I could recite the story of the pool party on July 4, 1951, in my sleep. So can Grace and Luis, it seems. They jump in and start to tell Ms. Tremt all the details. I keep my mouth shut and just give Ms. Tremt a knowing smile. Sure you don’t know the story, Ms. Tremt. Sure you don’t.
“Matt’s grandpa was a great baseball player,” Luis says. “Still is. Well, definitely a better one than I am.”
“He’s smart, too!” Grace adds. “He got a scholarship to an expensive prep school in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. And he was a star player there. So good that the New York Giants scout stopped by to check him out.”
“He was signed to a minor league contract right away, even though he was only seventeen,” Luis chimes in. “The same spring that teenage Willie Mays joined the Giants!”
“Grandpa Joe was sure to get called up to the majors in September 1951,” Grace goes on. “He had the hottest bat on the Blue Angels high school team. Not only that, he was an amazing pitcher. Everyone knew he was going to make it to the show.”
Oh man! You know Gracie’s been hanging out at my house too long when she starts calling the major leagues “the show”! She sounds just like Grandpa Joe. Grace continues the story.
“So on July Fourth, Matt’s grandpa is on top of the world. And, you know, one of the perks of going to a prep school is that you get to make friends who live a little better than you might. Like Grandpa Joe’s best friend, Alex. Alex had a pool in his backyard, which was practically unheard of at the time. Of course, it helped that the backyard was in one of the richest sections of Brooklyn.”
I jump in to finish the tale. I want to move forward—or actually backward—already.
“He started the day on top of the world, but it all came crashing down at the party,” I say sadly.
“You don’t have to go on,” Ms. Tremt interrupts. “I can figure out the rest myself. Grandpa Joe didn’t make it to the show.”
“No, he didn’t,” I finish, trying to not sound as sad as the story always made me. “He hurt his ankle at the party. . . . It was worse than he thought. His contract with the Giants was canceled.”
“One small thing,” I say, remembering Ms. Tremt’s words. “If I can prevent Grandpa’s accident from happening, he’d become a Major League Baseball player. It’s a small thing. My whole life I’ve heard him say if he could just take back those five minutes, his whole life would be different. I’d love to give him that chance to fulfill his dream.”
When I look down, I see Ms. Tremt’s fountain pen is glowing again.
“Matt, your time-travel request has been approved,” she tells me. “When my pen glows, it means your intentions are good, and you will be able to travel to whatever time period you would like to go to. So when would you like to leave?”
“Um, right now?” I say. “July 4, 1951! Give me that pen, I’m ready to sign this book out!”
“Slow down, Matt.” Ms. Tremt laughs. “As a French philosopher once said, ‘Those who make the worst use of their time are the first to complain of its brevity.’ Remember, The Book of Memories only grants you three hours in the past, and three hours is not long at all. You’ll have a much better chance at success if you think your journey through before you depart.”
“Yeah, Matt,” Luis adds. “Think about it. Are we just going to show up at the party and say, ‘Hey, Joe, we’re from the future. Be careful today, or you’re gonna ruin your life’?”
“What’s wrong with that?” I ask. “It might work!” Grace gives me the Look again.
“We really do need a game plan, Matt,” she says. “You should know that better than anyone.”
“Take tonight to think it over,” Ms. Tremt advises. “I’ll start the necessary preparations for your journey tomorrow.”
Then Ms. Tremt looks at her watch. “Soon has finally arrived, Matt. You’d better hurry. Your baseball game is about to start shortly.”
I looked at Ms. Tremt and sighed. “Start? My game must be half over by now. We’ve been here for . . .” I look at my phone but can’t believe my eyes. “Ten minutes?! But, Ms. Tremt, it feels like we’ve been here for hours!”
“May I remind you, Matt, I am an excellent manager of time,” our librarian replies with a smile.
• • •
My game goes super well. We win 4–3, thanks in part to my pitching three scoreless innings and hitting a double that brought in the winning run. Of course Grace and Luis come to watch and cheer me on, and then they invite themselves over for dinner. I know Grandpa Joe won’t mind, since it’s usually the four of us—my grandpa, my grandma, me, and my mom—and he likes having a crowd around to listen to his stories.
He likes it even more because dinner for four is often dinner for three—Mom’s almost always stuck at work late and usually can’t join us for dinner. And Grandma cooks for an army, every meal. She jokes and says it’s an Italian thing. I think it’s a grandma thing.
I don’t want to be super obvious, but I can’t help pummeling Grandpa with questions as soon as we sit down to eat. Ms. Tremt is right—I need to know as much as I can about the day of the accident.
“Grandpa, tell me again about the Fourth of July when you hurt your leg,” I say as I scoop a swirl of spaghetti into my mouth.
“Why do you want to hear that story again?” Grandpa Joe asks, surprised.
“I asked him about it today,” Grace pipes up.
I’m grateful. I know Grace has also heard the story too many times, but Grandpa doesn’t know that. He just thinks Grace is curious.
Grandpa Joe puts down his fork and sighs. It’s like a lifetime of disappointment floats on that exhalation.
“I felt like the sky was the limit,” Grandpa Joe begins. “All I ever wanted to do was play baseball. I loved everything about the game—the smell of fresh-cut grass in the outfield, the feel of the weight of a hickory bat, the sound of the thud the ball made when it landed in leather. I still love it.”
“Anyway,” my grandfather continues. “It was supposed to be a great day. The Giants scout said I was sure to get a call up soon. And my best friend, Alex, was throwing the biggest party of the summer. Patty Caravale—that’s your great aunt Patty, Matt—was at the party, and she looked so pretty. I had a crush on her for the longest time. When her favorite song came on the radio, I knew it was time to make a move.”
“What song was it?” Luis asks.
Grandpa Joe grins. “ ‘Ballerina.’ I used to love the way Nat King Cole sang that!”
My grandma hums the melody as she puts a plate of meatballs and sausage on the table in front of Grandpa Joe.
“Patty was studying ballet,” she says. “Remember, Joe, there’s a line in the song ‘Twirl, ballerina, twirl . . .’ ”
Grandpa Joe finishes her sentence, “Yes, and I was twirling Matt’s great aunt Patty a little too close to the pool steps. Neither one of us was paying attention and . . . well, it wasn’t a pretty picture. My ankle was never the same after that fall. It was okay for most things, but baseball was out of the question.”
“Wait, I’m confused. Who is Matt’s great aunt Patty?” Grace asks.
“My older sister, Patty Caravale,” Grandma Jeanie explains.
“And I’ll owe her forever,” Grandpa Joe adds. “I wouldn’t have met the love of my life if it wasn’t for her. When Patty came to visit me after I hurt my ankle, she brought her baby sister along. Now Patty may have been pretty, but with Jeanie here, well, it was love at first sight. The minute I saw her, I knew she was the girl I was going to marry. So even though it ended my baseball career, something wonderful came out of that July Fourth.”
“Aw, Joe.” Grandma Jeanie sighs as she pats his hand. “Sometimes I still wish we had met under different circumstances. Like cheering for you playing for the Giants.”
“Who are you kidding?” Grandpa laughs. “You, me, and everyone else we knew were Brooklyn Dodgers fans. It would have been a crime to cheer for the Giants!”
“Well, I’d have been cheering on the inside if you were on the team,” Grandma admits.
“Did Patty ever become a ballerina?” Grace asks.
“Not professionally,” Grandma Jeanie says. “She got married, moved to California, and had three kids. But she did open a dance school out there.”
“And where was Uncle Alex when you fell?” I ask.
“Who knows?” Grandpa Joe answers. “Do you know how many people were at that party? It was a madhouse!”
“Wait,” Luis says, shooting me a look. “So there were people at the party Alex didn’t even know?”
“Sure,” Grandpa Joe replies. “It was a different time. We didn’t have texts or tweets or fancy phones, but believe me, back then, when there was a good party going on, word spread faster than a viral video.”
Luis, Grace, and I look at one another knowingly. Now we don’t have to worry about getting invited to the party. We can walk right in!
I help Grandma clean up and load the dishwasher, and then I say good-bye to my friends. I know I should probably get some sleep, but my mind just refuses to shut down. I sit down at my computer and search the Internet for a map of Brooklyn, print it out to give to Ms. Tremt, and mark key landmarks. I put a star on the most important one—Uncle Alex’s house—8107 Bay Vista Drive.
Time starts to play tricks on me. The night races by as I think about my plans. What will I say when I first see my grandfather in 1951? What should I wear? I’d better ask Ms. Tremt. Are there any other “time-traveling rules” we should know about? Just when I’m finally about to doze off, it’s time to head to school. But then the seconds of the school day are never-ending! It seems like decades between the first and final bells of the day.
The instant the final bell rings, Luis, Grace, and I rush to the library. Ms. Tremt is waiting with a huge crate.
“First things first,” she says. “You all have to look the part. You need to blend in.”
Ms. Tremt pulls out a box labeled GRACE from the crate.
“For me?” Grace coos as she opens her box. Then her face falls.
“What is it?” I ask. “What?”
Grace pulls out a long, swirly skirt complete with a big pink embroidered poodle. Luis and I both crack up. “No way.” Grace says, stuffing the skirt back in the box. “No.”
“Come on!” Ms. Tremt says. “You’ll look adorable in it!”
“No,” Grace says definitively. “N-O.”
“Oh well, I tried.” Ms. Tremt sighs, tossing one of her furry scarves over her shoulder. “Fortunately, I was prepared for some pushback.”
There’s a second box labeled GRACE. Inside is a simple black skirt, a plain white shirt, black-and-white shoes, and short white socks.
“Okay, now this I can work with,” Grace says, relieved.
“The black-and-white shoes are called ‘saddle shoes,’ ” Ms. Tremt explains. “And they were the height of teenage fashion in the fifties. And the short socks were called ‘bobby socks.’ You might have heard the expression ‘bobby soxers’—it is what people called girls who wore saddle shoes and bobby socks and swooned over their favorite singers, like Frank Sinatra or Elvis Presley.”
“Will we meet any Elvis fans in 1951?” Luis asks excitedly. “My grandma loved Elvis!”
“No,” Ms. Tremt tells us. “Elvis was unheard of in 1951. He didn’t become popular until 1956. And now, Matt, Luis, here are some clothes for both of you.”
Now it’s time for our fashion trip through time. We open our boxes and high-five. Jeans and T-shirts, not bad at all. The main difference is that the jeans have cuffs. The shoes are another story—they look like fancy leather dress shoes. But as long as no one is taking pictures and bringing them back to the present day, I can live with them.
“I have to wear a whole new outfit and all you two need to do is wear leather shoes and cuff your jeans,” Grace complains. “Not fair!”
Then Grace looks at Luis’s long shaggy hair and smiles.
“He’s probably going to have to cut his hair, though. Right, Ms. Tremt?”
“Not a chance. I’m not cutting it,” Luis says.
Ms. Tremt hands him a jar of styling gel.
“Just slick it back,” she advises. “You’ll be fine for a three-hour trip.”
Luis and I head to the boys’ bathroom to change. Grace, obviously, goes to the girls’ bathroom.
When we meet outside in the hall, two kids passing by look at us as if we’ve each sprouted another head.
“School project,” Luis mumbles to them, embarrassed.
Ms. Tremt thinks we look perfect, though.
“Just a couple of things to review,” she says. “First, some basic rules.”
Grace whips out her pen and pad and takes notes.
“Be sure to limit your interactions with people from the past,” Ms. Tremt says. “Always keep in mind that any little thing you say has the potential to change the future drastically.”
Wow, I totally did not think of that. I grab Grace’s pen and draw a big star next to that note.
“Also, do not reference anything that was invented or created after 1951—under any circumstances!” Ms. Tremt warns.
She hands us each a wristwatch, the old-school kind with a wind-up side dial, and then holds out the crate. It’s time to empty our pockets of all electronic devices. Bye-bye, smartphone! See you on the flip side.
“I always make sure my time travelers have a watch that is appropriate for their time period,” Ms. Tremt explains.
“Now, hand over any money you three are carrying,” Ms. Tremt demands.
“My money?” Luis says, baffled. “Didn’t they have cash back in 1951, Ms. Tremt?”
“They did, Luis, but how are you going to explain . . .” She grabs a dollar bill that Luis has taken from his pocket and holds it up to the light. “A dollar bill issued in 2016?”
Ms. Tremt is time-travel smart, that’s for sure. Another thing I would never have thought of on my own. Ms. Tremt puts all our cash in the crate, then hands us each a stack of bills.
“What the what?” Luis protests. “I gave you thirty dollars, and you’re giving me five dollars back in exchange? Did you forget to read math books? That was my birthday money, Ms. Tremt!”
“Luis, I do appreciate your insatiable curiosity, but sometimes you are just going to have to trust me,” she tells him. “In 1951, minimum wage was seventy-five cents an hour. You simply cannot be seen walking around with the equivalent of an adult’s weekly salary as pocket money. Naturally you’ll get all your cash back upon your return to the present.”
“Okay then.” Luis sighs.
“Time for your cheat sheets,” Ms. Tremt replies, as she hands us each a flyer filled with facts about the fifties.
The president in 1951 was Harry S. Truman.
The Korean War was ongoing.
There were still farms in Brooklyn.
The Brooklyn Dodgers were as much a symbol of Brooklyn as the Brooklyn Bridge. (Do not say anything negative about the Dodgers. They are the pride of the borough!)
Popular musicians at the time were Nat King Cole, Tony Bennett, Patti Page, Frank Sinatra, and Bing Crosby.
The first color television program was broadcast on June 25, 1951, but color television sets were not available to the general public yet.
Popular TV shows were The Ed Sullivan Show, What’s My Line?, You Bet Your Life, Howdy Doody, and The Lone Ranger.
“What about I Love Lucy?” Grace asks. “My grandfather loves that show!”
“Do not, under any circumstances, mention I Love Lucy,” Ms. Tremt cautions us. “I Love Lucy premiered in October of 1951, so in July 1951 no one knew about it yet.”
“Got it, Ms. Tremt!” Grace says with a salute.
“I hope you do—all of you,” Ms. Tremt replies. “Time depends on it. The rest is just procedural. Very simple, if you pay attention.”
“When I write the date down in this book, and your names, all three of you will immediately be transported there,” the time-traveling librarian explains. “You will have three hours to complete your task. As you approach the three-hour mark, The Book of Memories will begin to glow. When that happens, you have exactly ten minutes left. That means ten minutes to write down the date you wish to return, find a safe place to set the book down, and let it grow so that you may step back into the present day. Do not lose track of time.”
“And if we miss the three-hour mark completely?” I ask, a little afraid to hear the answer.
“Then I’ll be stuck in 1951 with five bucks to my name forever?” Luis jokes.
“Exactly,” Ms. Tremt replies seriously.
“Hey, I was kidding!” Luis protests.
“What about Plan B?” I ask. “You know, the one where you come rescue us if we’re late?”
“There is no Plan B, Matt,” Ms. Tremt says, looking into my eyes with a steely glare. “If you miss the cutoff, there is no return. There are risks to this adventure. I will not lie about that.”
I’m all in, no matter what the risks are. I knew that from the second I realized I could change Grandpa Joe’s life. But Grace and Luis? I’m not so sure it’s worth it for them.
“We’re going with you, Matt,” Grace says as if she read my mind. “If you think you’re traveling through time and changing history without us, you’re crazy. Plus, I might get to try a real Brooklyn egg cream!”
“Ew, Grace,” says Luis. “An egg cream? What is that?”
Ms. Tremt laughs. “It does sound pretty awful, Luis. But an egg cream is a sweet drink made with seltzer, chocolate syrup, and milk. It really is quite delicious.”
“That sounds more my style,” Luis says. “Okay! C’mon, Matt. Let’s do this!”
I grin at my friends. They really are the best. “Looks like we’re all onboard, Ms. Tremt. 1951, here we come!”
“Excellent,” Ms. Tremt says. “As long as you’re all sure, and committed to the rules of the adventure . . . follow me.”
We follow Ms. Tremt back to the empty classroom like ducklings heading for their first swim. Ms. Tremt opens The Book of Memories, takes the date card out of the little envelope on the first page, and removes the top from her fountain pen. Then she writes down all three of our names: Matthew Vezza, Luis Ramirez, Grace Scott.
Once again, the book sparkles and the words Where would you like to go today? appear in glowing green text.
Ms. Tremt checks her watch. “It’s 3:15 p.m.,” she says. “Please make sure your watches are wound, and read the same. You will need to complete your task and return to the present by 6:15 p.m. If you return on time, it will be 3:15 in the present, as if you had never left.”
“Or be stuck in Howdy Doody land forever,” Luis reminds us.
“Howdy Doody land?” I ask.
Luis shrugs. “Howdy Doody was a kids show in the fifties. My grandfather told me about it.”
Ms. Tremt nods. “That’s correct, Luis. And correct about making sure you do not miss your six fifteen deadline.” She then turns her attention back to the book. Under the sentence Where would you like to go today? she writes the words Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, New York. July 4, 1951.
“Stand back,” Ms. Tremt says.
“Um, Ms. Tremt,” I try to interrupt, wanting to tell her that I have Uncle Alex’s old street address, but it’s too late.
The book begins to shake and stretch and grow until it takes up the wall again. When Ms. Tremt flips the cover open, a black-and-white image appears. It shows a bunch of teenagers sitting around a table.
“Hold hands, you three,” Ms. Tremt instructs us. “It’s time to go.”
I grab Grace’s right hand, and Luis grabs her left. I wonder if he’s squeezing her hand as tightly as I am.
“Now, walk slowly into the picture,” Ms. Tremt says. “Stay calm and relax. Everything will be just fine if you remember the rules.”
We hear Ms. Tremt’s voice fading off as we take our first steps back in time.
“No modern-day references . . . no cell phones, no laptops, and no I Love Lucy,” she calls from an ever-increasing distance. “And don’t spend your whole five dollars in one place, Luis!”