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

by Jennifer Griffith

  “That was quick thinking, my girl,” Sherm called from across the room where he was now talking with Hudson’s dad and Mr. Torres. “Proud of you.”

  Oakley wouldn’t have thought of harvesting it from the wreckage of her phone without Sherm’s prior coaching. Sometime soon she’d tell him he’d been the brain of that operation, whether he’d known it or not.

  “Mm.” Oakley sipped the lemonade, which had the perfect amount of sweet and tartness. It tasted like heaven after all the singing her vocal chords had been through in the past day or so. “Who made this?”

  “Hudson’s dad. He carved the whole thing.” Mom lifted up her cup and admired it, apparently not realizing Oakley had been referring to the lemonade and not the cup. “Isn’t it neat? Maybe you could make these at Board & Brush.”

  “Uh-huh,” Oakley said. Someday maybe Hudson would want to carve cups like this. “I’m glad you came today, Mom. I thought you couldn’t.”

  “We couldn’t—during the day, but we would have moved heaven and earth to make it to the evening show. To tell the truth, we were confident you’d make it, so we planned to come all along. Oh, and look.” Mom whipped out her phone. “I got this email with the results of Hudson’s audiology examination.” She handed her phone to Oakley. “It’s standard for a seventeen-year-old. Isn’t that great?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Oakley looked at it, but she had to admit, she didn’t exactly know what to make of it. She vaguely recalled something earlier this week about audiology, but with everything that had happened, now she couldn’t remember what. “Was Hudson’s hearing damaged during the noise of the plane crash? I’m looking at this graph. What does it mean?”

  “What’s this? An audiology exam?” Hudson’s mother, Mrs. Oaks walked up. “Oh, dear. Did I hear you say they think the crash damaged his hearing?” She looked over at Hudson, distress pulling her mouth downward. “That would be tragic, especially for his music career.”

  “No, no. Sorry for the confusion.” Mom pressed a comforting hand on Mrs. Oaks’s arm. “It’s not that at all. This was just to check his range because—because Oakley asked me to.” She looked over at Oakley. “Why did you ask me to do that, Oaks?”

  Now Mom was doing it, calling her Oaks. A future-tripping moment whispered that if by some chance she married Hudson someday, her nickname would be Oaks Oaks. Said fast, it would sound like Oak Soaks. Mortifying!

  “You’re not answering me, darling. Why did we test Hudson’s hearing?”

  “She thought of it all!” Hudson chimed in, coming to her rescue once again. “Because she’s an utter genius.” He beamed at her, the sides of his eyes crinkling, and his teeth flashing that zillion-watt smile.

  “I don’t get it,” his mom said again. “A hearing test is an ingenious move?”

  “Let me explain.” Hudson took command of the moment. “Oakley knew that as people age, their hearing range in the higher pitches generally deteriorates. Almost anyone over a certain age can’t hear pitches above certain decibel levels. Like you know how there are sounds that only dogs can hear? Well, there are sounds that kids and teens can hear that adults can’t.” He took Mom’s phone. “See? Check out this mosquito thingy on the smarty phone.”

  Oh! That was it! The mosquito ring tones from math class. Now Oakley remembered. It all came back to her, and she listened as Hudson explained.

  “Oakley figured it would be the perfect way to prove I’m actually a kid in a seventeen-year-old body. Someone who is the age my birth certificate reads would never be able to hear those sounds.” He pointed to the graph on Mom’s email. “See? I’m a kid. And the doctors will testify to it, and then nobody can get too touchy about my dating Oakley.”

  Mom nodded. “Incredible. And you thought of that?” She smiled at Oakley. “You’re pretty smart, you know it?”

  Not at algebra II, but she was getting smarter about some things in the world. Like songs and people and dads and the power of good footwear.

  And maybe even love.

  “I agree. Our daughter is among the best and brightest.” Sherm the bulldog still hadn’t dropped the bone he bit tenaciously. “Which is why I fully expect you to keep your boundaries. If you’re really seventeen and the medical tests can now prove it, that means you have the raging hormones of a seventeen-year-old boy. It’s been a while, but I was one once, and I’m not a fool.”

  Hudson didn’t seem bothered by this lecture at all, even though Oakley wished she could evaporate on the spot instead of hear it. Dads were so annoying when they were being protective.

  The doorbell rang. Oakley turned to look at who else could be here at this late hour.

  Giselle swung it wide, and there stood Derek Marsden, ranger for the U.S. Forest Service.

  Oakley’s mouth went dry. She looked quickly to Mom, who was either unfazed or wore a great mask.

  Hudson broke the tension by saying, “Hey, here’s the guy who produced the evidence of the parachute that’ll nail shut the case against Roman Levy.” Hudson walked toward him, ready to shake hands. “Nice to meet you. I’m Hudson Oaks. And you are?”

  “Derek Marsden. Oakley’s dad.”

  “Sorry, but you must be mistaken”—Hudson still shook Derek’s hand—“Sherm Sanders is her dad. But you’re welcome. Come on in.”

  Derek came in, every eye in the room on him. The sheepish look returned, and Oakley knew it mirrored her own current facial expression. He cleared his throat and tugged at the side of his beard.

  “Sherm and Stacey invited me. They said you’d be discussing the case, and … well, I was hoping to at least get a chance to say hello to Oakley with a little less sideshow yelling going on by crazy music producers.”

  That was fair. Oakley allowed him to walk toward her. She scanned his face, memorizing it like there would be a test later. Soft eyes, kind smile, hesitance.

  “Sorry about the mania earlier,” she said. “Do you want to come in the kitchen?” It wasn’t her kitchen, but there were fewer people in there, and she led the way.

  When they were in the kitchen, Oakley handed him a lemonade in a carved cup. Her hands trembled.

  He looked at her like he was trying to memorize her face, too. “I know this isn’t really enough time, and it’s going to sound weak, but I didn’t know about you until a few hours ago.” A shadow crossed his face. “It’s great to see you. You’re … a beautiful young woman.”

  Oakley bit her lips together. A sip of lemonade helped. Finally she said, “I didn’t really know much about you until a few days ago, either. Not even your name, except Marsden.”

  “Your mother never told me. I would have wanted to be part of your life. I want you to know that.”

  The earth was shaking under Oakley’s feet. She couldn’t tell whether it was a seismic event or her own world on shifting ground.

  “Thank you.” Emotions clogged her throat at that point and started squeezing out her tear ducts. “That means a lot.”

  He looked like he didn’t know what to do next. Finally, she decided for him.

  “Can I hug you?”

  He nodded, and she leaned into his arms. He felt like a dad. He patted her hair and said, “I didn’t hear anything except your final performance today. You’re really, really good. I sing, you know?”

  “You do?”

  “It’s part of the reason your mother and I clicked.”

  Someone pushed open the kitchen door, but then tugged out again. While this setting for a father-daughter reunion may have been better than amidst Roman Levy’s arrest, it still wasn’t ideal. She pulled out of the hug. “Would it be okay if we got together sometime? Maybe meet over lunch? Sherm and Mom come to Seattle sometimes, and when they do, could I call you to meet?”

  “That … sounds great.” He looked like he meant it. “I’d like to make up for some lost time.”

  He wouldn’t replace Sherm, but he might be a good addition. He had a kindness in his face that made her hope so, anyway.

  Life in the fu
ture opened up before her, one where she got to know Derek—and herself—better.

  “Now, you should go talk to Mr. Torres and Sherm about the parachute and give them everything you know about what happened that night. Your evidence is going to be key.”

  As was Oakley’s taped confession. After the initial showdown, and while Oakley was on stage, Ignatius Torres had cornered Roman and asked him the burning question of why.

  The label was trying to ruin me. They were jealous of my success and refused to give my group any good lyricists to work with. They gave Girl Crazy a load of—he didn’t say junk. If Girl Crazy went down, I went down. So I decided to beat the label at their own game. I used the band’s plane crash as my golden parachute, got the label to bury the album and let them eat the cost. It worked on every front—it gouged the label for their poor treatment of my genius, plus I got off scot free with a pile of cash to start my own TV empire.

  And it would have worked, too, if it hadn’t been for those meddling kids and their rogue time wave.

  Derek handed back the lemonade cup for a refill. “Thanks, Oakley. Your mom and dad have raised you into something great. I can see that.”

  As he left the kitchen, Oakley said, “Thanks for bringing the parachute.” Her throat constricted for a second, and the frog from weeks ago returned. “Bye. See you soon.”

  Oakley held onto the butcher block countertop of the Oaks family’s kitchen and breathed in and out. I have a dad. No, she had Sherm, and she had Derek, and they were both going to be a good part of her life. She had a hunch.

  When she’d collected herself, she went back inside again, where the party continued. Everyone drank lemonade out of hand-carved wooden mugs, each doing his or her own thing: Ignatius Torres and Sherm plotted strategy for the court case with Derek’s occasional input; Clyde and Brinn made googly eyes at each other in the corner; the moms talked about the perils of school teaching since Hudson’s mom had been a preschool teacher back in the day; Oakley told Hudson what it was like talking to Derek for the first time; later, Hudson laughed with his parents, catching up with them; Giselle took Oakley aside and talked to her about Hudson, and Oakley realized she was going to really like having a big sister figure in her life; via Mom’s phone as proxy, Oakley fielded texts from Blue with details about the finals for The Next Radio Star; and Mom let Sherm treat her with all the love and possessiveness of a husband while her ex stayed on the scene for another twenty or thirty minutes.

  It got late. The party wound down, and most people left.

  It was over and time to go. Oakley still hadn’t received her long-awaited kiss from Hudson. Maybe it wasn’t coming. Maybe it was too much to ask in one day—to win a spot on the show’s finals, to find Hudson’s family and the killer of his friends, and to meet her birth dad. A kiss would have just put it into the overload zone.

  Right?

  She sighed wistfully, and knew she was a glutton, wishing for more.

  Sherm asked Oakley to drive his truck back. Good. That would give her time to think—about all she’d won, and maybe what she’d lost, if Hudson was only a brief light in her life.

  Hudson walked Oakley out to Sherm’s truck, the moon floating over them, and a cold wind telling them winter would come soon.

  She shivered. It was going to be hard to say goodbye. Hello was so much better when it came to Hudson Oaks. No wonder her mom had had such a hard time letting him go for so many years. He was tough to let go of.

  “I am going to miss you,” he said, lifting up the hem of his t-shirt. To her surprise, he continued lifting it and soon had peeled it off. “Give this back to Sherm and tell him thanks. For everything.”

  Oakley gulped. Her mind flashed back to their first conversation, when he’d stood at the door of her room, also shirtless. This time, though, he pulled on a sweatshirt from his own dad as a shield against the cold night.

  “Climb in your truck and shut the door.”

  That was it? He was just telling her to leave? Disappointment gutted her.

  “So, uh, goodbye?” she said, tentatively, as she sat on the driver’s seat.

  “Climb all the way in.” He shooed her. She ached but obeyed. He shut the door with a solid snap of the latch.

  So that was it. A goodbye and not much else. Until her phone got repaired, she couldn’t even contact him.

  However, he signaled for her to roll down her window. She started the truck long enough to do so.

  “What is going on?” A little giggle edged its way up her throat, nervous and wishful. It seemed like he had a plan.

  Hudson pulled a sideways grin, like he knew a secret. “You once said you dreamed of having a guy serenade you beneath your window—with a rose in his teeth.”

  Oakley gasped. “I did?” She’d never told anyone that aloud, she was sure. “No way.”

  “You might have been semi-conscious in my arms at the time. And I was such a dirty mess, I’m sure you never would have hoped it would be me.”

  Oh, he had been a dirty mess. “Did I say that in my sleep?”

  “Coma-talk is the best way to find out secrets, I guess. Now, be quiet. I have a song for you.” Hudson jogged over to his mother’s flowerbed and plucked a chrysanthemum, the last of the season. There were no long-stemmed roses. The yellow and orange flower looked a little silly, so large beside his cheek, and probably tasted sour. But he looked happy—and adorable.

  Oakley adored him.

  He cleared his throat. “You ready? Your window is open, and you’re perched up above, looking out your window, right? The breeze soft enough for you, Oaks?”

  She nodded. She repositioned on the seat so she could face him better, and her eyes grazed the glow of the clock on the dash. No way. It was exactly eleven eleven p.m.

  Everything was perfect. He hummed a bit, and then he started to sing. It didn’t matter what he sang. Above him, a little opening gapped in the clouds, and a handful of stars shone through it.

  Hudson’s voice filled the night air, every note sweeping away all her doubts.

  Oakley looked down at him, devotion filling her soul, and replacing what she’d believed earlier in the day was the best feeling in the world. No. That was wrong.

  Love was the best feeling in the world.

  He finished and stepped near the truck’s window, climbing up on the running board to be closer. “Can I kiss you, Oakley? It would mean a lot to me.”

  Without words, she nodded oh-so-slightly. Instantly, his lips were on hers.

  The wind stopped blowing. A time wave crested somewhere, and Oakley surfed it at its tippy top. Finally, a soft sigh escaped her. It was time to go. But she and Hudson would have more time together—soon.

  Oakley glanced back up at the clock, and it still read eleven eleven—but now it wasn’t the time to make a wish.

  Eleven eleven was the time that her wishes had come true.

  Through the break in the clouds, past those shining stars, she whispered a soft thank you to the universe for bringing her love across time to her heart.

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  If you want more pop culture and humor, check out MY FAIR AUSSIE

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  Author’s Note/Acknowledgments

  I’ve always loved a boy band. Starting with the Jackson 5, speeding through Menudo, and on through Duran Duran—the boy bands have been there for me. How could I not write a boy band romance sooner or later? To keep it cougar-free, I had to downgrade it to YA. I mean, there’s Music and Lyrics, the Drew Barrymore and Hugh Grant movie that does the “aging boy band member” story well, but I wasn’t sure I could replicate it as perfectly as that, so I moved the age down.

  Apologies to my adult-age clean romance fans. I hope this younger story isn’t too annoying. Thanks for reading it. Seriously. The readers are the only way I can keep up this hobby. You’re the best! I love you like Cl
yde loves music factoids.

  Here are a few other thanks. First, thank you to Colleen Pedersen for her “Satan’s adding the alphabet to math” joke. Thank you to the Backstreet Boys for releasing their first single in years, “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,” timed perfectly for the release of this book. Way to go, boys. You really came through for me again. Love ya.

  Thanks, too, to all the other great boy bands over the years for their music. Each chapter of this book is the title of a hit song from a boy band, in case you hadn’t noticed.

  Thank you to my awesome husband Gary for being the first reader of this book and helping me fix some truly broken things. Also, I have to say that his voice inspired the voice of Hudson Oaks. When he was a college man, he sang in his school’s men’s quartet. He and his friends even cut a recording at a studio, and my friend Jenny slipped me a copy of it. If he’d wanted to be a 90s boy band star, I’m telling you, he had the chops. But I’m so glad he chose to go to law school in Washington, D.C., instead, so he could find and marry me.

  Huge thanks to my daughter Rachel for being the second reader here, and to Donna for being the third reader. Then to my beta team—with extra appreciation to Emily Milner for going the extra mile—for being just plain amazing and fast and thorough and insightful in their comments and help, as well as to my excellent proofreader, Paula Bothwell. I really feel so much support and love. Like Oakley, it’s how I have confidence to walk onto the figurative stage and share my little version of art with others. I’m still faking it, just so you know. But you guys make it so much easier.

  Not-so-thank-you to my two darling sons whose meddling with the CD/DVD drivers on my laptop wrecked my version of Word 2003 (old! I know! but it was amazing) during the editing phase of this book. (I still love you boys, if you ever read this, though I know you’re not the audience.) It’s a good thing I was still able to access my files or those two would be digging tumbleweeds in the desert for months.