DOLLA’S EYES LIGHT up the minute he catches me bouncing through Brooks Ballroom studio modeling the new line of his Jamal Trey women’s hip-hop dance wear. “Ah yeah, yo! Salomé’s in the house.” He twirls me around and we dance a few steps of the waltz we also have to perform this week. “Damn girl, you look fierce.”

I smile and break into some crunking moves. I’m so stoked. Today, the six remaining couples are practicing our group hip-hop dance. And Gabriel made me the official choreographer for today. That’s the good news. The bad news is that I’ll have to spend seven hours listening to Vika’s snide remarks, avoiding Iza’s possessive glances, and playing referee to Jenny and Tim.

I know this studio is Vika’s turf, but I woke up super early to help the set designers give it a street vibe. I hung up some paper on the walls and got some hip-hop dancer friends of mine to spray paint urban graffiti, swapped out the blue velvet curtains for some black rayon ones, and hired a DJ to set up a real booth. The cameramen and sound guy are milling around the room after they hooked up the LCD flat screen television I requested. Dolla brought in his newest designs for everyone to try on and the crew even set up some strobe lights. I hope everyone can feel the vibe.

Tim walks into the studio and Jenny immediately starts checking out his butt. “Tim, why are you wearing jeans from Abercrombie & Fitch? You know they’re racist.”

Oh lord, here we go. Apparently she wasn’t just admiring the view.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, boo.” He pulls at his pants to check the label. A few wisps of dark hair at the top of his happy trail peak out of his boxers. I can see why Jenny has the hots for Tim. His body is slamming.

But happy trails aren’t enough to distract Jenny from a tirade once she sinks her teeth into it. “How do you not know? Years ago . . . racist t-shirts . . . Abercrombie & Fitch . . . ring a bell?” She shakes her head when all he does is stare at her blankly. “Tim, the shirts had pictures depicting stereotypical drawings of Asian men smiling with slanted eyes and wearing rice patty straw hats. They had slogans like Wong Brothers Laundry Service: Two Wongs Can Make It White, and Rick Shaw’s Hoagies, Good Meat, Quick Feet with a short Asian man delivering a giant hoagie on a rickshaw. Hello? Offended?”

Tim shrugs, puts his earbuds in, and turns up his iPod, blasting his music. Big mistake. It’s never a good idea to blow off Jenny. Especially when you have to spend the next seven hours within two inches of her. I swear we’re gonna see blood in a minute, the way she’s biting her lip to keep silent.

I set about fishing a hip-hop CD out of my workout bag. The other dancers and their stars start piling into the studio, two by two as if getting ready for a trip on an ark. As soon as they walk in the studio, the costume girl hands them their Jamal Trey workout wear to put on. But Genya and Iza, who normally arrive at the studio arm in arm carting matching Starbucks lattes, head to opposite corners of the studio. Iza’s normally perfect doll-shaped face looks pale and her usual shellacked ponytail is askew.

Jenny can’t take the silent treatment from Tim for long. Big surprise. When the final dancers arrive, she’s in Tim’s face and yanking the headphones out of his ears. “I personally organized the boycott of the store in Cambridge while I was at Harvard. You were at Stanford when they came out. There were boycotts of Abercrombie & Fitch throughout the Bay Area.”

I swear, I love Jenny with every cell in my body, but the woman could argue with a corpse. Diana runs to my side to watch the cyclone.

Tim just smirks at the crazed woman in front of him. “Actually, Jen, I bought all those shirts. I love ‘em. Wear ‘em all the time.”

Jenny starts wheezing and motions to me to get her inhaler.

Tim’s smirk disappears and he steps forward instantly, caressing Jenny’s back. “Relax, baby. I’m just playing with you. I honestly didn’t know about all that. All I cared about at Stanford was basketball. If you want, I won’t wear the jeans. Look.” Before anyone can bat an eye, the guy unbuttons his jeans and drops them around his ankles. He stands in the middle of the floor, showing off his tight butt in his grey boxer briefs.

Jenny starts wheezing like a teakettle and finally purses her lips and becomes silent.

Hell, yeah! Now that’s the way to shut her up. Jenny’s lips finally close, probably trying to hold in the drool. Tim’s no dummy. Good move. And an even better ass.

Vika walks up with Tim’s set of Jamal Trey clothes. “Whoa Tim, I had no idea what you were hiding under those clothes.” She pinches his butt then slaps the clothes bundle into his belly. “Yummy.” She steps over to Tony, who whispers something in her ear that makes her giggle. If I didn’t know Vika better, I’d swear she and Tony were hooking up.

Okay, enough of this shit already. “Alright, people!” I clap my hands. This ball is mine and I’m running with it. “Let’s do this. Tim, hon, pull up your pants, will you? We’ve got some hip-hopping to do.”

Tim takes off his shirt and then puts on his Jamal Trey gear. He throws his old clothes to the wall and smiles sweetly to his partner. For once, he’s the Alpha Dog in the pair. He bows to Jenny. “May I have this dance?” His shiny straight black hair just grazes his eyebrows in a rock star-like razor edged cut.

Jen stares at him dumbly a second, then finally takes his hand and follows him to the right corner of the floor, where he leads her in their waltz. And I do mean lead. Man, they look perfect together. Maybe that’s what Jenny needed, a good drop of the pants. Hats off to basketball boy.

At the back of the studio, Tony is showing off Vika and Iza’s Playbunny pictorial to Dolla. Genya walks by them and rips the magazine out of Tony’s hands.

“Hey, man,” Tony protests. “Buy your own copy, dude.”

“I had my own copy—burned it.” Genya gives Iza a crushed look.

“Give it.” Tony trips over a chair trying to retrieve the magazine.

“Po'shyol 'na hui.” Oh no he didn’t! Genya almost never swears let alone using those words. So that’s what Genya and Iza are fighting about. Genya tosses the Playbunny into the trash. Drama. Thank God I didn’t pose. Not that they asked me. Still, I would never do it. I have zero desire to show off my goodies to the world. Who would even want to look at me anyway when they can ogle at Vika and Iza?

I walk over to the music booth and give my CD to the sound guy who is playing DJ for us. “Is everyone here?”

“Xavi isn’t here, yet,” Diana says, her eyes glued to the door.

“He’s not?” I look at the clock. It’s nearly nine o’clock. Gee, wouldn’t want Joe Boxer to lose out on beauty sleep or anything. He of all people really needs to be here since they finished in the bottom two last week.

“I texted him,” Diana mumbles, “but haven’t heard back.”

“Well, I’m sure he’ll show up.” I give her a reassuring smile but she looks stressed. Time to distract. “I’m so excited about this group hip-hop thing. I love urban dance and I’ve been experimenting with some crunking and breaking so this is gonna be off the hook.” I glance around the room. The cameramen are setting up. Iza is giving me the evil eye and, on the opposite side of the room, Genya’s pacing and staring at the floor.

“So,” I start, “we have to do a four eight count as a group in the beginning and then the partners each do a breakout solo. The order for the solos is Xavier and Diana, Dion and Iza, Tony and Vika, Tim and Jenny, Genya and Lilia, and Dolla and me will close. I’ll work on all your solos later but let’s get started on the group part. We’re dancing to one my favorite songs, Rob Base and D.J. E-Z Rock’s “Joy and Pain.” But let’s begin with a warm up. It’s old school to get you in the mood.”

I signal the sound guy. He flips on the strobe lights then starts playing Cameo’s “Word Up.” I love that song. I skip to the front of the room and lead everyone in a dance isolation routine. “Roll your hips to the right, now to the left, now circles.” The lights are kicking on and off, and Tony keeps making goofy faces into the mirror even as he tries to keep up with me. He’s not doing a half-bad job. “That’s it, Tony! Bend your knees, Tim. Good!” I can’t wipe the stupid grin from my face. I’m having way too much fun. I’m almost delirious over the excitement of teaching this class. Vika’s actually following my steps and not giving me any attitude. And I hate to admit it, but she looks super cute in her low-rise pink hip-hop pants and matching bra tank top, which her breasts fill out perfectly. Damn, I need some boobs. Maybe I can buy them, now that I’m getting paid to dance.

Two hours into the actual choreography, Xavier strolls in, like he’s in no rush. The DJ cuts the sound. Xavier will get away with it, though. None of us are stupid enough to question the Ultimate Fighting Champion.

“Dude, where’ve you been?” Tony asks.

Well, almost none of us.

“None of your business,” Xavier barks. “I’m here now.”

“Hell, yeah it’s my business.” Tony gets right up in his face, sweating and huffing from the routine. “We’ve all been here for three whole hours and now we’re gonna have to be here even longer to catch your ass up.”

Oh, shit. Tony must have a death wish. The other dancers freeze in position as stocky five foot ten, two hundred thirty pound Xavier looks up at a towering, gangly six foot five and a buck sixty Tony. Shit, shit, shit—this ain’t gonna be good.

Xavier narrows his eyes and his voice gets deep. “Back up, bitch. You don’t want to fight me.”

“Who you calling a bitch, mother fucker?” Tony flies at Xavier, but the burly little man throws Tony down and has him in a headlock faster than I can cha-cha. Tony’s scrawny legs are kicking in the air like a psycho Popeye cartoon. It would almost be funny if I wasn’t sure Tony was about to die.

“Antoshka! Antoshka!” Vika’s screaming. “Somebody do something!”

Tim, Dolla, and Dion are on it. They dive in and yank Tony and Xavier apart, successfully ending the combat. Then, after only a second of peace, Tony sucker punches Xavier. Xavier round house kicks him in the face and blood gushes from Tony’s nose. The referees break it up again. Like two snarling dogs, Tony and Xavier have to be pulled to opposite sides of the room.

Damn this is crazy. “Break time!” I chirp and then chase after Jenny, who’s escorted Diana to the ladies lounge.

When I get in there, I find Diana sprawled out on the sofa in the lounge, tears splattered on her face. “We’re so gonna get eliminated this week,” she cries. “Xavier couldn’t care less about any of this.”

Jenny hugs her. “I wish I could be that lucky. I can’t take another week of Tim.” I glare at her. “Sorry, right. This is about Diana.” She turns back to her. “Even if you do get sent home, it won’t be that bad. You can just go back to planning your wedding.”

Blotchy Diana looks up at her. “That’s the thing. The wedding’s off.”

“What?” Jenny and I blurt in unison. I drop to Diana’s side. Jenny looks like she’s gonna faint.

“When the hell did this happen?” I ask. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Diana takes a big breath. “Robert and I have been fighting, like, every day. He’s so pissed that I went on this show . . . and because I told him I didn’t want to have babies right away cuz I want to do another season.” Jenny sucks in her breath next to me. Robert is all about wanting babies, and until now Diana has been right there with him. “He totally flipped out. Then when Star magazine published that picture of me drinking with Vika . . . oh God . . . he said he didn’t even know who I was anymore and he called off the engagement.”

Jenny pounds the couch with a wicked fist. “See? I knew this would happen. This was a huge mistake. We’re all falling apart.” She grabs Diana by the shoulders, half hugging her and half shaking her. “Don’t worry, hun. Robert’s just stressed out because he’s in Iraq. Once he gets back, you guys can work this out. Everything will be okay.”

Diana looks at me, her eyes clearly questioning. I nod and hug her, but inside I feel like crap. This gig was mostly my doing, I know.

My nod seems to do the trick for Diana. Sitting up, she wipes her eyes and gives us a weak smile. I join in on a group hug and then walk out of the lounge. Genya’s waiting for me by the door.

“I did it, Sal,” he says. “I broke up with Iza. Last night.”

“Huh?” I blink a few times. Information overload. “You what?”

“I broke up with Iza.” He moves in closer, takes my hand in both of his.

I don’t know what to say. I scan the room for Iza, who’s nowhere to be found. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. I was so pissed at her for going behind my back and posing for those photos—like a whore. She didn’t even think how it could affect mama’s studio or our results. You would never do anything that trashy.”

I can barely focus on anything he said after ‘I broke up with Iza.’ But I couldn’t let him call her a whore.

“She’s hardly a whore, Genya. That is way harsh.” Iza is my rival, but Genya is being an ass.

“Sorry, you’re right. She’s not a whore. She didn’t even tell me and I don’t have any respect for that. You would never do anything like that.”

He’s right. I wouldn’t.

Genya is mine now? Oh my God. I lean in to kiss him.

“No.” He leans away. “Not like this. I want this to be right. We need to wait until season is over or Iza is kicked off. I don’t want to cause tabloid scandal. Don’t worry, it’ll be worth it.” He kisses my hand and walks away. I’m left standing there at the doorway to the woman’s can, alone, my head spinning.

Jenny’s right. Everything is changing. Here I’d spent six years pushing Genya out of my mind and now I’m thinking about him every second, and Diana’s spending more time with Vika than with us, and now Jenny’s resorted to acting like a self-righteous tyrant. It’s crazy. Way crazy.

Dolla walks over to me and hands me a bottle of FIJI water. “Hey girl, everything alright in there? I just got everyone in the studio to calm down. Xavier apologized to Tony, and Tony accepted, thank God, and we’re all ready to get moving again.”

I swear I could kiss the man. I take a big gulp of agua instead. “Thanks, Dolla. Seriously. Diana was just shaken up but it’s all good. They’ll be out in a moment.”

Dolla snaps his fingers and points two finger guns at me. “Anything for the best partner in the world.” He winks and saunters away. “Eh, yo, Mickey, kick them strobe lights on, will ya? And gimme some Rob Base. We got some dancin’ ta do!”

I glance at Genya across the room. He winks at me, too, then mouths, “I still love you.” Then the strobes kick in and the room explodes in old school base. Joy—pump it up, pump it up!—and pain . . . sunshine, and rain . . .

Yes, siree. Everything’s changed.

And I couldn’t be happier.