Dystopic America looks something like a republic where everyone knows their place – according to their predominant intelligence. Class comes correlated, and basically, you don’t wanna be a 9. An afternoon bookclub turns on its head when the members of the group realize one of them is no longer…one of them. Sherry, fists, and orgasmic pop-lit fly as one woman fights to convince the others she belongs. It’s like high school – but bloodier.