My 90s Boy Band Boyfriend: A YA Time Travel Rockstar Romance (Teen Queens Book 2)

by Jennifer Griffith

  Oakley sprang out of her kiss coma. “Mr. DiConcini—we were just …” She shot to her feet, her heart still pounding like crazy.

  “So, this is what you meant by taking the test together.” He scowled, but just in resignation, not exactly anger. “You were giving each other’s lips the test.”

  “Sir, we completed the test.” Hudson took up the job of explaining. “Then she was showing me something for music.”

  It seemed like DiConcini hadn’t heard him. “Did you even take the test, youngsters? Or were you too hot for each other to recall that you are supposed to be part of math instruction right now?”

  “Sir, Oakley finished her test, and then she was helping me with mine, but I—I admit I distracted her.” Hudson did all the negotiating with the teacher while Oakley tried to resume normal functioning. Under the influence of Hudson’s kiss, her brain was still flying from the edge of a building, circumnavigating the moon, and coming back to earth, landing her on her feet.

  “I’ll grade accordingly.” Mr. DiConcini smirked as he took the tests from Hudson’s hands. “You, young man, had better be a little more considerate of Miss Marsden. She’s a good girl.”

  “Oh, I know that, sir. Really, I do.” He looked down at her, and she burned inside.

  She’d just kissed her mother’s high school crush. She hated herself for being disloyal to her mom, in some twisted way. By all means, she would never let it happen again, no matter how many times her mind flew around the moon when she recalled the tender brush of his lower lip against hers. Nope, that was it. The first and final time. Seriously. The end.

  “Get back to class, please. We’re starting the lecture now.”

  ***

  The lunch hour meant seeing Brinn and Clyde for the first time of the day. As she and Hudson crossed the lawn to the tree where they always ate, Oakley’s face blazed. Would Brinn see the fact of their kiss on Oakley’s visage? Did she no longer look like a girl who’d never been kissed?

  Wait—he’d labeled her his girlfriend to those Populars earlier. Had he meant it? Had the gossip gotten back to Brinn? Oakley hoped not. She hoped it had died right there in the hallway, under the weight of the jealousy and scorn of the female Populars. It would hurt their egos if someone as charismatic and attractive as Hudson didn’t gravitate to them immediately.

  It would hurt those egos far worse to be rejected in favor of Shoe Girl.

  He kissed me. Oakley’s traitorous insides were swirling, just like leaves in an autumn breeze. It was brief. More like a friendly kiss than a passion kiss, but it counted. Oakley counted it. She didn’t want to, but she knew, that in the hallway outside math class, she’d received her first kiss.

  “What—who’s this?” Brinn bothered with no preliminaries. Her hand flexed, like she might wallop him if he provoked her. Not that she would, not actually. But she looked Hudson up and down as they sat at their usual social pariah picnic table under the three maple trees. The Populars took all the spots under the shade pergolas next to the building where they were sheltered from the frequent winds, but today it wasn’t windy, and the maples felt nice.

  Or maybe that was just because she was next to Hudson.

  No. It wasn’t. Geez.

  “This is … uh …” How was she supposed to introduce him? As a blast from the past—her mom’s past? What if Clyde, who knew everything there was to know about music history, recognized Hudson by name as the lead singer of Girl Crazy?

  Who was Oakley kidding? There was no way Clyde wouldn’t recognize the name. “This is …” Oakley was stammering now.

  “I’m her new boyfriend.” Hudson stuck out his hand. “Pete Townsend.”

  “Pete Townsend!” Clyde nearly fell off the picnic bench. “Like the lead guitarist of The Who? I love Pete Townsend. I love The Who. Tell me—when you were born, did your parents know they were naming you after the greatest living guitarist, or are you just totally the luckiest guy ever? Do you like music history? Because I’m totally into it. Have you ever tried playing the guitar?”

  And with two words, Hudson had won himself a friend and acolyte, possibly for life. “I play a little.”

  Humble, too. Ha. Oakley had seen his video more times than she could count, of course, and her mom had stopped on every single chord, and tried to teach herself the progressions. It was probably a little excessive. But Hudson definitely knew his way around a guitar.

  “Acoustic or electric?” Clyde was practically salivating at finally having someone to talk stringed instruments with. “Because, call me a purist, but I’m way more a fan of the acoustic guitar. I mean, ‘Tears in Heaven?’ That’s powerful stuff, and just one voice and one guitar, and what an effective message.”

  Clyde pretty much hijacked Hudson for the rest of the lunch break. Brinn caught Oakley’s eye and mouthed a question in one word: Boyfriend? Brinn’s right eyebrow shot up to her hairline when she asked this.

  “Hey,” Oakley said, in hopes of deflecting that line of questioning. “I think I’m going to go shoe shopping this weekend. Do you want to go?”

  “You. Are. Resurrected.” Brinn tugged her into a bone-crunching hug.

  “I take that as a yes?” Oakley squeaked out.

  “What the heck is going on with you?” Brinn hissed into Oakley’s ear, and the warning bell for fifth hour rang. “Boyfriend? New shoes? Amazing audition?”

  “I’ll talk to you later. Did I tell you I found a perfect outfit for my callback?” This wasn’t true, per se, but she wasn’t ready to discuss the details of Hudson with Brinn just yet.

  At this point Hudson inserted himself into their conversation. “And she’s a great lyricist. She’s going to write more lyrics tonight and show them to me. I can’t wait.”

  She was? Oakley’s heart did a triple flip in her chest. He couldn’t?

  Scene 7: “Story of My Life”

  Piano benches weren’t really designed for two people to sit on them. Oakley hadn’t expected Hudson to sit this close to her. She’d relented to his suggestion that they plunk out a few tunes together, some he’d written, but she was still resisting bringing out her lyrics notebook.

  Well, truth be told, she hadn’t mentioned it to him.

  She sat on the right side of the bench she’d found at a flea market and refinished in a deep mahogany stain, and Hudson Oaks sat at her left, playing a succession of chords as she aimed for the melody line. Every time he hit anything above middle C, their shoulders pressed together. She tried not to notice.

  And she tried not to think about that kiss.

  Ugh. That kiss. They needed to talk about that. It was still bothering her—in more ways than one. She hated herself for enjoying it and for not being able to brush it off as easily as Hudson seemed to.

  It was my first kiss. It was probably his ten zillionth.

  That fact bothered her, too. He’d said with his words that she was special, and had given her an exquisite, tender kiss, but now seemed to have forgotten all about it.

  And she’d spent the last ten hours obsessing over it, replaying it on a three-second loop in her mind ever since.

  “How about this?” he asked, adding a few notes of melody. “Do you have words for this line?”

  Oakley tried to tune back in. “Play it for me again?”

  He did. She thought about it. “Farther your lips, closer my heart.” After she heard herself say the lyrics aloud, her face burned red hot. How much had she revealed?

  “I like it. Where’s that pencil?” He’d been writing down their concoction on some music staff paper. “Are you all right? You look …”

  “Sorry. Maybe we should try looking up your family’s information again.” They’d tried looking up Hudson’s family online for a couple of hours right after school, but nothing turned up.

  “Just a few more lines, okay?” he said, still scribbling. “You’re really gifted at lyrics. You put a lot of meaning in just a few words. I seriously envy you.”

  “You. Envy me?” She c
oughed back a laugh. “That’s a pretty good one.”

  Then he asked her something she never would have guessed in a million guesses. “Have you ever heard of a song called ‘Cafeteria Girl?’ It’s … by Girl Crazy.”

  “Uh, no.”

  “You’re sure?” He looked nervous. “Because, I mean, it could also have been released under the title of ‘Lunch Lady.’”

  “‘Lunch Lady.’” Oakley sat blinking. “I can guarantee you that is not a Girl Crazy song.”

  “What do you mean, guarantee?”

  “I mean, that if it existed, my mother would have known about it—and then she would have gouged it out of the cold, dead fingers of anyone who had possession of it. And then she would have played it until I knew all the words by heart—and by all my other internal organs.”

  Whoops. She hadn’t meant to mention cold, dead fingers. She needed to be more careful about any references to death.

  “I know it by gall bladder has such a ring to it.” Hudson shrugged, like he got what she meant, though. “Considering your mom, I have to believe that. She really did like our music.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. And she did tell me that the label didn’t release your album after you died—out of respect for your tragic loss. They didn’t want to profit from that.”

  “Huh.” Hudson blinked a while, processing, and possibly thinking about his own tragic losses. Soon, he pulled it back together. “Or to stain our fans’ memories of us by letting that awful album go out into the world.”

  “My mom would never have let anything taint her memory of you, though. And a bunch of other fans felt the same. But just so you know, she’s seriously not as crazy as she seemed yesterday. I promise.”

  “She’s nice. You don’t need to keep apologizing for her.”

  At that moment, the door from the garage banged open. “I’m home!” Speak of the Mom …

  “We’re in here, Mom.” They stood up. A second later, Mom came in, running on tip-toes and clapping her hands really fast.

  “I still can’t believe you’re really here.” She raced over and gave Hudson a quick squeeze, but at least not accompanied by the girlish squeal she might have emitted yesterday. Oakley wiped her brow in relief. Maybe the crush really was over. Just to be safe, she brought up the husband topic.

  “Mom, when’s Sherm getting home?”

  “I got a call from him at lunchtime. He should be back tomorrow night.” She kissed Oakley’s upturned cheek. “Is your head feeling better today, dear? Oh, and how did your algebra test go? Aces?”

  Oakley relaxed. The danger seemed to have passed.

  Well, just in time for Oakley to start to be in danger herself. She really shouldn’t be interested in him. They really needed to talk about today’s kiss. Being a total kissing novice, she hated that she couldn’t tell what the kiss had meant to him. Was it appropriate to even ask? Or did people just know? Oh, this is a friendship kiss. This is an I-like-you kiss. This is an I-claim-you-as-my-girlfriend kiss.

  Argh! She should have run away and not let his lower lip brush hers and turn her inside out ever since.

  “Aces,” Hudson said, giving Mom the thumbs up.

  Oakley and Hudson exchanged glances. Suddenly it dawned on her—she’d cheated on a test today. She’d never ever once cheated before.

  She felt sick. As soon as possible she needed to do something to make things right with Mr. DiConcini. But how? Telling him the truth felt like it might cost more than her grade. A lot more. Like her pride, and her reputation as a good student.

  But she’d already sacrificed her honesty. Oh, this was not good. The other teachers in the district all respected Mom. What would happen to Mom? Would she become known as The Mother of the Girl Who Cheated on Math Tests?

  “I’m making spaghetti for dinner, with bolognese sauce. Your favorite.”

  “Since when is spaghetti my favorite?” Oakley shot her a look. “Oh. Ohhhh.”

  Hudson raised one shoulder, as if to say that Mom was correct, bolognese sauce was, in fact, his favorite.

  “Oh, honey.” Mom kissed Oakley’s forehead. “I’ll make your favorite next time. Hudson’s our guest. He probably hasn’t had bolognese sauce in years. His mom would probably make it better, but I’ll give it a shot.” Mom gave them both a broad smile and headed back to the kitchen, whistling a tune that sounded a lot like “The Eyes Have It.”

  “Bolognese sauce really is the bomb.”

  “Nobody says the bomb anymore.”

  “They should.”

  “Or wack, or cool beans, or—” She tried to think of other nineties slang but came up empty, especially when Hudson slid a fingertip across the back of her hand as he reached for the pencil again. Her mind emptied of all thoughts besides the sensation of his touch. Eventually she asked, “What’s in bolognese sauce?” as she tried to pull herself back together.

  He told her about the different sausages, and the carrots. “I’ve never been to Italy, but it’s part of my upcoming tour … I mean …” He frowned. “It was going to be. There were three cities: Pisa, Rome, and Florence. I begged my manager Roman to add Bologna so I could eat the food there, but he couldn’t make it work with the schedule.”

  All the Bologna and Italian talk lit a bulb in Oakley’s brain. “Say, I just thought of something.”

  “How much you’d like to taste pasta under the Tuscan stars? Because that is one of my life goals.”

  Well, that didn’t sound bad, but …

  “There’s Mr. Baloney. At school. The theoretical physics teacher.”

  “Mr. Baloney?”

  “It’s really Mulroney, but he’s so hard for any of us to understand since he teaches theoretical physics that we gave him that nickname.” Not a nice nickname, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was pretty cool. “If there’s anyone in all of Wood River who knows about the science of time travel, it’s Mr. Mulroney.”

  Hudson didn’t miss a beat. “When do we go see him? Do you think he’s home right now?”

  ***

  After dinner, which was a lot more delicious than anything Mom had cooked for the family in a long time, Hudson helped with the dishes, which was cool, especially since it was Oakley’s night, and Mom had used practically every dish in her enormous chef’s kitchen while preparing their Italian feast. He even wiped off the hood of the stove. Who did that?

  At this point in time, the guy seemed pretty perfect. Why had he and his family fought?

  “How long are you thinking of staying, Hudson?” Mom asked as she pulled some popsicles out of the freezer for him and Oakley. “Did you two have any luck with finding your family online today?”

  “Until I figure out a way to get home.” He wrung out the dishrag and hung it over the faucet, the dishes complete. “Or back, or whatever.”

  Mulroney. They needed to see him. Maybe they could go to his house. Mom would know where he lived. She knew all the teachers in the district. Seeing him on a weekend would be super weird. Maybe they should wait until Monday.

  But the sooner Hudson learned how to get back the better. What if there was a time portal and it was only open for a short window of time, and that window was closing? They’d better try to find out their answers sooner, rather than later. Besides, the internet was too full of hokey information. They couldn’t trust it. They needed an expert.

  “I talked to Sherm about it, and he said a couple of things. One, that you can stay for as long as you need to—within reason.” Mom shot Oakley a look, as if she could read the kiss like a neon sign on Oakley’s lower lip. “And two, that he might be able to help you look up your family’s location when he gets back to his office. They have special access software in the law firm.”

  “That’d be great.” He took his popsicle from her hand. “But I’m hoping to not leave before Oakley’s audition in Seattle. I mean, if that’s okay. I want to be here for that.” He swallowed and said in a lower voice, “I want to be here for you.”

  Mom took a phone
call and left the room. “Hi, honey.” It had to be Sherm. “I miss you too.” Her voice faded as she disappeared down the long, winding hallway.

  “You … what?” Oakley asked. “What did you just say?” Pretty much the entire Wood River Fourth of July fireworks show went off in Oakley’s heart. He wanted to be there—for her? Other than her mom, he was the first person in all the world she could remember singling Oakley out as special for attention. She’d never had any grandparents, and no aunts or uncles lived nearby. Sherm was great, but he was kind to Oakley for Mom’s sake—which was fine, of course, but not necessarily something that made her feel important or special.

  Still, it was more kindness than a lot of step-daughters got. Oakley wouldn’t complain.

  “For me?” She couldn’t help wondering if he was being real. “But why?”

  Hudson moved closer. He set the dish-drying cloth on the counter and leaned in to whisper, his breath near her ear turning her entire soul into a wisp of smoke.

  “Haven’t I mentioned that you mean something to me, Oakley Marsden?”

  What had that kiss meant this morning? What!? her soul shouted. She was dying to ask, but she couldn’t, not now with Mom nearby. And maybe not ever.

  But he did say she meant something to him. So, the kiss meant something, too?

  This was too much for her little sapling of feelings to handle so soon. She’d only met the guy hours ago, and only stopped suspecting him of being a con artist half that long ago. It was going too fast.

  “Should we go sing again?” she asked, breaking the spell. “The piano needs us.”

  “It does? Oh, right. It does.” He trailed along after her, but his words had turned her blood to helium, and her lighter-than-air feet barely touched the ground.

  He sat down at the piano. “You still haven’t told me what you’re singing at your callback.” He started to play something she liked but didn’t recognize.

  “That’s because I don’t know yet.” She watched as his right hand made quick work of the treble keys, and his left hand played a serious chord progression. “What’s this song?” she asked. “I love it.”