[Note to readers: Bethesda Yeh, an editor-in-chief of The Lion’s Roar at Newton South High School, will be writing the Next Gen Lens column in the Beacon. She takes over from Maya Solomon, who graduated from Newton North High School in June and is now attending college.]

It was a July weeknight, well past 10 p.m. I’d already helped my youngest sister blow-dry her hair, fit her bedsheets, and line up all the stuffed animals on her mattress. She was very particular about that.

“Better turn off the lights and get in bed,” I told her, “before Mom finds out you’re still awake.” 

“You still have to braid my hair for bed,” she said, matter-of-factly. Then, giggling and holding out two hair ties, she reminded me, “Being an older sister is very hard work.”

“Seriously?” I sighed.

This summer has flown by. One moment we were celebrating the last day of school; the next, August had descended into September in full force. 

The relative calm of these summer months, a brief reprieve after a merciless junior year, would soon give way to the nightmare of senior year’s first semester. I was juggling my summer plans, ongoing extracurriculars and, of course, the dreadfully stressful start of college applications.

With exactly one more year under the same roof as my family, I realized these once-bothersome moments with my little sister have become the last gasps of a childhood I am soon to leave behind.

As far as I could remember, I’d been able to do all these things myself, from sheet-fitting to hair-braiding, when I was nine. If I had asked Mom to braid my hair at night so it would turn out wavy by morning, she’d have told me to stop being so frivolous.

Groaning, I stood up from my spot on the floor and took the hair ties from my sister’s hand. I carefully partitioned her hair into two, securing the left side with a ponytail while I worked on the right. As I wove the strands together, she blabbered on about her day at summer camp. Did I know what so-and-so said to the counselor, and the absolute chaos that ensued? I did not—but my steady stream of “mm-hmms” seemed to keep her going.

This was far from my first time styling her hair. During the day, she came to me with all sorts of requests, an unending procession of them, really. 

Some were one-off asks: “Can you help with my laundry?” or “Can you teach me how to make an omelette?” Others were repeated at least a dozen times: “Can we please play Fireboy & Watergirl (the video game) together on your computer?” or “Can we please, please have a sleepover tonight and a puppet show with our stuffed animals before bed?”

Our extra time together this summer lent itself to all of it. Cooking ranged from boiling water for instant noodles, to frying those omelettes, to baking our first cake together. 

Sleepovers and puppet shows happened more times than I can count. As for Fireboy & Watergirl … let’s not talk about the amount of time we spent on that. (We managed to complete the seventh installment, “And Friends,” in its entirety, all 36 levels cleared with green gems.)

Sometimes as I sat at my computer, grinding away at college applications, my sister would lurk behind me, as she so often does when I’m working. A spreadsheet stretched across my screen—a list of school names, one of which would become my new home in a year’s time. She’d take one look, rattle off the few universities she’d heard the Chinese uncles and aunties talk about, and then declare herself bored, promptly deciding she needed my phone to learn Japanese on Duolingo.

A year ago, I would have rolled my eyes. But watching her tap away on my phone while I stared at college statistics made something click: As I fill out these college applications—these exhausting, mind-boggling applications—I’m building my future, trying to give myself the best shot at the life I want. Behind me, though, it’s these little moments, and my sister’s small, noisy requests, that keep me anchored to the present. 

With that said, I still sometimes complain about wasting yet another hour on a video game or being dragged into a braiding session past her bedtime. And I still have to tell my sister that, no, we can’t have a sleepover three nights in a row. Time to go back to your own room. 

This time, though, I let her have her way. As she finished rambling away about her day at camp, I tied the ends of her braids with her hair ties, tucked her into bed, and turned out the lights.

My time left as her late-night hair stylist and puppeteer is running out. A year from now, my nights will be spent in a dorm room who-knows-where, probably still cramming for homework assignments due the next day, or perhaps chatting away with my new peers. 

No matter how far away college is, home will always be these cherished, mundane moments—and I’ll always answer when my little sister calls for help. 

Bethesda Yeh is a senior at Newton South High School and an editor-in-chief for South’s student newspaper, The Lion’s Roar. She can be reached at beth.lionsroar@gmail.com.