conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a book titled The Girl She Used to Be about WITSEC, Grace, Federal with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Women's Fiction.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: After 20 years in the Federal Witness Protection Program (WITSEC) and eight aliases, Melody Grace McCartney hardly knows who she is. On the run since she and her parents stumbled on a gruesome murder by mobster Tony Bovaro when she was six years old, Grace saw WITSECs promised protection fail her mother and father when they were killed 12 years later. Now she feigns personal danger to be relocated just because shes bored and wants a change. But before her new case officer can move her from suburban Maryland to rural Wisconsin, Tonys son, Jonathan, tracks her down to present an alternative: protection from his family and a life of more safety and freedom than she has ever known. While federal officials pressure her to stay in WITSEC and show her Jonathans violent side, her attraction to him grows, and she must decide a course for the rest of her life. This is a compulsively readable, skillfully constructed first novel with well-drawn characters and a plot that twists and turns to what seems the best possible conclusion, marking the author as a writer to watch. --Michele Leber
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: After 20 years in the Federal Witness Protection Program (WITSEC) and eight aliases, Melody Grace McCartney hardly knows who she is. On the run since she and her parents stumbled on a gruesome murder by mobster Tony Bovaro when she was six years old, Grace saw WITSECs promised protection fail her mother and father when they were killed 12 years later. Now she feigns personal danger to be relocated just because shes bored and wants a change. But before her new case officer can move her from suburban Maryland to rural Wisconsin, Tonys son, Jonathan, tracks her down to present an alternative: protection from his family and a life of more safety and freedom than she has ever known. While federal officials pressure her to stay in WITSEC and show her Jonathans violent side, her attraction to him grows, and she must decide a course for the rest of her life. This is a compulsively readable, skillfully constructed first novel with well-drawn characters and a plot that twists and turns to what seems the best possible conclusion, marking the author as a writer to watch.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Girl She Used to Be
  Thanks also to Amelia Madison for getting the boulder to the edge of the cliff, and to Lauren Baratz-Logsted for being the impetus.
  NAME ME. GAZE INTO MY EYES, STUDY MY SMILE AND MY DIMPLES and tell me who you see. I look like an Emma. I look like an Amy. I look like a Katherine. I look like a Kathryn. I look like your best friend's sister, your sister's best friend. Introduce me. Yell for me. Let me run away and call me back. Run your fingers through my hair and whisper my name.
  When I was born, my parents assembled a string of vowels and consonants so magical, so rhythmic and haunting, that the human form had yet to be married to such beauty.
  And because of my ineptitude and innocent inability to keep a secret, they took it away again when I was eight.
  Not to worry: the Federal Government was quick to replace the old with the new, to clean up the mess and move us along to the next bland, underpopulated town, to another dot on the map that serves as nothing more than a break from the interstate, a pit stop on the way to some greater place; you know them, but forget them. There has to be a Middletown in almost every state, and I've already lived in or near three of them.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I pick up a pillow and bring it to my face. It is fresh and clean and smelling faintly of lavender. I pull it down over my face, hard, and fade out.
  Breakfast arrives and I waste no time getting the food from plate to mouth. And with each bite I can't help but wonder if my moans of pleasure are penetrating the hotel walls.
  I am finally satiated—and full of caffeine—and I sit back in bed and watch the clock. Then I start reading about how Louis de Broglie earned a Nobel Prize by way of his doctoral thesis on particle-wave duality of the electron that he delivered at the Sorbonne.
  Light breaks and the clock reads 5:49 A.M., and it turns out electromagnetism is deduced or inferred from gravity in a grand unified theory if, instead of three space dimensions, there are four, where the fourth is transformed into a diminutive circle.
  At 6:22 A.M., I'm pretty sure I hear Jonathan moving around in his room; I put my ear to the adjoining door and keep it there for many minutes but hear nothing more, so I soon find out that three independent particle theorists determined that the dual theories that render the particle spectrum similarly evoke the quantum mechanics of oscillating strings—and there you have it, the veritable conception of string theory.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: , I'm pretty sure I hear Jonathan moving around in his room; I put my ear to the adjoining door and keep it there for many minutes but hear nothing more, so I soon find out that three independent particle theorists determined that the dual theories that render the particle spectrum similarly evoke the quantum mechanics of oscillating strings—and there you have it, the veritable conception of string theory. It is fresh and clean and smelling faintly of lavender. I pull it down over my face, hard, and fade out.
  Breakfast arrives and I waste no time getting the food from plate to mouth. And with each bite I can't help but wonder if my moans of pleasure are penetrating the hotel walls.
  I am finally satiated—and full of caffeine—and I sit back in bed and watch the clock. Then I start reading about how Louis de Broglie earned a Nobel Prize by way of his doctoral thesis on particle-wave duality of the electron that he delivered at the Sorbonne.
  Light breaks and the clock reads 5:49 A.M., and it turns out electromagnetism is deduced or inferred from gravity in a grand unified theory if, instead of three space dimensions, there are four, where the fourth is transformed into a diminutive circle.
  At 6:22 A.M.I pick up a pillow and bring it to my face.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.. Start with the sentence 'I look at the jeweler and think of Sean and smile a little'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I look at the jeweler and think of Sean and smile a little. "Well, no matter what, there will only ever be one Mr. Emerson. My heart is his, will always be his, and I'm going to wear this ring to remember him and... partly to send the message to other men that I'm not available." I hated Sean when he uttered those words, but now I fully understand them. "That sounds sort of arrogant, doesn't it?"
  I leave the store and walk out into the cool afternoon and start the long journey back to campus, where I have a class in American Justice; I am the teacher's pet.
  As I walk along the city streets, I watch the blasts of light shimmering from my ring and I twist it around my finger and I think of Jonathan. The clear and distinct memories are fading a bit, the exact words we said, the specific images. He is becoming larger in my mind but shifting more out of focus.
  Every day I want to find him, to hunt him down the way he hunted me year after year as I grew older. But we could not and will not ever find each other. He will never know my name and I will never know his. I can't even send him a cryptic message the way the marshals used to contact distant relatives for witnesses. Our lives are separated, broken at the center and drifting aimlessly, a certain impossibility of reconnection.
  Every day I want Jonathan to know that he is inside me, that he is my first, that he will be my only.