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broken—and smokes and tells jokes. Mrs. Frank mends our clothes, praises Margot, and gets angry with Anne. Mr. Frank reads and smiles and tries to keep the peace. Some nights we listen to the radio. I hate it. It reminds me that everyone's fighting while I just sit here—and listen.
    Afterward we all argue about what it means.
    "You see it will all be over in a few months!"
    "It will never end and we'll all die in the camps!"
    But all we're really talking about is how we feel that day. Yet you must never say so—
ever!
If you do you are suddenly the enemy, and you'll be shot down in flames, like a plane.
    We don't want reason. We don't want truth. We just want to believe that the British will come, because if they don't ... well if they don't, we won't be here to tell anyone about it.
Which is why ... we don't want reason and we don't want truth. We just want to believe ... and so we go on. Round and round, in the same rooms, with the same people. In the half-dark. It's always half dark, even in the daytime. Only in the attic is there light. And sky. But in winter I know that some days the light will never arrive. The thought scares me.
    Anne appears in my room and asks, "Do you like dressing up?"
    I nod. And blush again. I think she means wearing nice clothes to go out in, but she doesn't, she means dressing up like children out of a dressing-up box.
    "Come on!" she says, and her eyes are shining the way no one's eyes shine anymore, not even Margot's. And I'm
bored.
Nothing ever happens and we're supposed to be
glad
about it. Well, the truth is that we
are
glad about it, because we're so scared about what
could
happen—which might explain why I'm creeping down the attic staircase with Mutti's dress pinched between my finger and thumb, hoping that I don't fall down the stairs and end up needing a doctor. Anne is behind me wearing her father's hat and a penciled mustache. My God, if my friend Hans could see me now! I can't even bear to think about it. Anne runs into the kitchen.
    "Please put your hands together for..."
    I don't know what to do. I start to sweat. Anne's hissing at me: "Come on!"
    I walk into the kitchen and see Mutti, smiling. Without thinking, I twitch my skirt and turn my head over my shoulder, just the way she does sometimes.
    Anne picks up a book and coughs, just like her father, and begins telling me in terrible Dutch (all our parents speak bad Dutch—they make it sound like German!) all about Descartes. She sounds just like Mr. Frank! I act like Mutti, trying to look like I understand what she's saying, nodding my head. I cuddle up close to Anne and peer at the book, asking more and more stupid questions. Every time she answers, she steps away from me and I step closer. She stares, her eyes wide in mock alarm (just like her father).
    I step so close I breathe into her neck, so close I can smell her. She smells of the soap we all use, and something else ... something that's just her.
    Just Anne.
    And then Margot laughs out loud and I step away. We bow deeply, doff our hats and run out. We're laughing so much we have to help each other up the attic steps.
    "Oh, that's a tonic!" I hear Mutti laugh. "Am I really quite so obvious?"
    "Auguste, you're charming!" says Mr. Frank.
    I can't get the dress off. It's stuck halfway! My rear's out one end and my head's lost inside it.
    "Breathe out!" says Anne and she pulls. I go one way, and Anne and the dress go the other. We lie on the floor, laughing.
    "Look!" says Anne. "Look up!"
    And I look up. In our patch of sky a thousand stars are glittering.
    "Amazing!" I say.

OCTOBER 8, 1942— MIEP MAKES A DIFFICULT DECISION
    Miep is crying. She sits in the kitchen. We watch as the tears roll down her face. We all stare at her. We don't know what to do. What can we do? Our lives are in the hands she holds up to her face. She thinks she should be able to save everyone, but today she had to make a choice—and she chose us. We're grateful, but