Mysitershotfriend -

And yeah. You also learn to make a mean cup of coffee.

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

Anonymous

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. And yeah

“See you around, little brother,” she said, ruffling my hair. Nothing could