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

by Jennifer Griffith

  “Yeah? Where’d you dig up something like that?” Hudson’s voice sounded strained, and Oakley shot him a look.

  “In an archive on the deep web.” Clyde shrugged and chomped on some Doritos.

  “The deep web? What’s that, websites run by the mafia?” Oakley laughed it off, but she was probably not convincing anyone, even herself. “You gotta be careful online, man.”

  “Duh, it’s, you know, stuff after the first ten results on Google.”

  Oh. Right. Best place to hide anything in the world.

  “Hey,” Brinn said, coming over as the girl-crowd had dispersed since Hudson’s show was over. “Isn’t that the band where the lead singer looked just like Pete? Before he died, I mean.”

  “I don’t think they look alike.” Oakley couldn’t control the tremor in her voice. “At all.”

  “Nah. You’re wrong.” Brinn wound her arm through Clyde’s. She liked being physically clingy, even though she wasn’t the least bit emotionally clingy as a girlfriend. “I looked at a picture online last night, and that sales clerk was right. Hudson Oaks and Pete Townsend could be twins born twenty years apart, you know?”

  Twenty-three. Oakley tried to swallow, but a lump too large to go down had formed. How was she going to throw Brinn off the trail? They needed to hurry up and find Hudson’s family before all the world knew of his resurrection except them.

  “What did you find?” Hudson looked a little nervous. “It’s a set of chords I made up just now I’ve never heard anywhere else myself.” When he said this, the side of his eye twitched. It was the same twitch Oakley had noticed when Hudson had told the lie about his name being Pete in the first place. The white lie twitch.

  “Oh, it’s just this super lame song I found—never released officially by the label, but someone had pirated it, and I heard it a few times. A bad copy.”

  “You mean the sound quality was bad?” Alarm made Oakley’s voice quaver, but she needed to know. If the recording was scratchy enough, maybe no one would attribute the album to Girl Crazy, and Hudson could deny ownership of it. “There are terrible recordings of famous band wannabes all over the place. You have to take them with a grain of salt.”

  “No, the sound quality was excellent. No question these were the Girl Crazy voices. I know my nineties bands.” Clyde could have blown on his knuckles and rubbed them on his collar at this point. “What I mean is the lyrics were so lame you get the stomach flu from just hearing them.”

  He’d found the actual song, no question, if that was the description. Oakley’s heart fell into her stomach.

  “But none of that matters because seriously, guys,”—he turned to Hudson—“the chord progression was super interesting. I spent like three weeks last year trying to master it, but I never could. Too tricky. And then here Pete can do it one second. Yeehaw!”

  Every word from Clyde made the lump in Oakley’s throat grow bigger until she could barely breathe or talk. “We should go,” she choked out. “The bell’s going to ring. We’ll be tardy.”

  “No, I want to hear what else Clyde says about this song. There’s time.” Hudson laced his fingers through hers, an action she was powerless against. “Do you have it on your smarty phone?”

  “Absolutely. I downloaded it, man.” Clyde was already pulling out his phone and loading up a file. “But dude. Why do you call it that? Nobody says smarty phone. You sound like a dork.”

  Hudson squeezed Oakley’s hand while Clyde searched for the song. Their eyes met, and Oakley wasn’t sure she saw fear, exactly, but Hudson’s nerves were definitely stretched.

  At last, Clyde found the song.

  “Don’t hate on me for showing it to you.” He turned up the volume on the side and held it out, the tinny noise from the speaker still allowing them to hear the song. “Just ignore the lyrics and listen to the music.”

  Oh, Oakley heard it all right. And it was as horrid as everything Hudson had promised, right down to the buffet cart number three phrase. The only thing that made it at all bearable—and not stomach-flu-inducing as Clyde had warned—was the background melody and orchestration. Those were killer good.

  However, Hudson’s grip slowly tightened on her hand with every passing line of the song.

  “That is more cheese than the whole state of Wisconsin.” Brinn made a gagging sound. “Every line is like a thirty-pound block.”

  “I think we should let it stay on the deep web, dude.” Hudson tried to wave it away. “It’s pretty gruesome.”

  “Aw, come on. The sound is good,” Clyde whined a little as he put the phone away. “You have to admit that.”

  “I don’t think Hudson is going to admit anything,” Oakley said, standing to go, wishing she could run for her life. “What?”

  Oakley looked around and all eyes were on her. Hudson had squeezed her hand so hard she might have cried out. Clyde and Brinn’s mouths hung open.

  “What? Did I say something wrong?” She replayed her last phrase in her mind. Hudson. She’d called him by his real name.

  ***

  School was finally out, and Oakley had shut off her phone to avoid the barrage of texts coming from Brinn and Clyde. Clyde, being the music aficionado, had just as big of a bro-crush on Hudson all of a sudden as every freshman girl had shown him during his guitar display at lunch.

  I knew it! I knew it! was the content of the first twenty texts from Brinn. But then they got darker. How could you not tell me?

  Oakley didn’t know how to answer Brinn’s initial angry texts, and she also didn’t want the word to get out, so she couldn’t confirm or deny. There could be no leaks. Not any—not until they found Hudson’s family.

  She had hated lying to Brinn, though, and she’d never actively avoided her best friend in her life. She felt awful inside.

  Clyde’s were more skeptical. You might think you know who he is, but I hope you’re being careful. And I can’t caution you enough. You’re not spending time alone with him, are you? And then he started quoting lyrics. It’s like that “Every Breath You Take” song from the ’80s. Is he watching you when you breathe?

  She almost responded to that one, but she stormed out to her car instead. Hudson was there waiting, and she headed for Board & Brush, her insides roiling. The truth could not get out! She had to keep it safe. She’d never met Hudson’s family, but she refused to let them be hurt further if it was in her power to prevent it.

  Even if it meant lying.

  Oakley tore through the streets of Wood River, coming to the area with the stoplights, and finally pressed the brake.

  “Hey, watch it,” another driver called to her. “There are people here, not just you and your hurtling car of death.”

  Hudson reached over and placed a hand on her arm. “It’s not a big deal, Oaks.” The light turned green. “I am who I am, whether the world knows it or not.”

  “I don’t want them to know yet, okay?”

  Didn’t he get it, how much it would hurt his family if they had to find out that he’d been spotted from some dubious tabloid report via a Wood River student? They might be used to it by now, or they might not. If Oakley was a mom or a sister or a friend of a missing person, she’d never give up. She’d follow every scrap of a lead—just like Mom had.

  If they found out he was around and hadn’t come to them first, they’d be crushed.

  If they were still alive.

  “Okay, okay,” he said in a soothing baritone. “I just want us to get home alive.”

  “I can’t go home.” She huffed in exasperation. “I have to go to my job. Board & Brush is right here.”

  They wheeled into the parking lot of Board & Brush, heading to the staff area out back. She hadn’t found a sub to take her shift, so they’d had to postpone their trip in Sherm’s truck to find Hudson’s imaginary money stash for another day. Having integrity was something Oakley was working on, and showing up to work had to be part of that.

  “You can either come inside and wait, do some homework or w
hatever, or else you can go home and come back to get me later. Or I can walk. I usually walk.”

  “That’s what you were doing when you found me.” Hudson reached over and pressed a hand to her knee. “It’s pouring rain. You can’t walk.”

  The memory of that day less than a week ago poured over her, and she almost forgot to lock her car doors as she got out.

  “I’ve complicated your life, Oakley. I’m sorry.”

  “You have. But I wouldn’t want it any other way. It’s a good complicated.”

  “Let me make it up to you somehow.”

  “You already offered to buy me boots.”

  “That’s not compensation. That’s stuff. Material things don’t count.”

  “I do really love these boots.”

  “Yeah, now that you mention it, that’s just one more thing I need to compensate you for. I didn’t think he’d consider it cheating, since we said we were going to do the test together. We told him up front what we were doing, and he was okay with it at the time.”

  Oakley wished she’d thought of that argument and had it at the ready for the teacher when she’d been accused, but then again, it was better this way. She’d taken the test on her own skills now, and she learned that DiConcini had a mercy streak. She liked him more. She liked algebra a little more, too. A C-minus wasn’t tragic. She’d study harder for this coming Friday’s test.

  “Well, maybe you can sing for his wife sometime. He told me she really digs all the Girl Crazy songs.”

  “Why would that have come up?” Hudson looked a little scared, as if he assumed Oakley had gone around telling the school teachers his identity.

  “Oh, it’s not what you’re thinking. I didn’t tell him who you were. He’d seen my audition online singing ‘Sweet Sixteen,’ and I told him you sing. He said his wife loved that song.” He also said I’d gotten it together onstage after a while. That thought gave her almost as much confidence as the boots did. “So I may have offered to have you sing for her sometime.” Oakley cringed. What right did she have to go making offers or promises like that on Hudson’s behalf?

  “I’d love to, actually.” He pulled a smile. The air between them evened out, and Oakley’s heart rate slowed to a more normal pace. Everything was going to be fine, even if Brinn and Clyde knew who Hudson really was.

  “How are we going to explain what happened and how it is that you’re you?” They’d left with no explanation of the time slip.

  “I don’t know. They’ll understand. I mean, if Sherm believed you, and he’s a trained lawyer, your friends totally will.”

  Oakley wasn’t sure. Clyde might be a bit of an artistic type when it came to music, but he also had his sights set on a mechanical engineering degree at Winston-Salem College, and he wasn’t known for gullibility, even when it was based on truth. The skepticism force was strong with that one.

  It was almost three thirty, start time at her job. “This is my stop.” She opened her door and offered Hudson the keys. “You want to go home or come in?”

  “I’ll come in.” He grinned. “I haven’t had a chance to carve anything in a long time.”

  Carve anything! He carved stuff?

  ***

  Three hours later, Oakley’s shift was over and they’d gone back to Oakley’s kitchen. She should have been starving at this time of day. However, her whole being was fascinated by the item Hudson held in his hands that he’d hidden until they arrived home, and she barely noticed the snacks on the counter top.

  “It’s so intricate,” she said, a little breathless. He’d chosen a four-by-four wood block he’d picked up out of the scrap pile and worked on using a straight chisel, a v-parting tool, and a shallow straight-edge gouge. What it became, in his surprisingly skilled hand, was a beautiful leaf.

  “It’s for you.” He pressed it into her hand. It was warm in her palm, while the back of her hand was cool against the granite countertop.

  “It’s an oak leaf.”

  “Of course.”

  The curves of the edges of the leaf looked like the fallen leaves in Sherm’s front yard, and the veins spidering across the face of the leaf made it look so real that if she hadn’t held it in her hand and felt the weight, she could have been fooled by it.

  “How did you learn to do this?”

  “Didn’t I tell you? My dad is a wood carver.”

  “No.” Oakley would have loved to know that. “I don’t carve, but I do furniture refinishing. I used to go to Board and Brush every Saturday to work on refinishing projects.” The whole staff had gotten to know her, which was how she’d gotten the job after school, and why she hated that she’d been so unreliable the past few days. The people at Board & Brush were like family.

  “Like your coffee table? Your mom told me you gave her that.”

  “Yeah.” Oakley stared down at the carved oak leaf in her hand, its little stem perfectly formed. “You did this so quickly.”

  “It’s a subject I’ve carved a few times before and tried to perfect. My family’s last name is Oaks, after all.” He winked. “You should know that as well as I do myself, Oakley.”

  Oakley’s mind went another direction. Hudson’s dad taught him carving. What would Derek have taught me if he’d been in my life? As a forest ranger, that meant he was a tree person, right? Maybe she’d come to her love of woodwork by genetics. What if he’d been there for her? What if she’d known about his likes and dislikes, his talents, his health history? What if—

  “Say, I didn’t tell you about this line I came up with.” Hudson interrupted her thoughts, bringing her back from the precipice of if. He dug a handwritten note out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Check it out.”

  Give me a sign, give me a sign, show me you care, open my mind.

  “Oh, I get it.” She hummed a little. “Does it go right after the first line of the bridge to the third chorus?”

  “Yeah. You get it.”

  She sang the melody right there adding Hudson’s words, “Give me a sign, give me a sign, show me you care, open my mind—and my heart.” She added and hung on the word heart. “It works perfectly as a bridge.”

  “Right? I hoped you’d say that.” Hudson beamed like a kid who’d just learned to balance on a bicycle.

  Dinner smelled amazing, but Oakley forgot about it and went straight to the piano. “Your line goes with the new idea I have for the chorus—I think. What do you think?” Oakley found the right key and added the two lines she’d come up with at the beginning of algebra class. “Your kisses, your kisses, light up my life. Take me to the place of the deep, silver sigh.”

  “Ooh, the place of the deep, silver sigh. I like that.” Hudson slid an arm around her waist. “I’d like to be there now.”

  “We can’t, Hudson,” she managed, pulling away.

  “I know. You’re under Sherm’s watchful eye.”

  “You know what I mean. We can’t. Really.”

  “Ever?” he asked. Then he cleared his throat, as if retracting his offer, as if trying to pass it off as a joke when she’d rejected him. “I’m just letting you know your lyrics portray exactly how the song feels.”

  Oakley’s lips tingled. The wisp of his breath against her neck set her skin afire. She couldn’t let the lyrics make her feel anything.

  “Uh, we’d better sing.” Singing was much safer. “Let’s try it from the top.”

  Hudson played the chords on the piano, and Oakley stumbled through the new words they’d added. Improvising, she threw in a final line to the chorus. “I’ll always save my best self for you.”

  It fit. It wasn’t perfect yet. But the rhythm worked. The song was coming together. The worst song in the world might actually be salvageable.

  “Have I mentioned how much I love to hear you sing?” He plinked out the melody of that line again, and humming intermittently. “That’s perfect. The voice and the line.”

  Her fingers momentarily turned to jello, and she dropped her phone. Just like that line from “Lu
nch Lady.” She had to lean over and pick it up.

  “Uh, yeah. So we’re getting close now. Just one last verse and a final fade-out line.” She smiled at him, hoping he wouldn’t see how nervous he was making her, but sure it was written in Day-Glo color on her face. “So far I really think your band mates would have been happy with this stuff you’ve written.”

  “You mean we’ve written. What’s next, O lyricist-guru girl?”

  “Lyricist-guru girl!” She snorted, but the doorbell rang. “It’s better than the nickname Oaks.” She was still laughing a little at the name until she opened the door and saw a very wet, very mad Brinn standing on the doorstep.

  “You lied to me.” She turned and stomped off.

  ***

  A few minutes later, after Oakley had grabbed her rain gear and jogged in the direction she thought Brinn would go, Oakley spotted Brinn at the park down the street, where they always went to talk. Hudson had tagged along. He’d be able to help with the explanation, she hoped. Unless his presence made it worse. There was no telling. Oakley hated this wedge her lie had created between her and her best friend.

  The rain was still falling, but only like mist, rather than splashing down in torrents like it had earlier. Across the park, under their usual tree, sat Brinn. Oakley hurdled a large puddle and went over to her.

  “She looks mad,” Hudson said, filling the air with the obvious. He’d insisted on coming, even though Oakley had told him she’d handle it. Brinn had melted down over a perceived lie in the past, and Oakley had finessed it until Brinn had calmed down.

  The only difference was this time Oakley had lied.

  The tops of her ears burned. But she could do this.

  “Hey, Brinn.” It was dark out already, and the only light was a slanting blue-white glow from the street lamp near the volleyball nets.

  “Hey, Lying McLiarson.” She had her arms folded over her chest and a defiant tilt to her chin. “Oh, look. And you’ve brought along Exhibit A.”

  Oakley clenched her teeth for a second. But her feet were dry in these boots, and she felt taller, more capable in them. In fact, the newfound capability told her what she should say.