Joss smiled, a rare blush finding her cheeks. “I’m not that good,” she said, referring to her new podcast. She was finally stepping out of her older siblings’ shadows, making a name for herself without their influence. At least, she hoped it was without their influence. Dante had contacts everywhere, after all. “Can we talk about something else? Tell me about your class this year. Pinpoint the trouble maker yet?” There was always one, at least.
1. Outdoor Skating – If you are used to skating on nothing but flat, flat sports court, the smoothest looking pavement will feel like skating over a violently undulating beast thats trying to kill you. There are all sorts of potential hazards – stones, drains, sudden surface changes, random bulges – which are all great for building your stability, core and awareness. And, because there tends to be a lot of resistance, its a good cardio workout too, especially skating uphill! But don’t forget to always wear your pads, especially your helmet – a cyclist, pedestrian, dog, cat, car or any number of hazards could suddenly pop out in front of you so always be protected and prepared to stop suddenly.
2. Skate Park/Ramp Skating – If you have a skate park near by, go check it out. There’s usually a variety of ramps of different inclines plus bowls, half and quaterpipes and other terrain that will really test your stability, core strength and bravery! If you are somewhere that provides lessons, even better. Having the guts to drop into a bowl or take on a jump, even if it’s just a tiny one to begin, will increase your confidence exponentially! Not only that but you will look freaking cool. Check out the chicksinbowls on Instagram for tips and inspiration. As always, wear your protective gear.
3. Speed Skating – Luckily for me, my league hosted a speed skating bootcamp with an instructor who had won millions of medals speed skating. (He also wore no pads or toe stops- is he mental?!) He taught us proper speed skating form, crossover technique and skating line. I’m no speed skater but it drastically improved my 27-in-5 and distance skating in general. If you get the chance to get a speed skating lesson, go for it, whether you plan on being a jammer or not. It will teach you more efficient skating meaning you expend less energy and feel a lot less like you are about to die.
4. Jam/Artistic Skating – Whilst jam skating is more similar to break dancing and artistic skating is like figure skating, both disciplines will teach you how to control your skates, use your edges and find your centre of gravity. The different styles will also help improve your footwork and make your body move in all directions, not just to the left. If you are brave enough to remove your toe stops (I haven’t done it yet – wimp) it will really test you! Plus you will look really cool at the roller disco if you can pull off some sweet, sweet jam skating moves.
5. Roller Hockey – The quick changes in direction, stopping on a dime and using your arms and legs in coordination in roller hockey can really help improve all of those aspects in derby. The fact that it is played in all directions, not just to the left will also help balance your body rather than only being able to do stuff in one direction like some kind of roller derby Zoolander. And if you can handle people flinging hockey pucks and hockey sticks towards you, I don’t think you will ever find getting hit in roller derby scary again!
6. Workout on Skates – Practicing your favourite workout moves such as squats, burpees and one-legged deadlifts can really improve your balance and stability, it will help you feel your skates and how your trucks and wheels behave under your feet. Try and control what your wheels are doing whilst balancing and performing a squat, it will really test your stabiliser muscles, core and proprioception. Balancing on skates is also fun!
It also saves time if your only chance to workout is at practice – after a warm up try 3 sets of: 20 squats + hold for 30 seconds on the last rep, 5 burpees, 10 one-legged deadlifts per leg, 15 push ups, 30 second superman hold.
You can also use your skates like ankle weights performing leg raises and donkey kicks (or stuff like this) or take them off and use them as hand weights or makeshift kettle bells!
7. Housework on Skates! – Just wearing your skates around the house, going about your daily activities can really help you become one with them. It might even mean you get your housework done quicker, yey more time to skate! The more at home you feel in your skates, the better you will feel in them on the track.
BONUS!!!
– Banked Track Roller Derby
As you might have seen in my last blog post, I got to skate on the banked track at the L.A Derby Dolls’ Derby Por Vida session. I absolutely loved it and could really see how skating on a banked track could make you a much better flat track player.
Music is huge part of my writing process, and I thought it would be fun to share some of the songs that inspired me while writing and editing Treble Maker. Some I imagine Embellish or the M&Ms performing, while others seemed perfect for a particular part of Cody and Lucas’s journey. A huge shout-out to all the hundreds of college and amateur a cappella groups brave enough to put their videos on YouTube—thank you for sharing your music and gifts with the world. Whenever I’d get stuck on a particular section or heavy rewrite, I always seemed to find the perfect new group to glom onto and bust through my block.
You can find my playlist here!
Continue reading for a sneak peek at the exclusive TREBLE MAKER playlist with annotations by annabethalbert.
“Still Haven’t Found”—U2 , covered by Glee and The Sing Off
AA says: This is quite possibly the perfect group ensemble number as it can support multiple leads beautifully. I also see this as Cody’s theme song for when the book opens. He’s searching and hungry and doesn’t quite know what for.
“Haven’t Met You Yet”—Michael Buble, covered by the Yale Whiffenpoofs
AA says: This is Lucas’s opening theme song because he doesn’t know how much he needs someone like Cody in his life until Cody lands right in the middle of all his careful plans. Earnest, timeless and delivered by clean-cut young men in suits. The M&Ms would approve.
“Club Can’t Handle Me”—Flo Rida, covered by Dartmouth Aires
AA says: I drove my family insane listening to multiple versions of this song on repeat. But this song is Cody—all the swagger and attitude.
Grab TREBLE MAKER today to see the full annotated playlist from author Annabeth Albert!
The bass singer was gay. Cody wiggled his hips in an exaggerated move that always got him company on dance floors, waited a beat, and . . . there. Right on cue, the curly-haired singer gave him another sidelong glance.
A straight dude might grant Cody the occasional double take because, yeah, it was damn hard to ignore Cody’s style of fabulousness. Today, for example, the style gods had smiled on him—his hair was the perfect combination of deliberate spikes and casual falls, the silver specks in his eyeliner complemented his studded leather belt, and his red skinny jeans showed off his ass. So when the bass’s double take had turned into something more like a quintuple take, Cody knew what those lingering glances meant. Knew it despite the fact that the bass looked fresh off the farm, all wholesome and rosycheeked and wearing a tie/sweater vest combo perfect for performing in a church choir.
Crash. The bass missed a step, sending a speaker skidding across the stage. One of the camera guys groaned. On second thought, maybe the bass hadn’t been checking out Cody. Maybe he had trouble controlling his big blue eyes the same way he had trouble controlling his big-assed feet.
Whatever the dude was, he was screwing up Cody’s big break. Twitchy farmer boy and the rest of his all-boy group had screwed up multiple run-throughs of the opening number for the new season of Perfect Harmony. No one would notice Cody’s singing if the other groups kept crashing into one another and losing the chorus. He’d worked damn hard to earn this solo, and he didn’t need farmer boy messing it up with his clodhopper feet that kept tripping over thin air.
A tech scurried out onstage to right the speakers. Like everything else about the TV show, the older theater and its equipment were decidedly low budget. No Voice or Idol big production numbers here. A few missteps and they’d be down a speaker or three.
“You’d think with a voice like his, he’d be more coordinated.” Ashley, one of the members of Cody’s group, spoke up as they waited for the techs to fix things. Her red lips twisted in a pissy pout. She straightened her poufy black skirt.
“You think the dude can sing?” Cody’s voice was sharper than usual. Stress brought out the worst in his snark. Each botched runthrough seemed to underscore his dicey situation—this wasn’t just his big break. It was his last break, one he had to make work. The single digits in his bank account and the duct tape holding his ancient van together hung over him, dogged each verse he sang. He didn’t like feeling this desperate, and yeah, he was getting a tad judgy about the performers who didn’t have such worries.
Most of the groups in the singing competition came from big colleges or universities and were comprised of a couple of guys who could sing halfway decent and some wannabes who showed up for free cookies and alumni connections. With his wide shoulders and thick waist, it looked like farmer boy definitely got more than his fair share of cookies.
“He’s the one I was telling you about—the killer bass and vocal percussionist.” She was on a mission to replace their current vocal percussionist, Keith, who was the weak link in their group. His beatbox skills weren’t up to producing the kind of surround sound Cody and Ashley craved. With only five members, Embellish couldn’t get away with freeloaders or mediocre members the way the big twentyperson choirs could.
“Huh.” Cody was all for anything that would avoid opening-number disaster. Come Saturday night, the empty theater seats in front of them would be filled with studio audience members. They’d clap when cued, but it was the TV audience that Cody really cared about. If zillions of Americans tuned out during the first show, then zillions of Americans wouldn’t get to hear Cody’s awesomeness throughout the season.
“Wait until he stops crashing into scenery and you’ll see.”
Too bad the choreography made crashing almost a guarantee. Too bad they couldn’t staple farmer boy in place. . . . Bingo. “Got an idea. Back in a few.”
“It better be a good one.” Ashley examined the blond-tipped ends of her dark hair.
Cody passed by farmer boy’s group on his way off the main stage. The sweater vest convention was deep in conversation.
“When we get back to Iowa, I’m sticking you in ballet lessons.” One of the smaller guys, a strawberry blond–haired dude with an elfin grin, clapped farmer boy on the shoulder. Iowa. An unwelcome jolt from the past made Cody pause. Iowa. It figured farmer boy was from the one state Cody never wanted to deal with again.
Cody strode over to the wings where Dane, the director’s assistant, was conferring with a bunch of techs. The area right off the stage was a jumble of TV equipment, set pieces, and red-shirted techs waiting for orders. Most of them were even younger than Cody’s twenty-three years and were as freshly scrubbed as farmer boy and his group. Cody waited until Dane finished speaking to his barely paid minions.
“Hey, Dane? Got a minute?” Cody tipped his head, letting his hair do its fabulous swish thing and making sure his lips had a little extra pout. He’d had Dane’s number since the second day on set. Dane was most definitely gay, as evidenced by his boyfriend in New York and his appreciation for Cody’s mouth here in LA. Of course the show supposedly had a rule against fraternization between staff and contestants, but Cody had never known guys like Dane to give a flying fuck about the rule book.
“For you?” Dane’s lewd gaze should have made Cody preen, but today the scrutiny was buzzing all the wrong places. Cody shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced over at the loitering techs. Dane gave a curt nod to the techs, dismissing them. “I’ve got a second or two.”
“What if you had the rhythm section of all the bands already in place for the first shot? Maybe sitting on speakers like they’re waiting for a party to start? Then they don’t have to worry about the dance steps.” Cody jerked his head in the direction of the disasterprone group. He didn’t want to be rude and point—farmer boy didn’t need another reason to blush. Although if one were into the freshly scrubbed look, he was a bit cute, with his pink cheeks.
“That’s not a bad idea.” Dane stroked his carefully manicured goatee. He had a penchant for tight gray shirts, stovepipe jeans, and black Chucks—a hipster slightly past his prime. But his age and his experi- ence meant he could make things happen for guys like Cody. Not that Cody was a whore or anything, but in this industry every connection counted. And so did a guy’s ability to make use of all his talents. One either played the game or one went hungry, another wannabe musician on the streets, no gigs and no future.
“You could also use it to add more punch to the opening riff— more bass before everyone joins in.” And more contrast for Cody’s tenor voice, but he didn’t need to point that out.
“All right.” Dane stepped away, clapping his hands loudly. “Listen up, people. Change in plans.” Cody went back to Embellish’s place near the front of the stage as Dane rearranged everyone for the new configuration. “Let’s get full sound on this run-through.”
Oh, thank you, sweet Lord, for actual singing. They’d done enough choreography-only run-throughs. The theater might be filled with empty seats, but once his wireless mic crackled to life, Cody felt the buzz of a performance high. His hips felt looser and his chest expanded, ready to give extra power to his voice.
The opening act called for four soloists from the various groups competing on Perfect Harmony. Cody had the best part, both opening and closing the number. He got the stage to himself for a few precious seconds before the groups danced in. And okay, he now had to share those seconds with the rhythm section, but that was fine—all the cameras would still be on him.
A production assistant signaled the start of the number, and the swell of the bass amped up Cody’s high. He’d been doing a cappella seriously for a few months, and the depth of the sound produced solely by voices still blew him away. Made sense that Perfect Harmony’s producers were banking on the all-vocal style as a way to compete with the other networks’ big singing competitions. After auditioning for every other reality singing show out there, Cody had been more than willing to try the new format if it meant the kind of exposure his agent could use to get him better gigs down the road. Anything was better than his current lifestyle of couch surfing, touring, and living out of his ancient van, hoping for enough cash to make it to the next crappy bar show.
And as the opening number progressed without any sacrifices of footwork or speakers, Cody had to acknowledge Ashley had been right—freed of trying to coordinate his voice and lumbering feet, farmer boy had a damn impressive low G and great tone. Maybe there was hope for him yet.
Cody’s own hope surged along with his voice as he launched into the opening verse. With a hundred thousand dollars, a recording contract, and all-important TV exposure on the line, he needed all the help he could get—even farmer boy’s.
Lucas watched the conversation playing out at the end of the hall. The Goth guy with the killer voice was flirting with the assistant director again. Neither of them seemed to care about the thick packet of rules and regulations the show had handed out. Not that Lucas was paying attention to either the flirting or the way the guy’s lower back curved when he leaned an arm against the wall. Lucas’s eyes refused to obey his command to find something else to look at. The guy could be the star of Lucas’s much-beloved Goth twink tumblr stream. And okay, it probably wasn’t very polite to call him a twink, but considering the frequency with which the word twink showed up on Lucas’s browser history, the gay PC police would forgive him.
The guy was reed slender, yet tall. He was taller than Lucas, which had given Lucas a little shiver when they’d been standing next to each other earlier. The guy had that natural grace thing going on, too. His long limbs and long neck didn’t look spidery or gawky— they were elegant. Like a dancer’s. Even his hands were graceful, his black fingernail polish glinting beneath the stage lights. The only softness to the dude’s angular frame was his surprisingly round butt. The subtle curve of his long spine called to mind the sensuality of an expensive violin.
Not that Lucas was in the market for what the future rock star was selling, but from a safe distance it was a nice feeling to covet the merchandise. Kind of like when Lucas had been on a college trip to Hamburg last summer and had stopped at a shop window to ogle a rare 16th-century violin. No hope of playing the thing, but he’d been called to its luster and promise.
He’d been a little awed and tongue-tied then, too.
“See you, Cody.” The director guy clapped him on the shoulder, eyeing Cody with the kind of heat even Lucas could interpret. Cody— the name called to mind old Westerns, not sparkly nail polish, but strangely it seemed to fit.
The director left down the narrow corridor leading to the wardrobe and dressing rooms. Finally. Lucas had been waiting for a chance to talk to Cody. Trying to find his nerve, he’d watched Cody fold his long limbs and hunker down against one of the hot pink set pieces. The backstage area was strictly utilitarian: concrete flooring, cement block walls, industrial lighting.
Cody yawned, his body becoming all fluid-looking and relaxed as he stretched. The image of Cody leaning forward on his knees, sinful mouth open invitingly, paralyzed Lucas. Every inch of the guy was hot, but his mouth was porn-star perfect, obscenely lush and deep pink. Transfixed, Lucas’s gaze locked on that mouth until Cody finally noticed Lucas’s hovering.
“You need something?” Even when he wasn’t singing, Cody’s voice carried a musical lilt. He stood in a single, perfect motion that Lucas could never duplicate—the guy made it look like gravity did his bidding.
“Umm.” Come on, idiot, speak. Lucas cleared his throat. “I just wanted to say thanks.”
“Thanks?” Cody arched one silver-ringed eyebrow, a skeptical look in his eyes, like he kept track of all the favors he did people and Lucas was most definitely not on that list.
“For earlier.” Lucas’s cheeks went pizza-oven hot. For crying out loud. He was twenty-one now, not some fifteen-year-old at a Justin Bieber concert. “For making it so that I didn’t have to dance.”
“Oh. That. No problem, man.” Cody shrugged his shoulders. His collarbones were delicate slices above the scoop neck of his shirt. Like biscotti just waiting for Lucas’s teeth . . . Stop it. No matter how much his browser history and traitorous dick said otherwise, he knew better than to get worked up over a guy like Cody. Not going there. Ever.
“I kinda suck at the dance stuff, you know?” Lucas counted cracks in the concrete floor.
“Just a bit.” Cody didn’t say it mean, even though his wide lips curved into a smile. He retrieved a bright yellow messenger bag resting on the floor beside him. Lucas’s friend Alex would call it a man purse, but with pants as tight as Cody’s, Lucas supposed a bag was a necessity for carrying basics like a phone and a wallet.
Shit. Lucas glanced up and down the corridor as he saw what Cody had scrounged from the bag. A retro-looking silver flask. The show banned alcohol on set—it had been in the lengthy list of rules they’d received yesterday at the first rehearsal. But Cody didn’t exactly seem like the read-the-rules-with-a-highlighter type. And he had to be under twenty-one—Lucas would guess nineteen at the most—making the transgression doubly bad.
“You can’t drink that here.”
That eyebrow of Cody’s rose again, all the more mocking with its winking silver hoops. Eyes locked on Lucas’s, Cody unscrewed the flask and took a long swig. God. Those lips. The guy could make a killing advertising drinks. Or candy. Lucas would pay good money to watch him lick . . . Don’t think that. You can’t control your wiring. You can control your actions.
“You want?” Cody held out the flask.
“Of course not.” Said Eve to the serpent. It wasn’t the alcohol that made a low curl of want bloom in his gut. Unbidden images came of Cody drunk, at one of those clubs Lucas had only ever read about. His face would be flushed, bringing color to his almost unnaturally pale skin. Eyes glassy but demanding . . . Stop. He pushed the image from his mind.
“I don’t drink.” Wanting was unavoidable, but indulging was a different story. Lucas had long ago made his peace with wanting— want was fine in carefully rationed chunks, as long as he cleared his browser history afterward and went on with his resolve to never turn want into action.
“Of course you don’t,” Cody mocked Lucas, lowering his voice and adding a fake horrified expression that probably wasn’t that different from the one Lucas was displaying for real. “Your school probably doesn’t even allow it at all, huh?”
“Not on campus, no. And not in any of the university apartments.” Lucas tugged at his shirt collar, knowing his babble was confirming
this dude’s judgment about who Lucas was and where he came from. “Never tempted to spike the Kool-Aid? Sneak a cold one into the big game?” Cody’s eyes danced as he took another swig. “You’re missing out, man.”
“And you’re going to miss out on the show if they toss you out for ignoring the rules and bringing in alcohol.”
“Alcohol.” The kid feigned innocence, all big blue eyes and pouty lips. “Who said anything about alcohol? This is my special recovery serum.”
“Whatever.” Lucas rolled his eyes. Hot as the guy was, his teasing was starting to grate. “It would suck if you got cut. You’ve got the best voice here.”
A broad smile wiped out Cody’s smirk. He seemed to stand a bit taller. “The best, huh?”
“Eh.” Lucas hadn’t really meant to toss that last bit in—it was the truth, but this kid’s ego needed no extra encouragement. “One of the best.”
“The best guy? The best tenor? The best soloist?” Clearly enjoying himself, Cody relaxed back into the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, flask dangling from two fingers.
“The best guy under twenty wearing red pants and stupid shoes.” Lucas didn’t mind the kid’s limitless ego, but he did mind him having fun at Lucas’s expense. That, and the kid’s shoes really were stupid. No dude—no matter how hard they were going after hottie of the month—ever needed sparkly silver combat boots. The kid had bigger feet than Lucas’s own sturdy size 11s. Which, of course, made Lucas think about where else the guy might be bigger . . .
No way was he twenty-three. Cody’s face was so smooth he probably never needed to shave. Lucas scratched at his own stubbly jaw.
Coming over here had been a terrible idea. He needed to end this, get back to his group, and try not to embarrass them royally when it was their turn to rehearse on stage. Cody did indeed have a terrific voice and his stage presence was amazing, but Lucas’s group, the M&Ms from Mount Monticello, were in this to win it, too. Mount Monticello was a tiny school located in equally tiny Austerity, Iowa—not where anyone would expect to find glamour or national talent—but the M&Ms had been racking up awards at regional contests for decades. A show like Perfect Harmony was priceless exposure for the whole college. Plus a win would be the best gift he could ever give his dad.
“Wanna know a secret?” Cody leaned closer, and Lucas’s brain stuttered. He literally forgot to think for several long seconds, his eyes locked on those lips, his nose filled with the scent of artificial apples and . . . garlic? “There’s no booze in here—just Earl Grey tea, cayenne pepper, lemon, and crushed garlic. See for yourself ?”
Cody shoved the flask under Lucas’s nose. Sure enough, there was no bracing whiskey odor, just a lingering scent of bad Thai food.
“Ugh. I might hurl.” Lucas tried to keep his voice indifferent and slightly repulsed. Tried to tell himself that feeling honored that Cody wanted to share anything with him was ridiculous.
“It’s the flask. Anything tastes better out of something pretty.” Cody winked at him. “And don’t knock it until you try it. Isn’t your throat raw from all this—” He made a sweeping gesture to indicate the bubbling chaos around them. Next up on the day’s agenda was a stage run-through of the groups’ individual numbers. Contestants were practicing vocals and dance steps using every method and space available. Lucas had sung more in the last forty-eight hours than he usually did in a month. Not that he’d admit that to the double entendre king, who managed to make raw throat sound like the sexiest thing ever.
Cody kept the flask right there beside Lucas’s mouth. This was a test of some sort, one Lucas had no intention of participating in. He raised his hand, intending to push it away, but stopped at the brief flash of uncertainty in Cody’s eyes. That little hint of vulnerability in the guy’s expression was all it took to get Lucas to accept the flask, fingers brushing against his as he accepted the metal container.
Lucas didn’t bother wiping the flask off—that was part of Cody’s unspoken challenge. He probably expected Lucas to drop it in horror, running away from the queer germs, like a fifth grader on the playground. But Lucas wasn’t scared of gay cooties—he was what he was. This was as close as his mouth would ever come to Cody’s. He knew who he was—and what he wouldn’t—couldn’t—do. The warmth of Cody’s fingers lingered on the stainless steel like invisible fingerprints. He imagined that luscious mouth leaving behind an imprint as well, a little trace of heat for his lips to find—
“Ugh!” The vile concoction hit Lucas’s tongue, putting an end to his fantasies. Maybe he should make a quart of the nasty stuff for next time his dick needed rapid deflating. Ginger and garlic clogged his sinuses. His eyes watered.
Cody laughed—just like Lucas’s cousins had, that time they’d tricked him into tasting brandy. Like back then, his first reaction was violence. Lucas’s fists clenched, drawing back—
“Lucas! What the heck, man?” Winston came loping up. He’d stuck his tie in his pocket and had unbuttoned the top of his shirt. Winston hated their costumes and had complained all morning about having to wear them for the rehearsal. “It’s almost our turn.”
“Sorry.” Lucas coughed, trying to clear his throat of the drink and his brain of the anger, and trying to summon up gratitude that the M&Ms had sent their most laid-back group member after him.
“Lucas.” Cody said his name like it was the answer to a Jeopardy question. His eyes went wide and a strange smile played on his lips. “I should have known.”
“What?” Anger returned in a rush, making his voice rougher than the stupid tea had.
Cody laughed like there was a joke Lucas wasn’t getting—and undoubtedly it involved him and his clumsy feet. The groups had been rehearsing in LA for two days, but clearly Lucas’s reputation had already been cemented: Watch out for that one. He can’t stay upright.
“Nothing. Only that I should have known you’d have the perfect angelic name, choirboy.” He tapped Lucas’s shoulder as he walked away. The contact lasted a fraction of a second, but it sizzled down Lucas’s arm.
“Come on. O’Malley’s going to have a fit.” Winston made an impatient gesture.
Lucas sped up to catch up with Winston’s longer strides. His brain felt clogged, like the stage’s giant industrial fans were sucking all the oxygen out of the air. He tugged his tie off as he followed Winston, resisting the urge to look back at Cody. No guy—no matter how distractingly sexy—was going to keep Lucas from giving 100 percent toward an M&M win.
