Free Anne Frank and Me by Cherie Bennett

disapproval.
    â€œYou’re also insane,” Nicole said. Mimi might not feel self-conscious on the street, but Mimi didn’t have a yellow star sewn to her vest, either.
    In the past month, Nicole had learned many things; from reading her journals, from family and friends, and from her own experience. It was hard living under the Occupation, but it was hardest of all if you were a Jew. Above all, you did not want to call attention to yourself.
    They continued down the fashionable boulevard, idly looking into shop windows. They had walked this street together hundreds of times. Now, though, because of the Nazis’ requisition of French goods for their war effort, there was little for the stores to display and even less for them to sell.
    â€œNicole, look at this.” Mimi pointed to the window of a favorite boutique. Its single display mannequin wore a beautiful silk outfit, topped by an oversized, elaborate black-and-white hat. “Incredible,” Mimi breathed, her face pressed to the glass. “What do you think, Nico?”
    Nicole shrugged. “I think the dress is for show and not for sale. And if it was for sale, only the Nazis and their friends could afford it.”
    â€œI suppose,” Mimi agreed reluctantly. “The hat is nice, though.”
    â€œNot worth the ration coupons. Come on.” Nicole gently tugged Mimi away from the window.
    â€œWhen this stupid war is over, I am going to be the best-dressed girl in Paris,” Mimi vowed. “I’ll never wear the same clothes twice. Instead of washing them, I’ll toss them away like the Americans do.”
    Nicole laughed. “Americans don’t do that.”
    Mimi rolled her eyes. “Oh, that’s right. You still think you were an American and that you—”
    â€œLived in the future,” they said at the same time.
    â€œNico, I admit I take pride in my own flights of fancy. But that dream of yours was the most bizarre thing ever.”
    Nicole bit her lower lip. “Sometimes I don’t think it was a dream. Even now.”
    â€œWhat an imagination. You should become a science-fiction writer. I Was a Twenty-First Century American— what was it you called your dance group again?”
    â€œFly Girls,” Nicole replied, feeling ridiculous.
    â€œ Exactly! I Was a Twenty-First Century American Insect Girl , by Nicole Judith Bernhardt, as recorded in her Paris journal on 15 July 1942.”
    But it felt so real to me.”
    Mimi raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know what dances better, your legs or your imagination.”
    Dancing. In a dizzying flash, one of the crazy visions came to Nicole again. Throbbing, manic music. Instead of singing, someone was shouting rhythmic poetry over it. She was wearing a black stretchy top that bared her stomach, and—
    â€œNicole, look.” Mimi nudged her. Mimi’s voice seemed very far away.
    â€œWhat?” she asked faintly.
    Mimi cocked her head at a stout middle-aged woman across the street. She carried a mesh shopping bag and sported the same fancy hat they had seen in the shop window. But the hat was far too large for her head, so it tilted over one eye at a precarious angle. Mimi laughed. “I see the latest Paris fashion didn’t come in her size.”
    Nicole shook her head to clear it. The bizarre vision was gone. “You see, Mimi, if you bought the hat, that is how you would look.”
    Mimi leaned conspiratorially toward Nicole. “I could make three brassieres in my size with the material in that hat.” She looked down at her flat chest and sighed. “Not that I need even one.”
    The woman crossed toward their side of the street, dodging bicyclists—since every drop of fuel was now powering Nazi tanks on the Russian front, cars had largely been replaced by bicycles—and made a beeline for a bakery that had a long queue in front of it. Her sour face grew even more unpleasant as she