Tasha had six days to find a costume, or she'd audition for the gala in a gown that made her feel like a stuffed sausage. The gala mattered more than anything. A new theater was opening across town, built to put curvy dancers like her in the spotlight instead of the back row. She wanted to headline it. But the audition was Friday, and every dress she owned flattened her under bright light instead of showing off her curves. Her pet bear waited by the door, hat crooked, heels clicking as he paced. He'd been her partner since she started dancing. He was the one who'd heard about the practice hall and dragged her out that morning. "Trust me," he said. "You need to see how the pros move before you sew a single stitch." He led her to meet the muscular man who ran the hall. The man said nothing much, just nodded and opened a heavy door. Inside stood two sleek metal poles on round bases, polished so bright they threw light back. Two dancers were already stretching. Tasha knew them by reputation. Marina Soleil, blonde and bold in a tropical bikini, waved like they were old friends. Beside her stood Kattie, sharp-eyed and quick, tightening the tie on her floral bottoms. "So you're the one auditioning Friday," Kattie said. She looked Tasha up and down, not unkind. "Let's see what the lights want from a body like yours." Marina climbed first. She spun slow, then arched back, and the light slid along every curve instead of hiding it. Kattie followed, all speed and snap, her hips catching each beam. Tasha watched, and something clicked. It wasn't the poles. It was the cut of their costumes. High ties. Deep lines. Fabric that pulled the eye exactly where the curves were, then let the light do the rest. "My gowns cover too much," Tasha said. "That's the whole problem. I've been hiding." Marina grinned and dropped from the pole. "Then stop." She pulled a spare wrap from her bag, a bright printed thing, and knotted it around Tasha's hips at an angle. Kattie stepped in and fixed the top, cinching it higher. The bear tilted his hat back and whistled. Tasha turned toward the mirrored wall and stepped into the beam of the overhead light. This time it didn't flatten her. It followed her. Her waist, her hips, all of it caught the glow and held it. "That's the costume," she said. Her voice shook a little. "That cut. I can sew that by Friday." Kattie folded her arms. "You can. But sewing it and dancing it are two different things." She nodded at the poles. "You've got the look now. The audition's on a pole stage, Tasha. And you've never worked one in your life." Tasha stared at the gleaming metal. She had her costume answer at last. She also had a new problem, taller and slicker than the last.