“Because this.”
Abby presses a button on the pen to show that it’s not just a pen; it’s a pen with a voice-activated recorder, and she’d just recorded the last five minutes of our conversation.
“Wow, pretty sneaky,” I note. “I like.”
“I’ll take that,” Ms. Tremt says. “I definitely don’t want you taking it with you to 1977.
“And you two?” Ms. Tremt asks as she turns to me and Daniel. “How did you get back here?”
“Scarf removal,” I say.
“Good thinking,” Ms. Tremt says
Ms. Tremt uses Abby’s pen to scribble a note on a yellow pad. Surprisingly, the note doesn’t mention anything about 1805, or Lewis and Clark, or even history fair. It just has two names on it with an arrow connecting them. Tim Raveltere and Abby Morales. Who is Tim Raveltere? I wonder.
“Are you willing to try this again?” Ms. Tremt asks. “I can understand if you’d like to refuse the offer, considering what just happened.”
“But that was my fault,” Abby says.
“Oh yes, right.” Ms. Tremt laughs nervously. “Are you sure you can clear your mind of history?”
“I’m sure,” Abby says.
“Ms. Tremt, can we go already?” Daniel laughs. “I am so ready to get to 1977.”
Ms. Tremt turns to me and gestures to my pocket.
“I still have it, Ms. Tremt,” I whisper as I touch the pendant in my pocket. “No worries.”
Ms. Tremt tells us to focus on the year 1977 and to keep it in our minds. She signs the card in The Book of Memories again and underlines the year “1977” three times for emphasis.
“It is now 2:45 p.m.,” Ms. Tremt says. “You must return to the present by 5:45 p.m., or risk being stuck in 1977 forever. Do not lose track of time! And stay together!”
“We will, Ms. Tremt!” we all say.
“Tim Raveltere. Tim Raveltere. Tim Raveltere,” Ms. Tremt whispers as the book starts to glow. “You may have found me after all these years, but you have met your match . . . and more.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Never mind,” Ms. Tremt says. “I didn’t realize I was talking aloud.”
I post the name Tim Raveltere in my brain like a sticky note on my bulletin board at home. There’s something more to this than Ms. Tremt is telling us, but I’ll have to figure that out later. First things first, and right now 1977 is the first thing on my list.
The Book of Memories glows and grows. Once again the costume shop at Galaxian Movie Studios appears on the wall in front of us. I imagine what it will be like to see Aunt Katy the way she looked back then. I close my eyes and take a deep breath; then I grab Daniel’s and Abby’s hands again.
“Ready?” I say.
“Set,” Abby says.
“Go!” Daniel shouts.
We land right in front of the door to the costume shop. When we open the door and step in, the very first person I see is Aunt Katy. It must be her; she has the same exact smile as my cousin Daja, the way her lips curl without opening and her whole face scrunches up with happiness. It’s so unsettling to see her so young I literally stop breathing for a second.
People have always said that Daja is a clone of her mom, and I can see that they look a lot alike, but now that Aunt Katy is here, young and standing across the room from me, it’s pretty spooky.
It’s also pretty spooky, and amazing, to see that Aunt Katy is a total teenage diva! The bell-bottoms at the end of her jeans are so wide they look like elephant legs. Her platform sandals lift her at least six inches off the ground and are bloodred with pink, yellow, and orange stripes. They match the color in the petals of the flower that is stuck in the front of her gigantic Afro. She looks so funky she makes me want to dance!
“Hey, sunshine. Need help?” Aunt Katy shouts from behind her sewing machine.
I am a deer. And I am completely caught in the headlights. My mouth tries to form words, but no sounds come out.
Come on, people, it’s my Aunt Katy! This funkadelic fashion teen changed my diapers once upon a time! Give me some room to be shell-shocked with awe.
“Um, hey there,” Abby says. “We’re looking for Crane’s Record Store.”
Thank you, thank you, thank you, Abby!
“We were just hoping someone could help us with the directions,” Daniel adds.
“Groovy record store,” Aunt Katy comments. “I can tell you how to get there if you make me a promise.”
“Okay,” Daniel says. “What is it?”
“Promise you’re not going to buy that new Billy Joel album.” Aunt Katy groans. “I’m so sick of him. He’s just a flash in the pan. And I’m tired of hearing him sing, ‘Say goodbye to Hollywood.’ You know what, Billy? Say hello to Hollywood! It’s a pretty happening place.”
“Wow, why don’t you tell us how you really feel about him?” Abby laughs.
Aunt Katy opens her mouth and lets out an enormous laugh.
“You’re funny,” she tells Abby. “But mark my words, people are going to get tired of him soon.”
I try hard not to giggle. Aunt Katy knows fashion, that’s for sure, but I’m not so sure her musical predictions are on point, considering that Billy Joel is still selling out stadiums.
“You know you stumbled into a costume shop, right?” Aunt Katy laughs as she sees me staring at all the racks of clothes.
“Yeah, it’s kind of hard to miss that,” I say, finally finding some words.
“Well, most kids don’t get a chance like this every day,” Aunt Katy says. “Want to try on some costumes?”
Abby and I cheer. Daniel waves his hand as if to say, I’m good.
“Come on, Daniel,” Abby says as she drags him over to a rack filled with Victorian-era ball gowns and fancy men’s suits. “Like she said, we don’t get a chance to dress like this every day!”
Abby hands Daniel a top hat and a fancy long coat. I pull a red taffeta ball gown out and sigh. The bustle in the back is a thing of beauty.
“Put it on,” Aunt Katy says. “You know you want to.”
I do. I really do. And let me tell you, when it’s on me, it looks ahhhMAZING! The skirt is full and I twirl around in it happily. I feel like a princess.
Abby tries on a dress that’s even frillier, with endless ruffles and bows. It’s totally not her style, but she’s rocking it.
“Can we move on now?” Daniel groans.
“Sure,” Aunt Katy says. “How about a little sci-fi?”
Aunt Katy pulls out a trunk filled with space-crew gear and alien masks.
“Now we’re talking!” Daniel says as he slips into a goofy Martian mask.
“Do you find me repulsive?” he growls in what I guess he thinks is a Martian voice.
“Totally!” Abby and I laugh.
Aunt Katy leads us around the studio, and we try on superhero capes, princess tiaras, and evil-villain cloaks. It’s better than the dress-up center we had in preschool!
While we’re trying on clothes, I get to talk to Aunt Katy some more. I don’t give her any information that will mess with the space-time continuum. I just want to know more about her, and it’s a lot easier to talk to teenage Aunt Katy than the busy career woman who is always running around in the present.
“Did you always want to be a costume designer?” I ask.
“No. I got lucky,” Aunt Katy says. “My art teacher last year saw some of my drawings, and she recommended me to one of her friends who works at Galaxian’s costume shop. She runs the internship program here.
“I was a little nervous about interning for such an important studio, especially because I’m still in high school,” Aunt Katy continues. “But I applied for it anyway, and I got it!”
“So someday you’re going to run this place?” I laugh.
“That’s not really my dream,” Aunt Katy admits.
“What is?” I ask.
“I want to open my own boutique,” Aunt Katy explains. “Working on costumes is a lot
fun, and it’s amazing to see them up on the big screen. But it’s pretty stressful, too. Deadlines, budgets, they can drive you nuts. When it’s crunch time, it’s crunch time. Everyone here is so stressed out. My dream is to make some interesting clothes that real women can wear and sell them at my own shop. You know, for girls who look like me and you, and not just actresses.”
“That sounds like a cool dream,” I say. I don’t tell her that her dream doesn’t come true, because the Aunt Katy I know doesn’t have her own boutique or her own clothing line. She buys clothes from other designers to sell at the store.
“Owning a boutique is a great dream if you have a lot of money.” Aunt Katy laughs. “For now I’m just paying attention, studying hard, and keeping my dream alive.”
I turn around to find Daniel and Abby. She’s wearing a cowboy hat and holding a lasso, and Daniel’s dressed like the front end of a steer. I can’t even.
“Have you worked with any celebrities?” I ask. “Have you made costumes for movie stars?”
“Well, not me, exactly,” Aunt Katy says. “But they have to make sure the costumes fit perfectly, and that means measuring them. So I’ve been around when Paul Newman, Sally Field, and Sidney Poitier were here.”
I make a mental note to learn more about these celebrities when I get home.
I know we’re going to have to leave soon, but I could stay here all day. Then I put my hand in my pocket and suddenly remember my secret mission—the pendant Ms. Tremt gave me.
“Do you have any jewelry here?” I ask Aunt Katy.
“Are you kidding?” Aunt Katy says. “Check this out!”
Aunt Katy leads me to an enormous trunk full of jewelry . . . gold, beads, earrings, rings, bracelets. You name the jewelry, it’s in there.
“Have fun,” Aunt Katy says. “I have to get back to work. When you’re ready, just let me know and I’ll tell you how to get to Crane’s.”
When Aunt Katy’s back is turned, I slip my hand into my pocket, grab the pendant, and drop it into the trunk.
“What are you doing?” Abby hisses from behind me.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “Spying on me?”
“Jada, we’re not supposed to bring things from the future here, remember?” Abby reminds me. “Ms. Tremt warned us not to.”
“I remember,” I tell her. “But Ms. Tremt gave me this pendant and asked me to leave it here, so I figure I’d better follow her orders.”
“That’s weird,” Abby says. “Didn’t she wear it to school the other day? I remember because I told her how much I liked her new pendant and she said it had just popped up in a store she was in and she couldn’t resist buying it.”
“She absolutely asked me to leave it here,” I say. “So that’s what I’m doing.”
Daniel walks over to us.
“What are you talking about?” he asks.
“Ms. Tremt asked Jada to leave a pendant here in 1977,” Abby says.
“Pendant?” Daniel says. “The one she just started wearing recently? The one she wore for the first time three days ago with a red and yellow fuzzy scarf with her black dress with gold buttons down the back?”
I know what you’re thinking. What’s up with Daniel? Is he obsessed with Ms. Tremt? No, it’s just that he has the most amazing photographic memory. He looks at something—or someone—once and remembers everything about their appearance forever. I had heard the expression “photographic memory” before, but I never met someone who truly had one before Daniel.
“Yes, that’s the pendant,” I say. “Anyway, I left it in the shop. Mission accomplished.”
“Good. We’d better go now,” he says. “It looks like Aunt Katy is super busy.”
We look over and Aunt Katy has a pencil in her mouth, a pad in one hand, and a tape measure in the other. She’s taking orders from one of the other workers in the shop.
Abby and Daniel step up to say good-bye to Aunt Katy. They’re pushed out of the way when a coworker squeezes between them and hands Aunt Katy a piece of paper.
“Sorry,” the coworker says. “But this is urgent.”
Aunt Katy stares at the numbers on the paper and frowns.
“Remember when Edna dictated that list to you,” the worker says, “and I asked you to send in the order? Check it out.”
“What happened, Alex?” she grumbles. “These numbers are way over Edna’s budget!”
“I don’t know,” Alex answers. “But some heads are going to roll, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah, my head,” Aunt Katy says.
“Are you okay?” I ask Aunt Katy.
“Not really, but it’s a grown-up problem,” Aunt Katy replies. “And I’m not even a grown-up!” She laughs. “I’m still a teenager—I’m too young to be dealing with problems like this. But it’s nothing for you to worry about. It’s money stuff. Grown-up stuff is always money stuff. Remember that.”
“Well, I want to work in fashion someday too,” I tell her. “I’d like to learn what kind of grown-up problems I might have to deal with.”
Aunt Katy shows me the paper. There are lines for different types of fabric, with numbers for each type.
“It’s a fabric estimate,” Aunt Katy explains. “For a dozen ball gowns for a new movie.”
I look over the paper. I have no way of knowing if the prices are accurate, but I quickly add them up and they’re correct.
“The numbers add up,” I say. “So I don’t know how they can be wrong.”
“That was fast,” Aunt Katy says, impressed. “Are you some kind of math whiz?”
“Something like that.” I laugh. “You know, I don’t know much about fabric prices, but it doesn’t seem surprising to me. Silk satin is really expensive. Maybe that’s why the total is so high?”
Aunt Katy grabs the paper from me and puts her finger on the line that says “silk satin.”
“Silk satin?” she says. “Edna asked for pricing for sateen. It’s a lot cheaper.”
She fumbles around in her desk drawer and grabs a sheet of paper.
“See?” she says when she hands the paper to me. “This is a copy of my original order request.”
“What’s sateen?” Abby chimes in. “I’m fashion clueless.”
“It’s just a type of fabric,” I explain. “It’s silky, but it’s made of cotton so it’s cheaper than regular satin. It just has a satin gloss.”
I point to Aunt Katy’s paper.
“This might be the problem,” I say.
Then I point to the word “SATEN.”
“It’s actually spelled S-A-T-E-E-N,” I say. “Someone must have thought you just misspelled satin and ordered that.”
“You’re a genius!” Aunt Katy cheers and gives me a hug.
“A spelling genius,” Daniel jokes.
“Hardly,” I say. “I’ve just been trying hard to make notes of the words I read. And most of what I read is related to fashion.”
“You must have a big pile of notes, then,” Aunt Katy says.
“Oh, they’re not real notes,” I explain. “I just try to remember to stick them to my brain.”
“Well, however it works, thank you!” Aunt Katy says. “You’re a lifesaver! I could have totally lost my internship over this!”
“Wow, that would have been awful for you,” Daniel says.
“You have no idea,” Aunt Katy adds. “This is a small industry. If you get fired from one studio, even if you’re just an intern, you’re probably not going to get hired anywhere else.”
Aunt Katy grabs the telephone—one of those old-fashioned phones with a windy cord and push buttons—and gets the pricing for sateen. She crosses out the number on the estimate, and I add up the numbers quickly.
“Crisis avoided.” Aunt Katy sighs.
Just in time, because Aunt Katy’s boss waltzes into the studio.
“What’s this?” she barks, pointing at Abby. “I hope this is not one of our costumes.”
Abby gasps and freezes in place, still in the co
wgirl outfit.
“N-n-no, no, no, Edna,” Aunt Katy stammers. “These kids are just here for some fittings. Those are their own clothes.”
“Tragic,” Edna huffs.
Aunt Katy may look like a fashion diva, but Edna has the diva attitude down pat. She flips through papers, criticizes stitches, and sends bolts of fabric flying across the room.
Workers scurry around like buzzing bees, moving this way and that at her every command. It’s pretty impressive. I can see why Aunt Katy was so afraid to make a mistake.
“Do you have that ball gown estimate?” Edna barks at Katy.
Aunt Katy hands it to her. I can see her fingers cross behind her back.
“Hmm . . . okay . . . not bad . . .” Edna’s fingers scan each line of the budget. “Good work here, Kathy.”
“It’s Katy,” Aunt Katy says quietly.
“Right,” Edna says.
Then she leaves the room in a whirlwind. I see one woman start to cry a little bit at her sewing machine. It’s that intense.
“She hardly ever talks to me!” Aunt Katy squeals. “Especially not to say something nice. You’re my lucky charm!”
“We’d better get going,” I say to her. “You look like you have better things to do than let a bunch of kids hang around the studio.”
“Nah, it’s cool.” Aunt Katy walks us over to the door and points down the street.
“Go straight for two streets, then make a right,” she says. “Crane’s is down the block on the left.” Then Aunt Katy looks at me and smiles.
“I like you, kid,” Aunt Katy says. “There’s something about you . . . I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it’s something I like.”
“Thanks for letting us look around,” I say appreciatively. “I’ll never forget it.”
“You’re a great kid,” Aunt Katy tells me.
I give Aunt Katy an extra-squeeze-y hug, figuring that hugs can sometimes say things that words can’t. I try to let my hug show how very much it meant to meet her, in this time, in this place, even if I’m not allowed to actually say it.
Before I can finish thanking Aunt Katy, a strange man bursts in on our conversation. He has dark hair and darker eyes and his expression looks worried, and a little devious, too. He’s wearing a long leather coat, even though we’re in Hollywood and it’s eighty degrees out! Sweat is pouring from his forehead.
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