Mysitershotfriend Official

The worst part? She was genuinely nice.

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.

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. mysitershotfriend

Looking back, it wasn’t about Chloe being “hot.” It was about her treating me like a person, not just a kid. She showed up, she was kind, and she confused every teenage hormone I had into something almost tender.

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). The worst part

Anonymous

We all have that one summer we never quite forget. Mine has a face, a name, and an uncomfortable amount of borrowed lip gloss. You don’t end up with her

Her name was Chloe. She was my older sister’s college roommate, and when their sublet fell through in June, my mom—bless her oblivious heart—said, “Of course she can stay in the guest room.” What my mom didn’t realize was that Chloe wasn’t just my sister’s friend . She was, in the most devastating, inconvenient way possible, *my sister’s hot friend.