-you could stop dancing?"

"Sorry," Gabrielle says. "Do you think I could have some water? I've been dancing for hours, and I'm really thirsty."

"You call this dancing?" Ashley asks. "You can have water when I say you can, okay? Now do the routine again."

Gabrielle wipes the sweat from her forehead and starts the routine again. Ashley stands behind her, kicking at her legs and pressing on her back. It makes it even harder to concentrate. When it comes time for the kick, Ashley grabs Gabrielle's leg and forces it even higher. Gabrielle falls to the ground.

"Get up," Ashley says, pulling Gabrielle to her feet by her hair.

Gabrielle screams, but Ashley doesn't let go. Her scalp burns and aches, and she wonders if there's a bald spot on her head. Without thinking about it, she jerks her head away from Ashley and bites her on the wrist.

Ashley screams as if she's being murdered, and Abbie Grace runs into the room. Abbie is one of the oldest women at the club. She's in her early forties, and she's one of the managers. She's wearing thick makeup and a red and black silk dress. She's trained almost every girl at the club, and they all trust and like her.

"What's going on?" Abbie asks.

"This little bitch bit me," Ashley shrieks. "She's like a dog."

"Where's Anna?" Abbie asks. "I thought she was supposed to be giving this girl a dance lesson."

"I don't know where she went," Ashley whined. "But look at my arm—do you think it's going to leave a scar?"

Ashley holds out her arm to Abbie, and Gabrielle steals a look. There are deep red tooth marks on Ashley's dark skin, but she isn't bleeding. Abbie drops Ashley's arm and gives her a serious look.

"Why are you wasting your time with a new girl?" Abbie asks. "You know there will be promotions in two days, right? I nominated you for the Jasmine level. You should be practicing for the test, not embarrassing yourself here."

"Are you serious, Abbie?" Ashley asks, her eyes glowing. "You really nominated me? Wow, thanks so much! I'll practice now."

"What about me?" Gabrielle asks. "Could I take the test too?"

Both Abbie and Ashley laugh, and Gabrielle feels her heart sink. She knows she's not as good as the other girls, but she wants to get to the next level as quickly as possible. Jasmine level girls get one day off every month, and they're allowed to leave the club and go wherever they want. If I can just get out of the club, I can escape, Gabrielle thinks.

"You're definitely not ready," Abbie says. She softens her voice and says, "Maybe if you keep practicing, you'll be ready for the next test."

"Why do you think I'm not ready?" Gabrielle asks.

"Listen, sweetie, and you need to learn to walk before you can run," Abbie says. "You've only been here a few days. You need time to learn and get better. Have you ever had a customer yet?"

"Not really," Gabrielle mutters.

"Look, I can't stop you from taking the test, but I think it's a bad idea," Abbie says, raising her hand to look at her glitter manicure under the light.

"Who decides?" Gabrielle asks.

"Only Mr. Oliver," Abbie says.

Gabrielle nods and runs out of the room. She races up a steep flight of stairs and then another until she's on the top floor. Hill Ivan, the club's general manager, sits at a wooden desk in the hall. When he sees her, he nods, and she passes his desk and opens the door behind it.