As the song peaked, Janey realized she wasn't just rebeling against her dad or trying to get on a TV show. She was finally loud. She was finally bright.

When the music faded, the room erupted. Jeff leaned in, grinning through his sweat. "Not bad for a school girl," he teased.

Janey straightened her lace collar and winked. "School's out, Jeff. And I’m just getting started."

Janey adjusted her lace headband, the one that matched her fingerless gloves. Next to her, Lynne was doing a frantic sound check with her gum, popping it loudly over the synth-pop blasting from the speakers. They weren't just here to dance; they were here to change their lives.

"The TV auditions are in twenty minutes," Lynne yelled over the bass. "If we don't get on Dance TV , I’m going to die. Literally die."

The neon lights of the Danceteria pulsed in sync with Janey’s heartbeat. It was Friday night in 1985, and Chicago felt like it was made of glitter and hairspray.