Anne Frank and Me

by Cherie Bennett

  By the time Nicole reached her bus, it was already full. The only empty seat was near the back. Next to Jack. He had saved it for her. She felt helium-balloon buoyant as she walked down the aisle, passing couples on both sides of her. Now, she was part of a couple, too.

  “’S great getting sprung from school, huh?” Jack asked, as she slid into the seat next to him.

  “Definitely.”

  His fingers drummed on the leg of his jeans as the bus pulled out. “So, how’s your dance thing coming along?”

  “Judge tor yourself when you see it.”

  “Last year you and Mimi had a different girl dancing in the group, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.” Jack had noticed that her trio had danced in last year’s talent show. Shocking. That meant he’d had his eye on her for a long time. How could she have been so oblivious? “Sara Cambridge,” Nicole continued. “She moved to Florida. Suzanne’s better anyway. We might make an audition tape for MTV.”

  “Oh, yeah? Cool.” Jack hesitated. “Nicole, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you—”

  “Go ahead,” Nicole encouraged, as the bus turned onto the interstate.

  “I feel like I can really talk to you.”

  “You can,” she assured him.

  “Yeah.” He ran his fingers through his hair and leaned his head back on the seat. “I can’t believe how hard this is.”

  How sweet was he? That a guy like him could have such a hard time talking about his feelings for a girl like her made her love him even more. She put her hand lightly on his arm. “Jack? You can tell me anything. Really.”

  Then it happened. He put an arm around her shoulders and leaned closer. “I wanted to say something to you at your house last night,” he admitted, his voice low, “but—I should just come out and say it. Right?”

  She nodded. Their eyes met, in unspoken union.

  “Nicole,” he whispered into her ear.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s about ...”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s about Suzanne. I’m crazy about her.”

  The world turned upside down. “You ... what?”

  “I think about her all the time, it’s really crazy. So I wanted to ask you, since you’re friends with her and everything. Could you find out if she likes me?”

  “You want me to—”

  “I know it’s lame,” he rushed on. “She’s so gorgeous. And really nice, don’t you think? But when I’m around her, I’m so freaked I can’t even look at her. So—I know it’s a lot to ask—could you be a friend and find out if she likes me at all?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” Nicole bit the inside of her lip; a trickle of blood oozed into her mouth.

  “That’s great, Nicole. Thanks. I mean it.”

  He enveloped her in the hug she had dreamt about for so long. It was everything she wanted. And, at the same time, exactly what she knew she would never, ever have.

  six

  It’s about Suzanne.

  Dozens of buses from various schools were parked outside the state museum, including some from East High, West’s big rivals, as more than a thousand kids waited to be admitted into the museum. One of them was Nicole; there, but not there.

  I’m crazy about her.

  “West High students, attention, please.” Mr. Urkin was using his bullhorn again. “We need everyone’s cooperation. It will take approximately two hours to go through the Anne Frank exhibit. Following that, we’ll visit the permanent collection of the state museum.” Coach Carr whispered something to Mr. Urkin, who reluctantly raised the bullhorn to his lips again. “And yes, we’ll be back at school in time for our football team to prepare for the game tomorrow against East High’s Lions.”

  Coach Carr pumped his fist in the air. “Eat ‘em, Bears! ”he shouted. West’s kids cheered. Across the plaza, the East students booed lustily. Nicole was only dimly aware, as if she were half-watching a television show she wasn’t much inter ested in. Jack’s words played over and over in her mind, a wound etched on her heart.

  Mr. Urkin made another announcement—that one of the buses had a flat tire and would be late. They’d begin the tour anyway. Mimi’s bus, Nicole thought dully. That’s why she isn’t here.

  Zooms beckoned to her students. “Shake a leg, people. Move in close so you can all hear me.”

  Someone touched her arm. David. “Nicole? You okay?”

  “Fine.” Her masochistic eyes sought out Jack. He was in the center of a crowd, laughing at something Eddie had just said. It hurt to look at him. It hurt not to. He had no idea that he’d just smashed her heart into a million pieces. The funny thing was, Nicole knew he’d feel terrible if he knew But it still wouldn’t make him love her. Nothing would.

  Zooms edged closer to her students. “Listen up, because I will not be repeating myself. We’re going inside now Your late classmates will join us there. I’ve prepared something special for you. You will each receive an envelope with your name on it. Inside, you’ll find your new identity for the duration of this tour. All of you are about to become contemporaries of Anne Frank.”

  The students stood impassively as Zooms held up a fistful of envelopes. “Some of you will live, and some of you will die. Some of you will hide, some of you will hide others. Some of you will be shot. Many of you will be deported. You may watch your family members march to their deaths. Some of you will be gassed.” A hush came over the group.

  “At the end of our experience today,” Zooms continued, “you’ll receive another envelope. Only then will you discover what happened to you; if you lived or if you died.” She began barking out last names in a military fashion. One by one the students got their envelopes.

  “Burns.” Zooms handed Nicole an envelope with her name on it. She opened it.

  You are a Jewish girl named Nicole Bernhardt. You were born in 1927 in Paris, France, and you still live there. You have a sister who is five years younger. Your parents are Renée and Jean. Your father is a famous doctor. You are a smart girl but you do not like school; you are outgoing, popular, and a wonderful dancer, and you can play the piano. The year is now 1942. You are fifteen years old.

  All around Nicole, her classmates read their biographies.

  “Listen, are you sure you’re okay, Nicole?” David asked her again. “You’re really pale.”

  “I’m fine. Please stop asking me that.” She got into one of the lines snaking toward the entrance, David right behind her. She was hyperaware of Jack, in the next line.

  So, could you be a friend and find out if she likes me at all?

  Yeah, sure.

  David looked to see who had Nicole’s attention and spotted Jack. “Figures,” he mumbled.

  Security at the museum was tight. The students had to pass a gauntlet of six burly men clad in dark suits, with ear-pieces and small microphones on their lapels. Nicole moved forward, staring at the angel tattoo on the back of Julie Needers’ neck. Her boyfriend, Peter something-or-other, draped an arm over the tattoo. “Hey, Jul, check those dudes out. Jewish Gestapo,” he said.

  “Not funny,” Julie snapped.

  Peter gave a mock Nazi salute to the security detail, who didn’t react. Julie poked him. “Cut it out, I mean it. You want people to think you’re in the Doom Squad?”

  “Well, what is up with this?” Peter groused. “Do they think we’re gonna blow up the exhibit?”

  “All it takes is one idiot,” David insisted, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You wanna risk that?”

  “Whatever. If we don’t kick East’s butt tomorrow, I’m gonna blow up the football field,” Peter joked. David didn’t smile. “Yo, David, it’s a joke. Chill out.”

  Nicole put her backpack on the conveyor through the X-ray machine. From the next line: BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! She looked to see who had set off the metal detector. Doom. An imposing security guard stepped over to him. “Young man, please step this way and put your feet on the marks on the floor.”

  The crowd buzzed as Doom
hit the proper marks, arms out to the sides. He stared blankly as the guard passed a metal-sensitive wand over him. “Hey, make sure you get the plate in his head,” Eddie cracked.

  “Go on, young man, you’re fine,” the security guard told Doom. “It was the grommets on your boots.”

  The crowd dispersed; Nicole spotted Zooms in front of a large photograph with white lettering. Anne Frank. She trudged over and idly read the caption.

  SINCE ITS FIRST PUBLICATION IN 1947, MILLIONS OF PEOPLE AROUND THE WORLD HAVE READ THE DIARY OF ANNE FRANK, GIVING A SUCCESSION OF NEW GENERATIONS A PENETRATING LOOK AT THE PERSECUTION OF THE JEWS DURING WORLD WAR II. WHAT WAS IT LIKE TO BE A JEWISH CHILD HIDING IN THE NETHERLANDS DURING THE NAZI OCCUPATION? WHAT WAS IT LIKE TO GO THROUGH EVERY MINUTE OF THE DAY AFRAID OF BEING DISCOVERED, AND WONDERING WHAT WOULD HAPPEN AFTERWARD? ANNE FRANK, HER FAMILY AND A FEW OF THEIR FRIENDS SPENT MORE THAN TWO YEARS HIDDEN IN THE SECRET ANNEX. A FEW OF HER FATHER’S EMPLOYEES HELPED THEM, THEREBY RISKING THEIR OWN LIVES.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” David asked, joining her.

  Not again, Nicole thought. Can’t he just leave me alone?

  “I guess Mimi’s on the bus with the flat,” he added.

  Mimi. How was she ever going to tell Mimi about Jack? And Suzanne? Suzanne and Jack would become a couple and they’d feel so sorry for her because she had been pathetic enough to believe that Jack—

  Suddenly, Nicole knew that she could not take one more minute of standing there, pretending that her entire life hadn’t just been ruined. “Excuse me,” she blurted out, spotting the sign for the ladies’ room. “I have to—”

  She took off. “Miss Bernhardt!” It vaguely registered that Zooms was calling her by her new identity. But Nicole didn’t stop. All she could think of was escape. She burst into the ladies’ room and collided with a girl on her way out.

  “Sorry.”

  “Hey, Nicole, it’s me.”

  It was Claire Levin, who lived three doors down from the Burnses. They’d been friends until third grade; then Claire’s parents had enrolled her in a private Jewish academy. “Did you come with your school?” Claire asked.

  Nicole nodded.

  “So, how are you?” Claire asked eagerly She had the same chubby cheeks she’d had as a little girl, the same mop of red curls. “It’s so funny, running into you like this. I was just thinking—”

  “Sorry, I’m sick,” Nicole interrupted, rushing into a stall and locking it behind her.

  “Nicole?” Claire called. “Is there someone you want me to get for you?”

  “No. Thanks.”

  “I’ll wait. To make sure you’re okay.”

  “No. I mean, I’m all right. You can go.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, I’ll call you.”

  Moments later, Nicole heard the click of the ladies’ room door as Claire left. Then, in that tiny oasis of privacy that smelled of pine cleanser, with KARA Is A FAT PIG scrawled on the wall, she let the tears come.

  Nicole heard the bathroom door open. “Nico?”

  Mimi. She’d recognize the voice anywhere.

  “I’m in here.”

  “David said you’re sick. You okay?”

  Nicole closed her eyes. “I feel better now,” she lied.

  “Get your butt out here, then. You have to tell me what happened with Jack. And Zooms is on the warpath.” Nicole flushed the toilet for show, then came out to wash her hands.

  “What’s wrong?” Mimi asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nico, this is me you’re talking to. What is it? Killer cramps? Pregnant by Immaculate Conception? Work with me, here.”

  “I’m fine. Let’s just go.” Nicole half ran out the door and across the museum rotunda back to their group, Mimi hurrying to keep up with her.

  “What is up with you, Nico?”

  “It’s not important.”

  “Mademoiselle Bernhardt, nice of you to rejoin us,” Zooms said dryly. “So glad it fit into your schedule.”

  A middle-aged woman wearing a white blouse and black skirt stood before the group. “If I could have your attention. Welcome to the Anne Frank in the World exhibit. I’m Marta Wilk and I’ll be guiding your visit. This way, please.”

  As they followed their guide, Mimi grabbed Nicole’s arm. “Nicole, what’s going on?”

  “I told you—”

  “No, you blew me off. Did something happen with Jack?”

  Nicole hesitated. Mimi was her best friend. She could tell her the truth. “Yeah. Something happened.”

  “On the bus, you mean?”

  Nicole nodded. “He saved me a seat. I sat with him, and—”

  “Hey, you guys,” Suzanne called, catching up to them. “Did Mimi tell you about our little adventure while the bus was being fixed? Ms. Farmer had an asthma attack, and—”

  “We were talking about something else,” Mimi said sharply. Nicole flicked her eyes at Suzanne, signaling Mimi that what she’d been about to say was private. Mimi nodded. Nicole was happy for the reprieve. Telling Mimi would somehow make it even truer.

  Their group stopped before a triangular unit covered with text and photos. “We begin in 1929,” Ms. Wilk said. “This photograph of Anne as a baby, in her mother’s arms, was taken soon after she was born. You will note that—”

  A cheerleader ran over and interrupted the guide. “Ms. Zooms, Ms. Farmer is having another attack and her inhaler quit. She said I should get you.”

  “Stay with Ms. Wilk,” Zooms ordered her students. “I’ll catch up.” But as soon as Zooms was out of sight, kids began slipping away from the group. Doom and his Doom Squad headed farther into the exhibit hall. Eddie announced he had to hit the john and took off laughing with Peter.

  Ms. Wilk led what was left of the class toward the next photograph. “We come now to a photograph from Germany, 1932. This shows how terrible things can often start out very small. It is a poster for an early political campaign of Adolf Hitler. It reads, in German, ‘Hitler—our last hope.’ ”

  Mimi nudged Nicole. “Nico, quick. Suzanne’s back there, talking to David. So tell me what happened with—”

  CRACK!

  CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

  The sound of gunfire echoed through the exhibition hall. Panic struck. Screaming people ran in every direction and dove for cover. “Doom’s shooting!” someone yelled. “Doom’s got a gunl”

  Nicole found herself running toward an exit sign as a piercing alarm sounded. A wave of students pushed her from behind, slamming her against a wall.

  Mimi yanked her arm. “Come on!” She pulled Nicole away from the wall, but they were nearly trampled by a line of security guards, guns drawn, charging toward the sound of the shots.

  More screams, more crying. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder. Nicole and Mimi were trapped in a mass of students jamming the emergency exit. “Help me!” a girl screamed, as she fell in the crush. A boy stepped on her arm and ran on.

  “Mimi!”

  “Hold on, Nico!”

  Nicole grabbed her friend’s hand. “Don’t let go!” They were being pushed from all sides.

  “Nico, I can‘t—”

  Nicole felt Mimi’s hand slipping from hers. “Don’t fall!” she ordered, as if her voice could keep her friend up. Mimi let go. “Mimi! Where are you? Mimi!”

  CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

  A sudden pain pierced Nicole, red-hot. And then, there was nothing at all.

  seven

  The blaring high-pitched whine of sirens. A terrible pounding inside her head. Raw, rhythmic waves of pain. Nicole clamped her hands over her eyes and moaned. It was as if her mind were swimming through muck, coming up from another place. Who and where she was, and what had happened, returned to her slowly, like faces materializing on a developing photograph.

  The state museum. Doom. Gunfire. Panic. Death.

  Like TV news footage, images played inside her mind—SWAT teams, police
setting a perimeter so the shooter couldn’t escape, innocents led away by teachers, ambulances lined up like soldiers at inspection. Inside the museum—Oh, God. Bodies everywhere, bleeding on the floor.

  But this wasn’t television, live from Colorado or Oregon or Georgia. It was happening in her state, to her classmates. To her.

  Nicole felt the pull of unconsciousness lulling her back to safety. Fight, she told herself. Focus. What else must be happening? Had the television trucks arrived? Helicopters? Were they talking about Doom, showing his picture from the ninth-grade yearbook on the air? What if he still had a gun? My parents must be worried. Maybe they’re on their way with Mimi’s parents. Mimi. Caught in the crush. I have to make sure Mimi is okay.

  That last thought got Nicole to open her eyes; fast, like a bandage ripped off in one quick move. She struggled to rise; strong hands on her shoulders held her in place. “Mimi,” she mumbled. “Got to find Mimi.” She looked up. The eyes of Mr. Urkin looked back.

  “Rest now,” he told her. Ms. Zooms’ face loomed cartoon ishly near his.

  “Doom has a gun. We have to get out of here!” Her own voice hurt her head as much as the sirens. She struggled to stand, but Urkin gently pressed her to the couch. Couch? That had to mean she wasn’t on the floor of the museum anymore. Someone—Zooms, Urkin, both of them?—must have rescued her.

  She turned to see where she was and the movement felt like a punch to the skull. Weird. She seemed to be in someone’s living room. The upholstered furniture was old-fashioned, a grandfather clock stood in one corner, a grand piano faced one wall, and above it hung Impressionist paintings like those her French teacher always raved about.

  So, where was she? In a museum room that had been made to look like Anne Frank’s home? Possibly. But if she and Urkin and Zooms were safe, why weren’t more people with them?

  “Where’s Doom? Did the cops get him?” She touched her cheek, which was throbbing. It was bandaged, wet to the touch. She looked at her finger. “I’m bleeding.”

  “Just a scratch,” Urkin said.

  “Did Doom shoot me? He did, didn’t he? That’s why you look so worried.”