The Summer I Turned Pretty is a television show that has hooked a generation of teens and made them grapple with an important and challenging question. Who is the better brother? Or ultimately, who is better for the protagonist Belly.  Throughout the 3 seasons of The Summer I Turned Pretty, the viewer is taken on a ride through the relationship between Belly and Conrad, and the relationship between Belly and Jeremiah.

In my mind, there is no contest.  Conrad is the better brother in every way. He is the classic, brooding older brother. He is naturally quiet and hides a lot of feelings—grief, anxiety, and a fierce protectiveness of the people he loves. I believe that viewers gravitate toward a character like Conrad because he seems more complex and mature than his younger brother. His history with Belly goes back to their childhood, where he was always the one to stick up for her when it came to him, Jeremiah, and Steven (Belly’s brother) picking on her as a little girl. 

In contrast, Jeremiah is outgoing and likes to have fun.  Belly is drawn to his easy going personality and likes that he is always wanting to make things light and silly. Although these are qualities that are important in a relationship, Jeremiah often can’t take much seriously and has a hard time deciding on what he wants for his future.  

Conrad can be intense and complex but his love and passion for Belly clearly outweighs Jeremiah’s fun and easy-going personality.

Ultimately, Belly’s love for Conrad wins when she finally accepts her love for him.

During the previous school year, I was fortunate enough to be selected to be a part of the annual Goslar X Shaker Heights exchange program. For any Shaker student who is a part of the German program, this is the moment you have been waiting for. You get to travel to Germany, practice the language, and most importantly, absorb the culture. While it is common to have worries about the exchange, (and I definitely had my own) there was nothing more satisfying than the relief of arriving after almost a year of anticipation. As I had been told before arriving in Goslar, it was inevitable to have an awkward first night. And boy was Dr. Szalay right.

Once you get past the awkward first night (and maybe a sprinkle of other peculiar instances) it is truly a wonderful experience. I quickly developed a meaningful connection with my host brother, Jorin, who will arrive the day after this blog is published (October 1st). The thing that I look back on most often is the freedom I had while in Goslar, giving me the opportunity to interact with the new environment around me. During and after school days, I would roam around the city of Goslar and explore. This meant going to bakeries with my friends, window shopping in local businesses, and looking at the beautiful German architecture the city had to offer. Also, Goslar is located near the Harz mountains, providing me with beautiful views I could get from my host family’s backyard. 

The amount of free time that Germans have on non-weekend days is exponentially greater than the time that we have, giving them time to work on personal hobbies and truly relax. For me, this meant playing soccer and Spikeball, going to the nearby lake, trying German snacks and delicacies, or partaking in any activity me or my friends could think of. If you do go on the exchange, or randomly stop by in Goslar, I would recommend a few things to you. For food, go to Fehmis Gemüse Kebap, any ice cream shop, or a bakery that is close to Goslar’s high school. For activities, I would say you would be best doing something outside, such as a walk through the town, a hike on the Brocken, or a dip at the lake. 

Jorin will be arriving very shortly, and I am thrilled. I am so happy to have built a genuine friendship with someone over such a short time span and I can’t wait to show him my favorite things about living in America. Watching a high school football game, going to Cedar Point, and a trip to Canes are some of the marvelous things about American culture that I am delighted to show to Jorin.

I sit in the passenger seat of a classic teenage girl car; the flower-scented perfume, miscellaneous items are scattered in the backseat, and crumbs are poking my legs as they linger in the crevices of my seat. 

Lucy started driving me and Liz, my best friend, to school when we were freshmen. Lucy was a junior, and the two-year age gap was the only thing that separated us. Well, that, and my driveway, which puts about a foot or two in between our houses.  I moved next to Lucy about twelve years ago, and those 140-some months consumed a huge part of me. 

We embarked on each new school year together, beginning with our Boulevard Elementary adventures. The school year would kick off with our annual bus stop tradition: a group photo of me, Lucy, and our siblings, and an intense sidewalk decorating session. Lucy and I were the definition of what some would call “tomboy” and “girly-girl.” While she was decked out in athletic wear, a backwards hat, and some tennis shoes, I rocked a pair of flats, a floral dress (with leggings underneath, because why not?), and a new headband each day. Our differences never stopped us from getting along; Lucy was always just a knock on the door away.

As kindergarten and second grade turned into second grade and fourth grade, we were ready to take on more years together. Well, except for when Lucy sat me down and told me she “couldn’t play with me anymore” because she was getting too old (she was eight, mind you). Thankfully, we made it past that roadbump, and all else stayed the same. I would knock three times, Lucy would answer, and we would lose track of time from there. Whether it was exploring her ghost-infested attic or fulfilling our entrepreneurial desires with a top-tier lemonade stand, we were always doing something. 

Once Lucy moved on to middle school, it hit us: we wouldn’t walk the same hallways again until high school. For us tweens, high school was miles away. The words “class of 2027” were like a different dimension for me; a scholastic future so far away that all Lucy and I could do was imagine. 

So, we filled the longing, separated, years of Woodbury and the Middle School with classic neighborly fun. Candy trading after Halloween, easter egg hunts, playing tennis, and whatever else you could think of. Even though our grades separated us, nothing else would get in the way of our proximity. 

Eventually, high school hit Lucy, and she entered the whirlwind when I was only in seventh grade. Just for reference, Lucy did, in fact, drop the tomboy look before that. 

But finally, our time came when I wrapped up middle school (thank god), and needed a ride for my freshman year. Lucy was already a junior at this point, and it was practically a given that she was going to drive me. 

I left my house at 7:40 each day, walked across the grass to Lucy’s, and waited for her to come downstairs. By the way, when I say wait, I mean it. Despite all the things I love about Lucy, her timeliness is not one of them. 

Lucy and I would spend the next two years taking on high school together, even though we lived two completely different versions of it. While she was probably writing college essays and cramming for her APs, 14-year-old me was most likely complaining about my outfit that day and the five math problems I had due. Regardless, Lucy talked, and I listened.

We experienced many journeys throughout our time driving together, like going to Starbucks every Thursday, getting in multiple almost-car accidents, and hitting someone. (Yes, we did actually hit someone, and yes, he was fine.)

Now, I have my own crumb-infested car, but I sit in the driver’s seat this time. Sometimes I get a whiff of Lucy’s floral perfume at school, and it makes me wonder how she is doing at college.

It only felt fitting to make my first blog about someone who I’m so close with (literally close, and figuratively). This year is going to be a little different, as the house next door is empty, and I’m not showing up twenty minutes late to school.