Page 48 of Rules for Rule Breaking

“Now neither of us can run for office in Pennsylvania,” Winter said, chewing on the inside of her mouth, trying to stifle a laugh.

“There you go, ruining my political ambitions again.”

“It’s been three years. You need to let that governor’s dinnerfor womengo.”

“Never.”

The elastic in Winter’s hair had slipped almost entirely down the length of her ponytail. Bobby snatched it before it fell and handed it to her. She stopped to throw her hair back up into a bun as he watched her with a lazy smile and dead-behind-the-eyes look.

“What’s your problem?” she asked.

“Nothing. We’re here.”

They stopped at a crossroads, and her eyes fell upon Pat’s and Geno’s, the two most well-known Philly cheesesteak spots in the city. Their retro multicolored lights illuminated the entire street. Winter could smell the hot grease sizzling on the industrial stovetops intermingling with caramelized onions and fresh bread rolls. She was drawn to them like a moth to flame.

“Which one should we go to?” Bobby asked.

“Both?”

He stepped forward, and Winter stopped him. “Wait. There’s a special way to order them. Do you know it? I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of a bunch of Philadelphians. Did you see what happened after theywonthe Super Bowl?”

“I don’t know how to order. I don’t speak cheesesteak.”

“I don’t have any dietary restrictions. You order.”

Bobby folded his arms. “No, you. You were the one who was hungry.”

Winter stomped her foot. “Bobby, just go. Pleeeeease. You’ll have to carry my body back to my parents if I don’t eat soon.”

“Chivalry has died, Winter. I may open doors for you sometimes, but you’re perfectly capable of opening them yourself.”

“Well, don’t stop being a gentleman on my account. Order away, sir.”

“I can’t. I’m way too high. And it’s too bright over there.”

“Come on, Bobby. We know who’s going to win this argument.”

They stared each other down for what felt like forever but realistically was only about five seconds. Bobby was the first to look away. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Fine, I’ll handle this,” he said.

Bobby Bae

21. WE WILL NOT GIVE EACH OTHER ADVICE

Bobby and Winter, under the light outside of Pat’s and Geno’s, waved down their delivery boy. Bobby had never seen anyone look so confused. He had red hair and freckles, and was not much older than they were, probably a college kid trying to make some honest pocket money, not deliver food a block over to red-eyed teenagers with social anxiety.

They started walking back to the hotel with their greasy bags. Bobby didn’t typically eat like that, but his stomach was turning inside out and eating itself. He went to take a big bite, but Winter stopped him.

“That one has cheese on it,” she said, opening up all the foil wrappers to check the others. “They all have cheese. Our order was wrong.”

Bobby didn’t care. He was starving. “I can pick it off.”

“You can’t pick off Cheez Whiz. It chemically binds to things.”

He took a giant defiant bite. “Relax. It’s basically orange plastic.”

“Your funeral, Milquetoast.”