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

by Jennifer Griffith

  “Sure. Didn’t she tell you? She’s named for that dead pop star, the one who died in the plane crash, Hudson Oaks.”

  A look of triumph and amusement crossed his face, and Oakley shriveled inside. This was the one secret she’d never wanted divulged to Hudson! Well, this and the existence of her lyrics notebook, but still. “I sometimes call her Oaks, just to keep it real, and to channel the good-singing vibes.”

  O that the mall could have collapsed right this very second. This was mortifying—to be standing toe to toe with the gorgeous guy she’d been named after, and whose respect she wanted to keep, not lose.

  Hudson turned toward Brinn, but didn’t let his gaze leave Oakley’s face, which she feared was giving away her anguish.

  “And she doesn’t mind the nickname?” His eyes did the laughing dance. “Even if it’s for an old guy?”

  Clyde intervened and saved Oakley. “I still can’t believe you made callbacks for TNRS.” He looked up from his phone for a second. “You have a great voice. I mean, after it gets warmed up.”

  Blessedly, Brinn latched onto the topic, too. “Do you have the hacking skills to go edit all the copies of that video, Clyde?”

  “Not after it’s gone viral. Once it’s been shared over three hundred thousand times, you’re pretty much sunk.”

  Sunk? “Has my audition been viewed that often?” The inside of her mouth was like the Sahara.

  “Don’t worry about it too much. I’d say eighty percent of the shares are about how amazing it turned out when you pushed through, not about how awful it started.”

  Eighty percent of three hundred thousand was … Oakley should pay more attention in math. Except then she’d be crushed by the truth that her most embarrassing moment had been viewed nearly half a million times. Why couldn’t she turn into steam and just waft away, show back up in twenty-three years when everyone had forgotten?

  “You said Hudson Oaks is an old guy. Technically, he isn’t old.” Brinn reverted to the other topic. “When someone dies tragically, especially when they’re that gorgeous, they get immortalized in eternal youth. It’s kind of romantic. But as for those Girl Crazy guys, I liked Alfonzo, the piano player. He had the deepest brown eyes.”

  Remembering herself, Brinn turned to Clyde. “Just like yours, hon.” She batted her eyelashes at him.

  “Mine are hazel.”

  “Right?” she said, not covering herself very well. They went off to the other side of the store together.

  “Keeping it real, huh?” Hudson sat beside Oakley. Into her ear she felt the tickle of his whisper, “No wonder I felt automatically connected to you. You were named for me.”

  She hated how much his whisper sent thrills through her while accompanied by the weirdness of his words.

  “Ew!” After a second of enjoyment, she shoved him away. “You’re being like a forty-year-old man right now.”

  He frowned, as if this sort of hurt his feelings. But then another thought hit Oakley—if Hudson was legally forty, and she was still sixteen, things would not go well in a court of law for them. She was jailbait, basically, even if Hudson inhabited the body of a seventeen-year-old. At least Sherm would see it that way.

  She’d better keep her distance—for Hudson’s sake.

  “Who’s forty?” Brinn said, walking up with another shoe box. “I think my mom’s thirty-eight. I’m never going to be that old. I’ll probably die at twenty-nine and be forever young.” She fluttered her eyelashes and put a hand to her forehead, throwing her head back and sighing. “Wouldn’t that be so romantic? See, we’re back on that topic again. It’s so heart-fluttering.”

  “You mean melodramatic,” Clyde said walking up. “And yet referencing a great eighties song.” He hummed a few bars of a melody Oakley vaguely recognized. “And what about our big plan to grow old together?” He kissed her upturned cheek.

  Oakley’s stomach clenched. Brinn and Clyde had been making plans to grow old together? Her mind reeled. What made them think they could know themselves well enough to be able to pick someone else as a partner forever, someone who there was no way they could know well enough? Even if they’d been dating since March? Even if they’d been best friends since … forever. Come on, Brinn was sixteen. Clyde was seventeen. If they weren’t age-responsible enough to vote, what made them think they were mature enough to choose whom to marry?

  Seventeen. Shah.

  Same age as Hudson. Sort of. She stole a look at him, her mind deconstructing his situation.

  Hudson could never go back to being seventeen at the time he was actually seventeen. He must be devastated. Oakley wondered how that would feel—out of time, out of place, no friends, no family. Her heart pinched. Twice.

  Just like these shoes, only far more existentially. She kicked off the ridiculous orange patent-leather pumps and tried on the pair from the next box, boots this time.

  Nice boots. Great boots. Boots that made her taller and cooler and a thousand times more confident all at the same time.

  “Ooh! Those!” Brinn clapped her hands when Oakley stood in front of the shoe-mirror in the pretty red boots. Well, not red exactly. More of a maroon, and they had faux buttons up the front and the perfect heel height. They probably would hurt like the dickens. Oakley stood up to walk around and get her toes pinched so she could try on the next pair and make her way through the mountain of boxes emptying the back storeroom.

  But to her surprise, they didn’t hurt. She walked faster around the store, and they didn’t stop being comfortable. In fact, they felt better with every step. She stopped in front of a mirror. Holy cannoli, they looked amazing. Her legs looked longer, more shapely. She felt herself squaring her shoulders and standing up straighter—something that would make her mom smile.

  “Those. Those are the boots.” Hudson came and stood beside her, and it was like his tongue was hanging out of his mouth. “Those are slamming.”

  “Yeah.” Even Clyde gave a thumbs up. “Add a mini-skirt and the judges will vote for you just based on style. Because you know half the points go for marketability.”

  Ugh. That was possibly true. Still, the boots were, as Hudson said, slamming.

  Brinn jumped up and down with glee. “You have to get them.”

  She did have to. These were the boots she’d known in a former life and promised to seek out in this one. They belonged to her because—

  Her eyes fell on the price tag.

  Maybe not. Her stomach dropped. “Well, maybe if I sell my mom’s car online. And win the lottery.” She sat down and unzipped the left one, pulling it off and tucking it back in its box fast. The sooner she got them out of her sight, the better. Buying them would drain half her account from her Board & Brush job savings, the savings she was supposedly amassing for college. That was especially crucial now that she wasn’t going to pass algebra II. “Has anybody seen those plain black canvas shoes?”

  “Not those!” The sour frown on Brinn’s face could have curdled milk. “You’re having the boots, so just stop it.”

  “But it’s not practical. They’d be the only shoes I could afford—for, like, ever.” She’d already gone through life with exactly one pair of shoes, and it had been a huge mistake. “Besides. I have to have something I can use for sports and stuff.”

  “You don’t play sports.”

  “I might play sports. Sometimes we talk about doing Ultimate Frisbee and stuff.”

  “Ultimate Frisbee sounds great sometime.” Hudson tugged her sleeve. “I’m awesome at that. How’s Monday after school?”

  Clyde jumped at this. “You’re named for Pete Townsend and you play Ultimate? Dude.” They were off and talking about flying plastic discs, and Oakley started looking through what was left of the shoes. Surely there had to be something that looked okay in a reasonable price range.

  “I have twenty dollars,” Brinn said, having none of Oakley’s continued search through the boxes. “I’ll pitch in.”

  “So do I,” Oakley said, frowning. “And
that will get me to about a tenth of the way there.”

  “Oh.” Brinn’s face fell. “Are you serious?”

  “As a migraine on the day of the geometry final.” A huge sigh of disappointment expanded her lungs.

  “Don’t you have some money saved up from your job? Because … those boots!”

  “That’s for college. I can’t really touch it.” She expelled the sigh, but she didn’t feel any better. “Worse, I missed work the other day at Board & Brush, and they aren’t going to pay me to not show up.”

  “I have some money.” Hudson looked over at them, acting happy and breezy. When he smiled, his cheek indented all the way from the side of his eye to his chin. It was cute. “I’ll buy them for you. Well, or at least I’ll pay you back for them later, as soon as I can get to my money.”

  What was that supposed to mean? Did he think he would still have it saved up somewhere? Maybe, if he’d left it with his parents, but he hadn’t been in touch with them. And they would have spent it by now, since they’d be assuming he was dead for over two decades.

  “You’re her credit card, heh-heh.” Clyde punched him in the arm. “Get it? Buy now, pay later.”

  He thought he was hilarious. Brinn gave him a courtesy laugh, but Oakley’s eyes locked on Hudson’s.

  “Forget it. They’re, like four hundred dollars.” Also, Oakley couldn’t help wondering where he had money, exactly, if he was a time traveler from the past, and he didn’t have it on him. “It’s too much for anyone to pay for boots.”

  “They’re worth four hundred dollars, Oaks.” Oaks! He couldn’t call her Oaks. He stepped closer, spoke lower, and sent her spine tingling. “I can see the way they make you feel … Oaks.” He winked on the nickname. She nearly groaned, wanting to tape his mouth shut so he wouldn’t say that nickname. It was like he had dirt on her now. Ugh!

  Brinn and Clyde had gone to the other side of the store to look at the running shoes, probably discussing Clyde’s obsession with Ultimate Frisbee.

  “It wouldn’t be right, Hudson.” If she took the money out, what if it didn’t get replaced? Mom would have a total Disappointment Fit. Saving for college was the whole reason she was working at Board & Brush. Being independent, learning the value of a dollar, all that. “My mom will kill me if I spend my savings on one pair of boots. Besides, I can’t ask you to buy me stuff.”

  “You didn’t ask. That’s the point. So, let’s stop arguing. Go ahead and have them rung up. I promise I have some money. I’ll get my hands on it easy peasy, and that four hundred bucks will be back in your account before anyone notices it’s gone.”

  A song came on the radio over the shoe shop’s speakers—“The Eyes Have It.” Oakley froze. She stared over at Hudson, just as Brinn started singing along to the opening line.

  “I love this song. It’s so old, but it never stopped being great.” Brinn did a little dance in front of the shoe mirror, looking at the orange pumps that Oakley had rejected and which were now on Brinn’s feet. “Say, Oakley, has anyone ever told your boyfriend that he looks just like—”

  Oakley panicked. No, no, no. No one could know that Hudson was Hudson. Not yet. Not until they had more things figured out—especially not before he’d found and contacted his family. They deserved to be the first to know. She danced over next to Brinn, trying to be cool. “Like that one guy? Tom Cruise?”

  “No.” Brinn’s eyebrows knitted together. “But, wait. Yeah. I think you’re right. A young one.” Then she leaned in closer and whispered, “He’s so good-looking. I mean, wow. If I didn’t have Clyde, I’d be all over that.”

  “Shush! He’ll hear you.”

  “I don’t care. He’s hot and he knows it.”

  “I don’t mean my boyfriend, I mean yours. Stay focused. You have a good thing going there.”

  After she said it, her own words sank in. I just called him my boyfriend. Alarm bells rang in her head.

  “Yeah, you’re right. Clyde rocks.” Brinn tilted her head in agreement, and picked up singing the song again, this time louder. Clyde joined her, and on the chorus where the harmony hits with the words the eyes have it, ay-yi-yi, they made a fairly good blend. It was cool. Maybe Brinn and Clyde really did know each other and themselves well enough to be making those huge decisions, after all.

  However, over at the cash register, a loud thunk sounded. Oakley spun around to see the cashier standing with her mouth open, and her hand open as well, like she’d just dropped something heavy. Indeed, there on the table lay a heavy pricing gun.

  She was staring at Hudson.

  “We need to get out of here.” Oakley shot over and took his elbow. She started backing him away. “You’ve been recognized.”

  Hudson obeyed her tugging and followed her toward the exit, but he stopped solidly. “What about the boots?” he said.

  “Forget the boots.” Oakley turned to go, but they didn’t get far.

  “Where are you guys going?” Brinn called, still in the orange pumps, and now dancing in Clyde’s arms.

  “Excuse me, but”—the cashier had started walking toward them, and she had one hand on her chin and another was pointing at Hudson—“wait up a second. Has anyone ever told you that you look just like someone? You’re not by chance related to a missing pop star named Hudson Oaks, are you? I was wanting to get a picture. My older sister is obsessed with him. Has been ever since the crash.”

  “Hudson Oaks!” Brinn gasped and dropped her arms from around Clyde’s neck. “That’s who he looks like!” She pointed at the cashier. “I’m so glad you said that. I totally couldn’t place him, but you’re right. He does look just like him. I saw the album cover in Oakley’s mom’s car.”

  By now, Oakley had dragged Hudson nearly out the front door. Hudson ground her to a halt. “You’re still holding the box with the boots.”

  The alarm beeped as they stepped out of the store, and Oakley bounded back in. “Oh, uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to, uh …”

  “No relation,” she said. “Brinn, buy those for me, would you?” She tossed her debit card into Brinn’s hand and shoved the box with the boots into Brinn’s arms. “The pin number is one-two-three-four.”

  She was doing it. Again. She was buying ridiculously expensive footwear. She made a promise to the Universe, if not to Mom, that she’d take excellent care of them and never buy another pair of shoes until these had served their full measure of existence.

  “Oh, that’s just brilliant.” Brinn rolled her eyes at Oakley’s stupid-easy pin and then shrugged. “Fine. See you later. Good shoe choice. And guy choice.”

  Oakley couldn’t get Hudson out of there fast enough. They blew through the exit, but Oakley could still hear Brinn call, “I’ll bring these by your house later.”

  When they were out of the shopping center, they broke into a run. Oakley led him down a tree-lined street to a park she used to go to as a kid. She plopped down in a swing. At least no one here—the ten-and-under crowd—would start making connections about Hudson’s identity.

  “Thanks. That was close.” He sat in the swing beside hers. “I know it’s awkward if I get recognized, due to the, you know, time travel thing, but why the five-alarm fire?”

  This was obvious to Oakley, but she hadn’t told Hudson her major fear. “I don’t want anyone to figure out who you are before your family knows you’re back.” She dug her toes into the sand beneath the swing. “Hearing about it on the news or on social media might hurt them, you know? Actually, we might be risking exposure just by going anywhere that people your age might be. Your real age. School is fine, since the kids won’t remember you, most of them.”

  “Brinn did.”

  “Brinn’s the girlfriend of Clyde. Clyde is obsessed with music. She has to go along with his main hobby, or at least be familiar with it.”

  “And he didn’t recognize me.”

  “He thinks you’re Pete Townsend.”

  “For now. Until he does some detective work.” Hudson kicked some sand. “If I
knew how to hire a private investigator, I’d do it. I’d get someone to find my family.”

  A private investigator? Why hadn’t she thought of that before? Then she wouldn’t have to wait for Sherm’s return, which seemed nebulous anyway, plus she could be as independent as Mom was always encouraging her to be. Solving her own problems and helping Hudson would be great.

  “Hudson. You’re brilliant.” Oakley’s mind flew into high gear. She grabbed the chain on Hudson’s swing. “You know, maybe we can.”

  ***

  “Holy Moesha, a private eye is expensive.” Oakley pushed the rolling desk chair away from the computer screen and slid a couple of feet across the kitchen floor. “I’d have to sell my boots, empty my bank account, and quit school to work full time at Board & Brush. Then we could afford it in twenty years.”

  She was talking aloud, but only to herself. Mom had taken Hudson outside to show him an oak tree she’d planted in his honor—which Oakley hadn’t known about—the week they’d moved into this house.

  She looked back at her computer.

  Weren’t there any other free online sites for finding lost people? Over the past few days, she’d scrolled through People Hunter, People Digger, Sleuth, and a dozen others site that crawled the web looking for addresses and names on public utility records all over the country. Nada.

  “What did you find?” Hudson came back into the study, an apple in hand. He paused when he saw her frown of dejection. “Didn’t you say the internet is now totally magical and you can find anything?”

  She had in fact made that foolish promise. “I’m afraid your family doesn’t want to be found.”

  “So we hire a private investigator. You did tell me that was a brilliant idea.”

  She’d made that foolish promise as well. “Turns out they’re super expensive. More than boots. Check it out.” She pointed to the number on the screen, the one with five digits. “We could check some of the free sites again. Or maybe Mom would spring for a paid subscription to one of the people hunter sites.”

  Those were expensive, too. She knew Mom’s salary wouldn’t cover something like that, and Oakley wasn’t about to ask Sherm to fork over the cash.