By August, she moved into an apartment near campus. My sister helped her pack. I carried one box—the one labeled “winter clothes”—just to have an excuse to be near her one last time.
Of course, nothing happened. Nothing could. She was my sister’s best friend, temporarily living under my parents’ roof, and I was a scrawny kid with a learner’s permit and a disastrous crush. But for eight weeks, I became an expert at accidentally walking through the living room when she was watching New Girl , at offering to grill burgers just to hear her say “Thanks, you’re a lifesaver,” at memorizing the exact shade of her nail polish (coral, not red).
So here’s to the sister’s hot friend. You don’t end up with her. But you do end up learning how you want to be seen—and how you want to see others.
The Summer My Sister’s Hot Friend Moved In Next Door
I was seventeen. Chloe was twenty, wore ripped band tees like they were couture, and laughed with her whole body. She also had this habit of making coffee in the morning while leaning against the counter in nothing but an oversized hoodie and socks. The kitchen became my personal obstacle course of trying not to stare.
She’d ask about my summer reading. She taught me how to parallel park in our cul-de-sac. Once, she even defended me at dinner when my sister made fun of my “weird” taste in music. “Let him like what he likes,” Chloe said, winking. I nearly choked on a breadstick.
By August, she moved into an apartment near campus. My sister helped her pack. I carried one box—the one labeled “winter clothes”—just to have an excuse to be near her one last time.
Of course, nothing happened. Nothing could. She was my sister’s best friend, temporarily living under my parents’ roof, and I was a scrawny kid with a learner’s permit and a disastrous crush. But for eight weeks, I became an expert at accidentally walking through the living room when she was watching New Girl , at offering to grill burgers just to hear her say “Thanks, you’re a lifesaver,” at memorizing the exact shade of her nail polish (coral, not red). mysitershotfriend
So here’s to the sister’s hot friend. You don’t end up with her. But you do end up learning how you want to be seen—and how you want to see others. By August, she moved into an apartment near campus
The Summer My Sister’s Hot Friend Moved In Next Door Of course, nothing happened
I was seventeen. Chloe was twenty, wore ripped band tees like they were couture, and laughed with her whole body. She also had this habit of making coffee in the morning while leaning against the counter in nothing but an oversized hoodie and socks. The kitchen became my personal obstacle course of trying not to stare.
She’d ask about my summer reading. She taught me how to parallel park in our cul-de-sac. Once, she even defended me at dinner when my sister made fun of my “weird” taste in music. “Let him like what he likes,” Chloe said, winking. I nearly choked on a breadstick.
