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

by Jennifer Griffith

  A light switched on, and she saw the applaud now sign light up. As if a dam had burst, the crowd went crazy. Did this mean they didn’t hate her for choosing the worn out Jerica Jones song? Or did it mean they were being paid to applaud?

  No, from the hoots and screams of approval that went along with the clapping, she’d say that … they … liked her performance.

  Audience approval, check.

  But the judges’ votes remained. Oakley could hardly breathe, and it wasn’t simply a result of that high note.

  For the first time, the lights angled out of her eyes, and she could see the judging table. She scanned the faces, all of which looked familiar. But the only thing she wanted to know was this: was Roman Levy serving as judge tonight?

  And to her immense relief, no. No sign existed of his spray-tan, glitz-glasses, or Botoxed forehead.

  Without Roman Levy on the judging panel, Oakley just might make it.

  Troy’s voice called for the judges to begin their commentary and votes. “Let’s start with judge Nils.”

  “Wow, Oakley M. You really knocked my socks off.” The narrow-faced judge with the man bun and skinny tie gave his forehead a palm slap. “If you’d asked me this morning, I would have told you I never wanted to hear that song again. But now, after your performance, I can’t wait to pop it back onto my playlist. You’re a yes for me.”

  A yes? She’d gotten a yes vote! One down! A squeal of happiness snaked up her throat, but she caught it and shoved it back down.

  “Thanks, Sir Nils.”

  “That’s just Nils. I haven’t been knighted.” He patted out the laughter before adding a non-humble, “Yet.”

  Next, Troy called for the female judge with the Australian accent, the former girl band star from the eighties.

  “I once went to an Olivia Newton-John concert, and she has a range, you know, from here to the moon, and you could have opened for her with that song.”

  “Thank you,” Oakley whispered and then remembered she wasn’t supposed to comment during the judges’ remarks. How could she not show gratitude for that response, though? The Olivia Newton-John compliment sent Oakley soaring to the rafters to meet her high note where it still probably was hanging out.

  “No, Oakley, thank you for blessing us with your voice.” She beamed. “That’s a yes for me.” The big light on the front of her desk glowed green. “And I love your boots, by the way. Those are intensely gorgeous. You’ll have to let me borrow them sometime. Like when we’re both going to the Grammys.”

  Another yes! Oakley couldn’t believe it. And a vote for the Boots of Amazingness. Which she would never share, not even with that Aussie judge.

  Holy macaroni and cheese. She’d been given two yes nods—which was far better than she’d ever dreamed, considering her rocky start a week or so ago. Man, the students at Wood River High School had been so wrong about her—and that fact tasted like ambrosia. If they ever saw this performance, they would never dream of calling her Shoe Girl again.

  They could call her Boot Girl all day long, though. And they might.

  The final judge tapped his pen on the desk. “You improvised the lyrics.”

  “Yes, sir.” Oakley gulped. Was that against the rules of the show? She should have looked that up. Was her performance somehow a violation of some written or unwritten rule in the music world? Fear sent a heat wave down her spine. “I was singing to someone special. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Okay?” he said. “Okay?” His voice went up a notch, and Oakley wished she could take off her faux fur jacket because one more second of his inquisition would soak it with her terror sweat for sure. He slammed his fist on the desk. “It was more than okay. It was touching. It was, dare I say, tender.”

  The microphone picked up Oakley’s huge sigh of relief, the loud expulsion of breath. “Oh, thank you.”

  “It’s a mondo, huge-a-licious yes from me.”

  Three yes votes. She was in! No doubt. A fourth judge, the teen idol, shouted to the emcee over the roar of the crowd. “I’m a yes too, Troy.” His desk lit up green.

  Troy the announcer shouted over the screams of the crowd. “Folks, that’s a unanimous vote from our judging panel. Four yeses makes it certain that Oakley M. from Oregon goes on to the finals for The Next Radio Star!”

  Shock sent pulsations through her chest and fingertips. She’d made it, she’d become a finalist on The Next Radio Star. On a jumbo television screen being broadcast from the friends and family room, in beamed the faces of Mom and Sherm, as well as Hudson’s parents and sister, plus Brinn and Clyde. How Mom and Sherm had made arrangements to come, she had no idea, but there they stood, alternately jumping and hugging, all beaming and clapping. Mom dabbed at the corner of her eye with her cardigan, and Brinn gave her a hug, and Oakley had never been so happy in all her life.

  She’d made her mom proud. And she’d done it with her own lyrics. Lyrics that flowed from her as easily as breath itself.

  I’m a lyricist. I can do this. Warmth showered over her in the spotlight as the audience continued to cheer for another few seconds until—

  Brrrrrt! A resounding buzz silenced the room. All eyes shot to the upper level of the auditorium, where a glassed-in room perched over the judges’ table. The tie-breaker’s room. She’d seen it every week watching the show for the past few years. But this time, across the front of the booth, in painful glare, was a giant red X.

  Oakley had no idea what it meant. The red X was usually just a tie breaker. In all the seasons she’d watched, it had never been activated other than during a two-two vote. But in her case, she’d been green-check-marked unanimously.

  “What’s this?” Troy the announcer picked up the thread of the action for the studio audience and for the cameras. “Folks, it looks like we have a situation here.” He touched his earpiece, as if he was being fed information from somewhere back stage.

  Oakley couldn’t breathe. A thousand little spiders crawled over her skin. Something was happening. Something bad. Troy stepped up beside her and placed a hand in the center of her back. It chilled her from head to toe.

  Troy nodded three times. “Yep … yep … yep.” With his free hand he patted out the murmurs that rose among the audience. “Okay, folks. Our legal team has confirmed that in the event of a red X coming from our tie-breaker’s booth, even when the other four judges are unanimous, the tie-breaker actually possesses veto power. It’s provided for in the official bylaws of the show.”

  A gasp of shock rose from the audience, and hisses snaked over the entire crowd. Oakley’s knees wobbled. She gripped her microphone harder, and tried to keep a smile plastered on her face. This couldn’t be happening. She’d been given not just three, but four yes votes.

  “What does it mean, Troy?” The man bun judge tapped his pen loudly on the desk. “Is there any tie-breaker to this tie?”

  Troy had his finger up to his ear again, nodding. “Yep … yeah, Victor. The answer to that is a big yes. What will happen, according to the lawyers who are scrambling backstage to deal with this outcome, is that Oakley M. from Oregon?” He looked at her, a pound of pity in each sea-blue eye. “You will get to perform one more time on the stage tonight, right at the end of the show. At that point, the live TV audience will text a code yes or no to the numbers on your screen. Only texts received during and for five minutes after her performance will be tallied.” He looked right at the camera, which had perched about three inches from his face. “You viewers at home will decide the fate of Oakley M., so get your texting fingers ready.”

  They went to commercial, and a swarm of crew members came and escorted her off the stage toward Blue, who took her by both shoulders. “I hope you came prepared to sing a second number tonight.”

  ***

  Oakley stood beneath a massive ceiling fan, her faux fur jacket draped over her arm. Her makeup probably looked like that melty-faced guy in that famous Norwegian painting most people called The Scream. So, so hot under those lights.


  “Did you feel it?” Hudson jogged up to her and threw his arms around her. “Did you feel how solidly you had that crowd with you? It’s just like I told you, you know? You had that moment. They were like … one with you.”

  Her mouth was almost too dry to answer, but she managed, “I hardly knew they were there.” She leaned her head against Hudson’s chest and his heartbeat sounded in her ear.

  “I could tell.” Clyde had walked up and was nodding. “You were totes in the moment. For that, I can even forgive you for not singing to my track.”

  Totes? Clyde used the term totes? Whatever.

  “My brain was probably too busy botching the lyrics to ‘Tender’ to even notice there were other people on planet earth.” Oakley gave him a wan smile.

  Brinn gave a gut-laugh. She’d walked up and stood beside Clyde. “Oh, you weren’t thinking about lyrics. Nuh-uh, honey-child. You were thinking about that.” She aimed a thumb at Hudson.

  Caught. Oakley’s face blazed.

  “Come on,” Brinn said to Clyde. “Let’s go so they can talk. I think they might have a lot to discuss.”

  Suddenly shy, Oakley felt the continued heat of her face.

  “Botched lyrics?” He stepped closer. He wasn’t touching her physically, but every atom in her body felt him nonetheless. “I’d call them repaired, not botched.”

  “Come on,” she breathed, her throat tight at his nearness. “You know those were for you.”

  “I know,” he breathed back, sending a chill through her so refreshing that she instantly forgot the heat of the stage lights. “I wish I’d written them myself. For you.”

  Oakley let worries of her performance being vetoed go floating out of her head because at least two of the required high school science courses activated between Oakley and Hudson—chemistry and physics. She’d avoided it for what felt like so long, fearing that he couldn’t be sincere. But here he was, braving danger to be here to support her, possibly even risking his life to stand at her side.

  “Hudson?” she whispered. “I really like you. I’m not sure when it happened, but it’s real.”

  “Yeah,” he gulped. “Totally real. The realest thing I’ve ever felt, outside of the sure love of my family.”

  She nodded, not sure how to compare what she was feeling to what he’d said. All she definitely knew was that her lips ached for a repeat of that kiss he’d given her on the stairs by the math room the day he’d taught her about confidence in the face of menace. The day he’d first proved he would stand up for her, not caring what personal risk it might cost him.

  The day he’d given her history’s most tender kiss.

  The song “Love Me Tenderly” didn’t seem so inappropriate after all, for the moment.

  “Hudson? I’m going to let you kiss me,” she said, as softly as possible. “If you want to.”

  The side of his eye crinkled. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.” He leaned closer, and she tilted her chin upward, only a breath separating them, and—

  “Oakley. There you are.” Sherm’s voice broke in on them. Oakley sprang backward and out of Hudson’s sweet embrace. He must have pretended not to notice their near breach of his no-kissing edict. “I’ve done a quick review of the online posted rulebook for the show on the network’s website, and I’m sorry to tell you, their lawyers are correct. You’ll have to sing again in order to progress in the show.”

  “I see.” Oakley couldn’t mask her disappointment—not just at losing her sure spot in the finals for TNRS, but also at having her kiss moment stolen. She pulled her thoughts together. “Right. I don’t know what I’ll sing, though.”

  “Duh, you’ll sing our song,” Hudson ran his fingertips up and down the back of her arm. “It’s going to be amazing.”

  From the corner where he sat intertwined with Brinn on a couch, Clyde gave a primal gurgle of pain. “We don’t have the track. Roman Levy took it.”

  A look of concern clouded Sherm’s face for a moment, and he stepped toward Oakley, speaking confidentially. “There’s someone else here tonight, Oaks. It’s someone with indisputable evidence about the crash, and—”

  “Oh, honey. This isn’t the time for that.” Mom came and tugged Oakley into an embrace, interrupting Sherm’s quiet announcement that Hudson’s parents had come to see her perform. “We’re so proud of you.”

  Oakley accepted the hug, but she’d fixated on Sherm’s message. The indisputable evidence had to mean Sherm had met Rufus Oaks and heard the whole spiel from Hudson’s parents.

  “That was incredible.” Mom hugged her harder. “No matter what, you’re a legit singer. Everyone but that one sourpuss adored you.”

  Brinn coughed. “Who was that sourpuss anyway?”

  Hudson cleared his throat. “I’ll bet every dollar in the music industry I know.”

  It hadn’t even been a question for Oakley that the no vote came from veto-power-wielding Roman Levy. Did anyone question that? Hello.

  Just then, in walked Blue, a clipboard in her arm and a manic look on her face.

  “This is unprecedented,” she said, her teeth practically clicking with the nerves she obviously felt. “The timing of the program did not budget for a round two for any singer. We are simply in chaos here. I’m sorry, Oakley. I don’t know what Mr. Levy was thinking.”

  “Ha,” from Hudson a derisive laugh erupted. “I could have told you.”

  “I went to him immediately and demanded he apologize to you and rescind his veto, but he refused.” She lowered her voice. “Between you and me and the church mice, he’s been acting like a lunatic all afternoon, ranting about some ghost come back from the dead to haunt him and ruin his future. I caught him scratching a deep gouge in his neck earlier. And Farley was muttering something about killing him.”

  Killing him. Killing who? Hudson? Or killing Roman? Worry paralyzed Oakley. She’d just found out Hudson did complete her, as Brinn had joked. He couldn’t be ripped from her life so soon.

  “Killing who?” Hudson asked.

  “Oh, Roman, of course. He hates the guy with a passion. It’s weird how he doesn’t quit working for him, even after almost thirty years. It’s like the guy has a supernatural hold on him. That, or Farley doesn’t think he could get a job anywhere else. He’s got that bum leg, you know.”

  Bum leg. She’d seen his limp. She’d assumed Farley, despite his look of being a good guy, had been totally loyal to Roman Levy, just based on his parroting of what Mr. Levy said. But if Blue was right and Farley did hate Mr. Levy, there was reason for Oakley and Hudson to hope—hope that he wouldn’t take orders from Roman to kill Hudson. Not today.

  But they couldn’t really bank on it, could they? Thirty years was a long time to be loyal.

  “I’m telling you, things have gone off the rails.” Blue collapsed into one of the leather easy chairs in the family room. She put her head in her hands for a second. Then, suddenly, she looked up, panic-stricken, like she just realized where she was and how much she’d just divulged to these strangers. “Oh, geez. I swear, I never complain about my business partner. This whole conversation thread has been a hundred percent unprofessional, people. Let’s pretend I didn’t tell you any of that. Erase, erase.”

  “You’re among friends here, Blue.” Oakley rested a hand on her arm. “We have a strong sense of what you’re up against. Especially him.” She nodded, indicating Hudson. “He’s known Roman Levy longer than any of us.”

  Except Farley.

  “And I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could kick him out of a plane,” Hudson said mirthlessly. That threat didn’t totally make sense, but Hudson stepped forward, changing the subject. “I want to know more about what Farley said to you in his muttered threats. If it’s what I think, it could be really important to several innocent people whose lives were hurt by none other than the man in the veto box. Would it be okay for us to talk to the guy?”

  “He’s busy shuffling the remaining contestants on and off stage, but I can find h
im a sub and get him in here if you think it will help things get back to normal.” She turned to Oakley. “I wasn’t kidding before when I asked whether you have a second song you could sing. The lawyers are making you go through with it. Whether it will be televised remains to be seen. If it doesn’t get televised, though, then no text votes will come in during the required five-minute window. You can guess what that means.”

  Clyde harrumphed. “She did have one, a far better one, but Looney Tunes in the veto box kiped the jump drive it was on.”

  “What is kiped?” Brinn muttered. “Oh, forget it. Everyone knows you mean the balding guy swiped it. He’s too tanned to be trustworthy, especially in this climate. Who’s with me? Mutiny from the soundproof room, anyone?”

  “Your daughter did great.” Blue had ignored Brinn’s diatribe and turned to Sherm. “And I am sorry we had to go the rounds on the contract so long. You were right to protect her.”

  Sherm had taken her side on the contract? Warm gratitude washed through Oakley. He’d gone to bat for her, it seemed. She couldn’t believe that even without knowing what a bad seed Roman Levy was, he’d been completely protective, like a good lawyer.

  No, make that like a good dad.

  “She deserves a spot on the show,” Blue said. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, but she does need a song.”

  A soft blanket of comfort settled over Oakley knowing that Sherm had it handled.

  “We can manage a song.” Hudson stepped forward and took Oakley by the hand. “Get the track back if you can.” Then, beneath his breath he said, “Let’s find out if Farley really did kill the boys.”

  ***

  Time was ticking, and they were stuck in the room. They couldn’t talk to Farley, not without some measure of privacy, even though he was standing guard barely a few feet away, out the door and across the brick-walled hallway.

  Questioning him while Roman could be listening didn’t feel safe—not for Hudson, and maybe not for Farley.

  At least that was what Oakley’s instinct told her.

  “I’m getting out of here and going after him.” Fury made Hudson’s face a stone. As soon as the others were out of earshot, Hudson had let more of his emotions loose. That he trusted Oakley with them was pretty flattering, but also a touch scary. He was pacing like a tiger, back and forth in their secluded corner of the room. “As soon as we talk to Farley, I’m hunting him down, wherever his lair is in this studio. I’ll just follow the stench of guilt.”