Read Online Anne Frank and Me by Cherie Bennett - Free Book Online Page A

sorry.”
    â€œI said that unfortunately we have to leave because Maman gets nervous these days if we are not home early.”
    â€œBecause of your foolishness,” Jacques chided.
    Mimi rolled her eyes. “I don’t know how you can stand him, Nicole.”
    Nicole walked them to the door. Mimi kissed her on both cheeks, then went downstairs first so that Jacques could say good-bye to her alone.
    â€œDo not misunderstand. I detest the Germans, too,” Jacques told her. “I just want to keep my sister safe. And you. Your mother told me before that it is fine for you to go to school tomorrow so long as you stay with us. Mimi and I will meet you downstairs in the morning and we can walk together.”
    â€œSchool?” Nicole groaned.
    â€œJust the other day you were telling me how glad you are that the Nazis still allowed Jews to go to school.”
    â€œNow, that had to be someone else.”
    â€œStay safe, Nicole, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispered. He gave her the softest, sweetest kiss. Then, like a dream, he was gone.

ten
    Nicole sat cross-legged on her bed, the journals Mme. Bernhardt had brought her that afternoon spread atop the bedspread. It was torture without a computer, because she really wanted to write. On her desk, along with her school-books, was an old-fashioned fountain pen and an inkwell. Well, it wasn’t like she had a choice. She figured out how to fill the strange pen with ink, opened the 1942 journal to a blank page, and sat down to write.
    June 15, 1942
    Â 
    Frightening Thought du Jour: Sometimes when you’re dreaming, it feels real. But if you’re trapped in a dream—really trapped—how do you know if you’re really dreaming at all?
    Â 
    Welcome to My Nightmare:
    a. My name is supposedly Nicole Bernhardt.
    b. It is no longer now It’s 1942.
    c. I was born and raised in Paris. My family is French on both sides for many generations. We live in the sixteenth district at 8, avenue de Camoëns.
    d. I’m Jewish.
    Â 
    The Good, the Bad, the Ugly:
    a. The Good: M is here. So is J, the boy I love who barely knows I exist. Only here he loves me and he kissed me. Let’s go to the videotape. Oh, yeah. HE KISSED ME.
    b. The Bad: The Nazis are here. They hate Jews so much that they don’t even consider them people; also, they want to take over the entire world. Even in a dream, it’s very scary.
    c. The Ugly: My so-called father looks like my principal, Urkin. He’s one of the few Jews still allowed to practice medicine and is a doctor at the Rothschild Hospital. He also has an office upstairs from our apartment, where he writes. And my so-called mother looks like my English teacher, Zooms.

    Nicole took one last look in the mirror over her mahogany dresser. She’d brushed her hair with the silver-handled hair-brush and selected an outfit from the closet. She knew vintage stores that would pay a mint for all that retro chic. The gray sweater she found was cashmere, with delicate pearl buttons. She loved it. But all the skirts were calf-length, and the ugly shoes with white socks? Excruciating.
    At breakfast that morning, a friend of her father‘s, Dr. Windisch—a brain specialist no longer permitted to practice medicine—had come by to examine her. Dr. Windisch had declared her to be fine in the physical sense, which Nicole was happy to hear. But he’d frowned when she’d told him that she was a twenty-first century American. And definitely not Jewish.
    â€œIt’s a curious case,” Dr. Windisch had mused. “The best thing is to send her back into her normal routine and wait for her memories to return. They inevitably do.”
    Nicole gave her hair one last swipe with the brush, grabbed her books, and headed for the living room. “At least you look exactly like my daughter,” Ms. Zooms teased when she walked into the living room. No, not Ms. Zooms. Mme. Bernhardt.