Full Speed Ahead: My Journey with Kit

I blink a few times, feeling dizzy. Kit asks me if I’d like to hang up my coat. She points to a row of hooks. I cautiously say yes, and put my camera on the table and take off my coat. Kit gets very excited when she sees the camera. She asks if I like to take photos. Before I can answer, she says that she does. She wants to be a reporter when she grows up. She puts her hand on my camera and starts to pick it up.

I shout no loudly. I lunge at the camera and snatch it away from Kit. I have no idea what would happen if she clicked the camera and was transported away. I tell her not to touch it. Not ever. Kit steps back and puts both hands up in the air. She apologizes.

I take a deep breath. I’m sorry, too. I wish I could tell Kit why I don’t want her to touch the camera. But how would I explain that it seems to be a time-travel machine? She would think I’m a total nutcase. Besides, I still don’t understand that myself. For all I know, Kit would be transported back to my time and I’d be left here alone in 1933 with no way to get home. And who knows what would happen to Buddy.

Kit can tell I’m upset. She says she understands. Cameras are fragile and expensive. I show her a grateful smile as I loop the camera strap over my head, so I’m wearing it like a necklace. I will never take it off.

Kit leads me into a dining room full of people. It’s noisy and as full of life as Izza’s house. Everyone is sitting around a big table like it’s Thanksgiving, except they’re eating breakfast. Some people are having oatmeal and eggs and butter and toast and jelly and coffee. Mom and I don’t eat that much for dinner, let alone breakfast.

Buddy darts ahead and runs to a sleeping brown-and-white basset hound. Kit says her name is Grace. She sleeps a lot. Grace opens one eye and gives Buddy a friendly sniff, before going back to sleep. Then, Buddy runs from person to person, wagging his tail and demanding to be pet. He’s awfully appealing, just as sweet as Isabel’s bunny, Pippa, only in a lively, perpetual-motion, puppy kind of way. Naturally, everyone starts to fall in love with him.

Kit introduces me to everyone as Lucille. She says that I like to be called Lulu. And this is my dog, Buddy. Everybody looks up and says hello to me. Then, a sporty-looking man stands up and says his name is Mr. Kittredge. He puts one arm around the shoulder of a slender woman that is his wife. And then he introduces their son, Charlie. Charlie is home on leave from the CCC, and I’ve already met Kit.

I feel very self-conscious and awkward, so my scalp feels sweaty and prickly. I don’t know what to say. It doesn’t help that Kit’s brother is as handsome as a movie star! And what does CCC stand for? Cool Cute Charlie? I’ve never had a brother, so maybe he’ll end up to be a Harry Sharma type of guy, who is good looking but obnoxious. And Kit’s mother looks like a movie star, too, in a pretty, old-fashioned kind of way. She’s wearing a fabulous bias-cut dress that I immediately think it would look great on my mom. But her face is tired and worried looking. She asks me how I’m doing, and when she smiles, the tiredness falls away. She looks like Kit, except a grown-up and without freckles.

Mrs. Kittredge gestures to everyone at the table and says that these are their boarders. What’s a boarder? These people don’t look like snowboarders or surfboarders. But it’s clear that they live here, so I figure boarders must be people who live in your house and maybe pay rent or something. Kit’s mom introduces me to Mrs. Howard, who’s fluttery, and her son Stirling. When he says hello, he has a surprisingly husky voice for such a scrawny boy. Miss Hart and Miss Finney, other boarders, are dressed in old-fashioned nurses uniforms. I notice that Kit’s mom doesn’t tell me the grown-ups’ first names. I can tell she expects me to use Mr., Mrs., and Miss.

Mrs. Kittredge explains that I’m the great-niece of her Uncle Hendrick. He thought it would be better for me to stay with the Kittredges for a while instead of with him. She turns to me and asks where my suitcase is. I stammer. The Kittredges probably think I’m clueless Lulu, a very dim bulb. Kit politely says that I might not have been sure if I would want to stay with them instead of Uncle Hendrick. After all, I don’t know the Kittredges yet. So I probably had my suitcase delivered to Uncle Hendrick’s house from the train station instead of carrying it all the way up here. Mr. Kittredge nods and says that if I want to stay with them—

But before he can even finish his sentence, I interrupt that I would love to. Mr. Kittredge nods and says that Kit and I can take the trolley down to the Uncle Hendrick’s house later to get my suitcase.

Why don’t the Kittredges have a car? And who is this mysterious Uncle Hendrick they keep talking about? Everyone goes quiet whenever he’s mentioned. I glance at Kit, but I can’t tell what she’s thinking. Her face is sort of shut down.

Mrs. Kittredge asks if I’ve had breakfast. I can have some oatmeal. Oatmeal? I glance into the bowls on the table. Oatmeal is the stuff my mother uses to exfoliate when she’s giving herself a facial. I politely decline. Everyone looks surprised, as if I’m crazy to turn down oatmeal. But Mrs. Kittridge simply excuses herself to go prepare my room.

I can tell that everybody in this room has fallen in love with Buddy. The only person who didn’t smile at him was Mrs. Howard, who seems a little uptight. And for that exact reason, Buddy has decided to choose her as his special friend. So when Mrs. Howard gets up to leave the room, he does, too.

I follow Mrs. Kittredge and Mrs. Howard upstairs while everyone else finishes breakfast. They go into a big bedroom. I grab Buddy before he can go, too. And I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but as I carry Buddy downstairs, I overhear Mrs. Howard saying that the Kittredges shouldn’t give me their room. Stirling and her can move. They shouldn’t be inconvenienced by a spoiled child who turned up her nose at oatmeal.

Spoiled? Mrs. Howard must mean me. I hug Buddy for comfort. Clearly I’m not wanted here. This time-travel business has gone on too long.