conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Stef, Julia, Soto with the genre: Children's Books, Growing Up & Facts of Life?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Stef Soto, Taco Queen'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the first five paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Stef Soto, Taco Queen
  Papi had pretty much promised to stop bringing Tía Perla to Saint Scholastica School, but when the last bell rings on a Monday afternoon, there she is just the same, waiting for me in the parking lot: Tía Perla, yet again. Tía Perla, like always. Tía Perla, huffing and wheezing and looking a little bit grubby no matter how clean she actually is. Tía Perla, leaving anyone who comes near her smelling like jalapeños and cooking oil, a not-exactly-bad combination that clings to your hair and crawls under your fingernails. Tía Perla, Papi's taco truck, stuffed into a parking space meant for a much smaller car. A normal car. A station wagon! Something beige or black or white, with four doors and power windows.
  I must look as annoyed as I feel because just then, my best friend, Amanda Garcia, stops explaining how she turned an old T-shirt into a new headband and wags her finger. "Watch it, Stef," she warns in her best scolding-abuelita voice. "Keep rolling your eyes like that, and they'll get stuck up there."
  I roll my eyes at her so hard they almost bounce off my forehead. She snorts, pulls the headband over her ears, and jogs off to soccer practice, leaving me to deal with Papi and old Tía Perla on my own.
  I've been negotiating for months, trying to persuade Mami and Papi to let me walk alone—not even all the way home, just to the gas station a few blocks away from Saint Scholastica where Papi parks the truck most afternoons. I'd head straight there, I swore. Wouldn't stop for anything; wouldn't talk to anybody. I could tell they weren't crazy about the idea, but this weekend, Mami and Papi had finally given in.
  I walk across the parking lot, eyes glued to the ground and arms crossed sourly against my chest. I don't look up—not even when I'm climbing into the truck—until Papi asks, like he asks every single day, "Aprendiste algo?"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is five more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I tell Mrs. Garcia that it's not urgent—I'll just see Amanda at school tomorrow. She hangs up, and I wonder what to do next. It's no use calling Arthur—he has Korean school every Sunday after church and won't be home for hours.
  I rinse out my mug and go back to my room, guessing I'll just take a shower and then get a head start on my reading for the week. The front door opens as I'm brushing my teeth.
  I haven't. And to tell the truth, I was starting to regret missing out on Suzy's amazing chorizo and eggs.
  If it means my parents are going to start treating me like a thirteen-year-old, I'll iron every shirt in the house, not to mention the pants. Socks and underwear, too.
  Mami is called in to cover another assistant manager shift on Monday morning, so Papi offers to drop me off at school. Since it's not our usual routine, and because we have to pick up Tía Perla on the way, I barely make it to school on time. Even though it's late, I had hoped to find Amanda and Arthur outside class, ready to spill all the concert details. But when I get to the door, I hear their voices already inside. I guess they couldn't wait to tell everyone else about Viviana Vega. I'm a little jealous I didn't get to hear first, but I guess I understand.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the last five paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: She looks even better than she did in the moonlight. Not perfect—still dented, but not so dull. Tired, maybe, but full of life and promise.
  A laugh catches in Mami's throat as soon as she sees it, and she wipes a tear off her cheek. Papi comes closer. "M'ija... how... I don't..." he starts and stops.
  Papi runs his finger over the freshly painted letters, black outlined in gold. He doesn't say anything until we all hear a car slow to a stop in front of our house. As the man opens his door, Papi startles and walks out to the end of the driveway, stopping between the man and Tía Perla.
  The man turns to Mami, who smiles and shakes her head. Then he gets back into his car and drives away.
  When he disappears, I run to Papi and jump onto his back. He catches me under my knees and laughs his biggest, thundering laugh.