system
You are a chatbot acting as a human, specialising in Rewrite. Give a response that a human will want to hear.
human
Change the characters to girls. Change Horse to Philippa and Max to Rachie

So Saturday morning we met at the High School subway
station. I got there first. Stuffed in my dad’s army surplus
knapsack was a blanket, a pillow, a paper bag with three
white-bread peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches – that is,
lunch, supper, and Sunday breakfast. My pockets were full of
stick matches. I had an old flashlight, and since I lived by the
Scout’s motto – Be Prepared – I had brought along an
umbrella. Finally, being a serious reader, I had the latest
Marvel Family comics.
 Horse arrived next, his arms barely managing to hold on
to a mattress that seemed twice his size. As for food, he had
four cans of beans jammed into his pockets.
 Max came last. He was lugging a new knapsack that
contained a cast-iron frying pan, a packet of hot dogs, and a
box of saltine crackers – plus two bottles. One bottle was
mustard, the other, celery soda. He also had a bag of Tootsie
Rolls and a shiny hatchet. “To build a lean-to,” he explained.
 Max’s prize possession however was an official Scout
compass. “It’s really swell,” he told us, “You can’t ever get
lost with it. Got it at the Scout store.”
 “I hate that place,” Horse informed us. “It’s all new.
Nothing real.”
 “This compass is real,” Max retorted. “Points north all
the time. You can get cheaper ones, but they all point all
different directions.”
 “What’s so great about the north?” Horse said.
 “That’s always the way to go,” Max insisted.
 “Says who?” I demanded.
 “Mr. Brenkman, dummy.” Horse cried. “Anyway, there’s
always an arrow on maps pointing the way north.”
 “Cowboys live out west,” I reminded them. They didn’t
care.
 On the subway platform, we realized we did not know
which station we were heading for. To find out, we studied
the system map, which looked like a noodle factory hit by a
bomb. The place we wanted to go (north) was at the top of
the map, so I had to hoist Horse onto my shoulders for a
closer look. Since he refused to let go of his mattress – or the
tin cans in his pockets – it wasn’t easy. I asked him- in a
kindly fashion – to put the mattress down.
 No sooner did he find the station – 168th Street – than
our train arrived. We rushed on, only to have Horse scream,
“My mattress!” He had left it on the platform. Just before
the doors shut, he and I leaped off. Max, however, remained
on the train. Helplessly, we watched as his horror-stricken
face slid away from us. “Wait at the next station!” I
bellowed. “Don’t move!”
 The next train took forever to come. Then it took even
longer to get to the next stop. There was Max. All around
him – like fake snow in a glass ball – were crumbs. He’d
been so nervous he had eaten all his crackers.
 “Didn’t that make you thirsty?”
 “I drank my soda.”
 I noticed streaks down his cheeks. Horse noticed them
too. “You been crying?” he asked.
 Naw,” Max said. “There was this water dripping from
the tunnel roof. But, you said don’t move, right? Well, I was
just being obedient.”
 By the time we got on the next train – with all our
possessions – we had been traveling for an hour. But we had
managed to go only one stop.
During the ride, I got hungry. I pulled out one of my
sandwiches. With the jelly soaked through the bread, it
looked like a limp scab.
 Horse, envious, complained he was getting hungry.
“Eat some of your canned beans,” I suggested.
He got out one can without ripping his pocket too badly.
Then his face took on a mournful look.
 What’s the matter?” I asked.
 Forgot to bring a can opener.”
 Max said, “In the old days, people opened cans with
their teeth.”
 “You saying I don’t know history?”
 Always kind, I plopped half my sandwich into Horse’s
hand. He squashed it into his mouth and was quiet for the
next fifteen minutes. It proved something I’d always
believed: The best way to stop arguments is to get people to
eat peanut butter sandwiches. They can’t talk.
Then we became so absorbed in our Marvel Family
comics we missed our station. We got to it only by coming
back the other way. When we reached street level, the sky
was dark.
gpt
So on Saturday morning, we all gathered at the High School subway station. Being the early bird, I arrived first. In my dad's army surplus knapsack, I had packed a cozy blanket, a soft pillow, and a paper bag filled with three delicious white-bread peanut butter and jelly sandwiches—a perfect combination for lunch, supper, and Sunday breakfast. My pockets were filled with stick matches, and of course, I carried an old flashlight. Being a firm believer in the Scout's motto, "Be Prepared," I had even brought along an umbrella. And being an avid reader, I made sure to bring the latest edition of the Marvel Family comics.

Philippa arrived next, struggling to maintain her grip on a mattress that seemed twice her size. As for food, she had ingeniously managed to cram four cans of beans into her pockets.

Rachie came last, carrying a brand-new knapsack that contained a sturdy cast-iron frying pan, a packet of hot dogs, a box of saltine crackers, and two bottles—one filled with mustard and the other with celery soda. She also proudly displayed a bag of Tootsie Rolls and a shiny hatchet, explaining that it would come in handy for building a lean-to. However, her most prized possession was an official Scout compass. Excitedly, she shared, "This compass is absolutely amazing. It never fails to point north, no matter what. I got it at the Scout store."

"I despise that place," Philippa grumbled. "It's all new, nothing authentic."

"But this compass is real," Rachie insisted. "It always points north. Sure, you can find cheaper ones, but they tend to point in all different directions."

"What's so great about the north?" Philippa questioned.

"That's always the way to go," Rachie declared.

"Says who?" I challenged.

"Mr. Brenkman, you silly. Besides, there's always an arrow on maps pointing the way north."

"But cowgirls live out west," I reminded them, although they seemed unfazed by my remark.

On the subway platform, we suddenly realized that we didn't know which station we were supposed to head to. To figure it out, we studied the system map, which resembled a tangled mess of noodles. The desired destination (north) was at the top of the map, so I hoisted Philippa onto my shoulders for a closer look. It wasn't easy since she stubbornly clung to her mattress and the tin cans in her pockets. In the kindest way possible, I asked her to set the mattress down.

Just as she located the station—168th Street—our train arrived. We hurriedly boarded, but to our horror, Philippa screamed, "My mattress!" She had left it behind on the platform. With split-second timing, she and I leaped off just before the doors closed. Unfortunately, Rachie remained on the train, and we helplessly watched her panic-stricken face vanish into the distance. "Wait at the next station!" I shouted. "Don't move!"

The next train seemed to take an eternity to arrive. And once it finally did, it took even longer to reach the next stop. There was Rachie, surrounded by crumbs that resembled fake snow in a glass ball. She had been so nervous that she ate all her crackers.

"Didn't that make you thirsty?" I asked.

"I drank my soda," Rachie replied.

I noticed streaks on her cheeks, and Philippa observed them too. "Have you been crying?" Philippa inquired.

"Nah," Rachie responded. "There was water dripping from the tunnel roof. But you said not to move, right? Well, I was just being obedient."

By the time we boarded the next train, lugging all our belongings, we had been traveling for an hour, yet we had only managed to cover one stop. As we rode, my stomach growled, signaling hunger. I reached into my bag and pulled out one of my sandwiches. The jelly had soaked through the bread, giving it a rather unappetizing appearance, resembling a limp scab.

Philippa, feeling envious, complained that she was also getting hungry. "Why don't you eat some of your canned beans?" I suggested.

She fumbled and managed to retrieve one can without tearing her pocket too badly. However, a mournful expression appeared on her face.

"What's the matter?" I asked curiously.

"I forgot to bring a can opener," Philippa admitted, disappointment evident in her voice.

Rachie chimed in, "You know, in the old days, people used to open cans with their teeth."

"Are you suggesting that I don't know history?" Philippa retorted defensively.

Always one to be kind, I handed Philippa half of my sandwich. She gratefully accepted it and squished it into her mouth, silencing her hunger for the next fifteen minutes. It proved something I had always believed: the best way to quell arguments is to offer people peanut butter sandwiches. They simply can't argue with their mouths full.

Lost in the captivating world of the Marvel Family comics, we became so engrossed that we missed our intended station. We had to backtrack and take the train in the opposite direction to finally reach our destination. When we emerged onto the street level, the sky had turned dark, casting an eerie atmosphere around us.