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

by Jennifer Griffith

  Little did Brinn know, Hudson had a lot to lose.

  They arrived at Oakley’s house, all of them saturated despite the rain’s lightness. Some rain could drench, and other rain could penetrate. This one just oozed into all their clothes and skin and hair like a sauna, only cold.

  Clyde had Hudson’s attention again, and they were talking chord changes and guitar riffs. It gave Oakley a second to reconnect with Brinn under the porch’s rain protection.

  “Thanks for telling me, Oakley.” Brinn gave her a hug.

  “We good?”

  “We’re good.” She smirked. “I understand now why you had to keep it from me. It makes sense. Clyde and me won’t breathe a word, at least until Hudson finds his parents. They deserve to know first.”

  “Thanks, Brinn.”

  Brinn grinned. “But after you find the family, I want a whole memory card full of selfies with the two of you, okay?”

  Oakley chuckled. “You got it.” They hugged again, and Oakley breathed a huge sigh of relief. Everything was good again in Friendland. “See you tomorrow.”

  Brinn stopped Oakley from going in, though. “Hey, did I hear Hudson say something about live TV? Does that mean your callback is going to be shown during the broadcast?”

  Oakley explained the situation—and how her future hung in the balance in a matter of days.

  “Who’s the other contestant with the same audition score?”

  “I don’t know. But I have to really smash the pre-broadcast song or I won’t be on the show. The live audience’s reaction is the thing that decides whether I’m on or off.”

  “Wow.” Brinn shook her head. “I guess you should have told me this sooner.”

  “Why?”

  “So Clyde and I can figure out how to get tickets to be in the audience and scream our fool heads off for your pre-show performance. This is so amazing!” Brinn went into another jumping-hug thing, almost jarring Oakley’s head off her neck. “This is so, so amazing. You’re totally going to make the world listen. What are you going to sing?”

  Before she could answer, both Brinn and Clyde’s phones buzzed synchronized mom-texts demanding return to their own homes. Brinn gave Oakley one last hug.

  “Your life has gone from Z to A in no time flat. I credit the boots.”

  She would. “I didn’t get them until day before yesterday.”

  “Whatever. Now that we know time is so slippery, it probably worked with retroactive awesomeness.”

  Nice logic.

  Brinn and Clyde ran off into the misty night.

  Inside the house, Oakley and Hudson took off their wet jackets and went into the kitchen.

  “I’ll make us some hot cocoa,” Oakley offered, but Hudson seemed far away. She put the kettle on anyway. “It will warm you up and help you think.”

  Out of nowhere he said, “I can’t put it off any longer. I need to go to Portland tomorrow.”

  “Portland? I thought we had established that you didn’t need to find that money, since Sherm can do the people search.” She thought she’d heard him say Sherm would handle the research. Hadn’t he said that? Even though Sherm’s earlier search had turned up zilch?

  “No. I know where Al’s family lives.” His mouth formed a tight line. “At least where they did live. Brinn’s right. They’re the key to finding mine.”

  Scene 14: “Something to Hide”

  The highway ribboned out in front of them as they headed toward Portland. When the sun shone like this, and the trees sparkled in their autumn colors after the night’s rain, Oakley couldn’t imagine living anywhere better than Oregon. It really was the prettiest countryside on earth.

  “I think it’s brave of you to do this.” Oakley knew it was costing him something. “I wish it were easy, but it might never be.”

  Hudson shrugged. “It solves two problems at once.”

  “Two?”

  “We see Al’s family, if they’re still there, which I’m sure they will be, or at least some of them.”

  “And the other?”

  “I get my strongbox. The one with the bonds in it.”

  “Bonds.” What did bonds mean? And she wasn’t sure what a strong box was, either, although that was easier to picture. “Sorry, but I don’t get it.”

  “I turned all my money from my bank account from cash into twenty-year bonds. That way, if someone else found them, they’d be kind of useless, at least for a while. I saw it as a theft deterrent. Also as a way for me to have a little self-control, and prevent me from being like other celebs and buying junk like planes.”

  Something from an economics lecture Sherm had given Oakley rang a bell. Bonds were like money, but more like future money. In a way they were the opposite of a credit card. Buy now at one price, pay a little more later was a credit card. Delayed payment for instant gratification. But bonds were like You buy one now, the government pays you MORE later. Instant payment, delayed gratification, but with a guaranteed return.

  “Sounds pretty smart, Hudson.”

  “I’m not always a stupid idiot. Besides, Roman might not have known it at the time that I did it, but I was following his advice.”

  “You said something about a strong box? How strong? Like impervious to light and heat?”

  “It’s a strongbox. It’s like a safe. Anyway, I put my bonds in the strongbox and buried them in Al’s back yard.”

  So that was what he put in the back yard. A box of money. It dawned on Oakley why this trip was important. He could get information on his parents’ whereabouts, and then he could take them the money he felt so much like he owed them. Now that Oakley knew more of the story, she could see why this mattered so much.

  “Did the family know you did this?”

  “Not really. His little brother was convinced it was a body for a while when I was digging the hole, until I showed him the size of the box and he realized it could only be a dead cat, and he approved of that. He liked dogs and hated cats.” He smirked. “I didn’t point out to him that it could also have been a small dog like a chihuahua.”

  “I like cats.”

  “So do I. But dogs too. But I wasn’t burying either—that’s the point. It was worth a lot more than a dead pet.”

  “So, what you’re saying is you have money. In a box. In a yard you may or may not be able to find in a town you’ve only been to a handful of times, and at a residence that may or may not belong to the person who owned it when you buried it twenty-three years ago. It’s a long shot.”

  “Maybe, but I have to try it. If Al’s family is there, I can’t ignore that they might know where my family is. Brinn said mourners bond together. She might be right.”

  Oakley sighed and looked out at the passing trees.

  “What?” Hudson asked. “You okay?”

  “It’s just that I never thought I’d be searching for buried treasure with a time-traveling pop star instead of taking a PSAT prep test.”

  “Life with me is always going to be exciting, Oakley. I promise.”

  Life with him? Her heart skipped, like a rock tossed across a still pond. He was still hinting that he’d pondered a future with her? He’d done that once before. Again she warmed, like she’d just had a sip of hot cocoa, but then she realized he meant it with a breezy wave of his hand. It was his charm talking, not his sincerity.

  “You’re going to have troubles for missing more school,” Hudson said, his mouth a grimace. “Sorry.”

  “I can bounce back.” Oakley didn’t technically know whether that was true. At this rate, she might as well give up on her hopes of becoming part of the top ten percent of her graduating class in a couple of years.

  She’d explained the time urgency to Sherm, and to her utter shock, he’d allowed her to skip school. Time was of the essence, and he got that.

  Besides, if Al’s family really could give Hudson a clue to finding his family, the sooner they got it, the better. Thursday Hudson and Oakley were going to Seattle to the TV station. For a music show.
Oakley would be naïve if she expected no one in the music industry to recognize Hudson. And there would be far too many TV cameras on hand. Just being there put him in danger of being spotted and recognized—and put his family in danger of finding out about his return the wrong way.

  The last thing Oakley wanted to do was cause his family more pain.

  “Maybe you should skip going with me to the TV show.” Logic told her the risk wasn’t worth it, no matter how much having him at her side would help her keep her nerve.

  “You don’t want me there?” Hudson looked stricken. “I thought we had a teamwork thing going on, you and I.”

  “We do. It’s just—well, you can’t be seen.”

  “I know, I know. It’s a solo thing, not a duet thing. We established that.”

  “I mean,” she said, “that unless we find your family before Thursday, you can’t be among all those music industry people. They’ll out you, and your family will learn about you in the worst way possible—from gossipmongers.”

  Hudson leaned his head back and exhaled loudly. For a while he kept his eyes on the road.

  Hudson gripped the wheel of Sherm’s truck. He’d also loaned Hudson a metal detector. He was being extra nice this morning, and Oakley couldn’t help finding his niceness nice. On days like today, Sherm really did act like a dad, not a stepdad.

  “I see what you mean,” Hudson said at last. “So that just means I have to find them today. Or tomorrow.”

  And that was all the time they had, or else she’d have to go it alone at the TNRS audition. Was she up for that? Would the frogs come back to live in her throat? Ever since she’d been singing with Hudson and writing lyrics together, the frogs hadn’t invaded once. Had Hudson’s presence exterminated them?

  Meanwhile, Oakley was trying to do some homework, but not getting much done. Her mind kept screaming back to the stress points of her life, including the fact she still didn’t know what song she was going to perform in the pre-show or in the show itself, should she get chosen.

  “I need to pick a song.” Two days remained. “If I don’t pick a song soon, I know I’m going to fall back on something lame.”

  “Lame? Like what? And if you say ‘The Eyes Have It’ and call that lame, I’m stealing all your french fries at lunch.”

  “Fine. I will protect my fries and not say ‘The Eyes Have It.’” Despite her joking tone, Oakley did deeply fear getting trapped into singing some pop song everyone was sick of, like by Jerica Jones. She had the worst lyrics but the catchiest tunes. Everything she sang was the modern equivalent of “Achy Breaky Heart”—a song that she’d hummed and Hudson had groaned at. All Jerica’s songs became victims of severe overplay. However, Oakley’s range matched hers, and she could picture herself getting wedged into that space at the last minute.

  The horror, the horror.

  “We went through a lot of songs on Sunday night that sounded great. You could pick any one of them and be amazing.” He beamed at her. “I mean it.”

  She appreciated his confidence in her, but it didn’t solve her problem.

  “Oh, here’s the turn-off.”

  Hudson exited the highway on one of the first dirt roads that seemed like town after the national forest ended between Wood River and Portland. The weeds had grown high between the dirt-worn ruts, and it was clear why a truck was necessary for this trip.

  “This is pretty dense forest. Are you sure you can find it?”

  “Yes, if I can remember which street. Once I get that, I’ll know the house, no question.”

  As they navigated the overgrown area, Oakley saw it was distinctly run down. Trailers spaced out on five-acre parcels were parked without even having stylish skirting around them. The wheels showed on most of them. There were a lot of defunct trucks and vehicles with one door open, some with vines growing up over them. It was like a swamp was trying to suck all of the houses down into it, even though this was too chilly to qualify as a swamp climate.

  “Are you sure this is where Al’s family lived?” It looked so unlikely. And uninhabitable. Like Venus. Or Antarctica. If they were the family of someone making money hand over fist, would they have lived here? “Maybe it’s changed over the years.”

  A pack of dogs roamed into the road, no collars, their tongues hanging out, a wild and hungry look in their eyes. Oakley caught her breath and grabbed the front of the truck’s dash.

  “Nope. Same exact place. Right down to that rusting tractor over there. See why I wouldn’t forget it?”

  Yeah. Totally.

  Hudson seemed to be counting, and after a few more skeletal homesteads, he put on his blinker toward a canary-yellow and teal double-wide. It reminded Oakley of a place she and Mom had rented when Mom lost her second job while she was finishing school. They’d moved out of town to a remote place like this, and Mom had painted it bright colors for cheer. The landlord hadn’t charged them for the damage, thank goodness.

  “This is it. See?”

  See what? Oakley peeled her eyes. All she could see was an old piano leaning against the side of what looked like a rusty shed. Oh. Piano.

  “Al played the piano.”

  “Alfonzo. Yep.” He put the truck in park. “That’s his piano. They brought it from Seattle.” He stared at the junk heap, the weather-beaten piano and the other piles of stuff. “I think they were trying to lure him home. He liked the countryside more than the city. He also really preferred the actual piano to electronic ones. But the only way to get a sound loud enough to compete with the guitars and drums and screams of the crowd at that time was the synthesizer. Plus, it was the sound of the time.”

  She got that. Pop songs with synthesizers had blasted through Oakley’s living rooms in every place she’d ever lived, thanks to Mom.

  “Did it work? Did he come back to them?” Oakley asked this without thinking, and then wished she could swallow back her words. “I’m sorry. I guess there are a lot of regrets in this life.”

  “Yeah.”

  Looking around at all the fallen pipes and metal I-beams and corrugated steel, plus the abundant undergrowth beneath the canopy of pines and deciduous trees, she wondered how the metal detector would even help. And whether the owners would even let Hudson try.

  But before she could wonder more, he was at the front door. Oakley had to jog to meet back up with him on the metal steps. In no time, a brisk whoosh sounded. Someone pulled it open.

  “What do you want?” A scowling, middle-aged man poked his droopy mustache out of the screen door. Oakley grasped the metal handrail. That scowl was enough to knock her flat.

  “I’m looking for Barnard.”

  “Who’s asking?” This had to be Barnard. That was the kind of evasive question the wanted person always asked on TV. “I don’t know anything, and I’m sick of being asked. What, now they got teenagers doing their dirty work for them?”

  Who did this guy think she and Hudson were? Paparazzi? A collections agency? The IRS? Truthfully, Barnard did smack of tax evasion. And a heavy sorrow.

  “Barnard. You don’t recognize me.”

  Barnard went on a diatribe. His words’ content seemed hick-town, to match his digs, but he had a distinct Northwest Coastal accent. Like he’d just gotten off his shift at Starbucks and shaken the rain out of his hipster jacket before moving into this rain-rusted hovel.

  “Of course I do. You’re another look-alike, sent to get me to talk. But I won’t. I’m not going to sully the memory of my brother.” He spat this. “Not with any reality TV show offers, not with any promise of money after I spill the beans for a tell-all book your puppeteer boss is hawking to make cash off my famous brother. He was a good kid, and that’s all I’ll tell you, just like I told all the others. Although, I have to say, they’re getting a lot better at picking the doppelgängers these days. You’re a humdinger for that kid I could kick to the moon if I ever actually saw him again. Good thing for him he’s dead.”

  Oakley’s eyes peeled wide and she had to continue to gr
ip the handrail to keep herself standing. This Barnard guy clearly didn’t want to see Hudson. In fact, he’d probably do him harm.

  “Don’t you think we ought to go?” she asked in the most hushed voice she could create. “He’s not interested in helping you.”

  “That’s darn right!” But Barnard didn’t say darn. “Now, get out before I make you get out.”

  “But Barnard. I’m here for my box.”

  “Your box. What on earth are you messing with my mind about?” But at the words my box, Barnard’s demeanor had instantly changed. “Nobody around here has a box but one person. And that person’s dead. Long dead.” His eyes narrowed on Hudson.

  “It’s my box, Barnard. And only you and I know about it. Nobody else on earth. Unless you told somebody.”

  “Not me.”

  “Not me, either.”

  This had to be true, with the exception of Oakley. Hudson had been dead. Sort of. For twenty-three years and a week.

  “I don’t tell anybody anything. Do you see where I live? I don’t talk to anyone.”

  “Not even on a smarty phone?” There Hudson went, sounding like a dork again, as Clyde said. “Everyone uses them these days, I hear.”

  “Do you think the government is going to spend the cash to install cell phone reception to a place like this? I’m the only one living out this far anymore. Well, me and the dog packs.”

  As if on cue, somewhere within a few hundred yards hounds started baying. And it was true that the rest of the trailers on this road had looked abandoned. Barnard might in fact be the lone human resident in this post-apocalyptic region.

  “Then if only you know and one other person knows, it’s probably me. And I’m probably who you don’t want me to be.” Hudson leaned in and eyed Barnard. Barnard’s mustache twitched. Oakley held her breath. Hudson said, “And even if it’s completely impossible, I think you know the truth.”

  “You can’t be.”

  “I am.”

  Barnard’s eyes narrowed. His face bunched up, his mustache hiding his mouth completely, and covering the lower part of his nose. “You are. You are?”

  “I am.” Hudson shrugged. He didn’t pull his blinding grin, like Oakley would have expected. He looked sober as a priest. “And I need your help.”