Page 42 of Rules for Rule Breaking

Winter put her hand over her heart. “We’re still under moratorium. I promise.”

Bobby reached into his back pocket and took out his leather-bound notebook. He flipped through it, and she got a look at a few of the pages. It was like he’d written his own English-to-Korean dictionary. He clicked his pen and looked at her expectantly.

“Gochu,” Winter said.

Bobby repeated it, and she snorted.

“What did you make me say?” he asked, his jaw tightening.

Winter flashed her teeth. “Nothing. It means ‘pepper.’ ”

“Then why are you laughing?” he demanded. “What does it actually mean?”

She held her sides. “ ‘Pepper’! I told you.”

“Winter.”

“Bobby.”

“Soon-hee.”

“Okay, fine.” Winter motioned for him to get closer. He leaned over the table, and she whispered, “It’s slang for ‘penis.’ ”

“Penis!” Bobby yelled. Some people looked over, and he smiled and waved at them like he was Miss America. He swiveled his head back around. “You had me write ‘penis’ in my notebook?” he hissed. “Ugh. I can’t erase it, and if I cross it out, it’ll look ugly.”

Winter was beside herself with laughter. “I’m sorry. We were getting so serious,” she said, regaining her calm. “I’ll actuallyteach you something.” She motioned for his notebook.

Bobby narrowed his eyes at her. “If you draw dicks all over it, I swear I’ll drive off and leave you here.”

“Calm down. I’m not going to draw dicks.”

Bobby handed the book over the table, and a paper fell out. Winter wiped her hands and reached under the table to get it. When she picked it up, she recognized her own handwriting.

“What is this?” she asked, pinching it between two fingers.

Bobby looked down. “You don’t remember the letter you wrote me when you were in in fifth grade?”

Winter’s breath quickened. “What letter? What are you talking about?”

“Our parents made us go to the Spring Fling dance together. You wrote me a letter to invite me, and you laid out exactly how that night was going to go—what we could and couldn’t do, what we could and couldn’t talk about.”

Winter’s cheeks were hot. “You kept it?”

“Of course I kept it. It’s rare that you know exactly where you stand with someone.”

Winter had completely forgotten about that dance, but she did remember the dress. She went shopping for it with her mother and Mrs. Bae. It was a peach-colored sundress that fanned out when she twirled. She rarely enjoyed wearing dresses, but that one had pockets.

She bit her lip. “Can I read it?”

“I mean, you wrote it. Go ahead.”

Winter slowly unfolded the letter. It had been tucked between the pages and seemed not to have been opened in several years. It was typed out, perfectly formatted according toThe Chicago Manual of Style, 17th Edition.

“Oh God,” Winter said. “This is so embarrassing.”

“But very well written for a ten-year-old.”

“Still mortifying, though,” she said, her voice softening. “I was really horrible back then, wasn’t I?”