conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a book titled Us Kids Know about Ray, O'Dell, UpRealistic with the genre: Teen & Young Adult, Literature & Fiction.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Gr 9 UpRealistic and angsty, this debut novel brings readers into a world of teenage crises. Brielle and Ray O'Dell are siblings, and both of them are thinking about how and whether they belong in their respective circles. Bri is debating her friendships with the "popular" girls and how she really fits into that equation. Ray, bullied and contemplative, is suffering through an existential crisis and devouring as many texts as his Catholic school teachers can recommend while questioning his faith. Enter Cullen Hickson, a senior at the all-boys school that Ray attends who flings himself into the lives of the O'Dell siblings and brings them down a path of excitement and peril. The danger increases until one event spirals them out of the control. the author has set this novel in the early 2000s, just a year after the September 11 terrorist attacks, and there are many references to this event as well as popular culture of the time that may distract some unfamiliar with the era but won't completely derail the reading experience. Some of Ray and Bri's choices seem hard to believe because they feel out of character, but often their actions are reflective of the issues they are facing at home. Some of their antics aren't always met with appropriate consequences. VERDICT Gritty and dramatic, this is an additional purchase for large realistic fiction collections.Megan Huenemann, Norris High School, Firth, NE
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first four paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Us Kids Know
  I'd trailed the girls home often enough to know that, in order to make the turn at the corner, Meghan slowed the car to between twenty-three and twenty-eight miles per hour in front of my house. All that was left after that was to pick the day. There was no practicing for a thing like this. I just had to leap and hope for the best.
  My mother held my hand, and every time I closed my eyes Dad would tug on my earlobe and whisper, "Stay awake, Beaker."
  When I wasn't vomiting during this unwelcome two-day hiatus, I spent a lot of time sinking into my bed, watching muted black-and-white movies (sound was too much, colors too much) and generally feeling as though my brain had been pureed. On Sunday morning, Mom crept into my room.
  I blinked at her, computing. She scratched at her hair, which was a beautiful deep red shade that neither Ray nor I had inherited.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Now, at mass, Dad snuck glances at Ray, rotating his head to Ray then back to the altar then back to Ray, hoping with each new glance to find some promising change but always finding the same glitch of his troubled son, like tonguing the tender roof of your mouth after a burn.
  Father James recited a homily about joy. He noted the crowds of celebratory families and called for us to fill the church with so much joy year-round, not only at Christmas and Easter. "Tonight and tomorrow morning," he told us, "we rejoice with joy. And not only because we're getting all those great presents." He paused to let the soft chuckles whisper through the cathedral. "We rejoice with joy because this is the day that Christ is born anew in our hearts. It is a day of hope for all the love that our lives can bring, here and ever after."
  Ray's eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks hollow. He looked thinner than usual. Mom put one hand on Ray's thigh, but he flinched at her touch, and she pulled the hand back. Ray moved to the very end of the pew, where no hand could reach him. The wound on his chin was scabbed and ugly.
  Back at the house, Cullen stood tall and shook my father's hand. I stepped down the drive with him to his car. "Cullen," I said. "This thing tonight."
  There was a pause during which neither of us said anything. Cullen gave me a quick kiss, and then I was watching him drive away.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about Ray, snaked, shuffled, remained.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Now, at mass, Dad snuck glances at Ray, rotating his head to Ray then back to the altar then back to Ray, hoping with each new glance to find some promising change but always finding the same glitch of his troubled son, like tonguing the tender roof of your mouth after a burn. 
  Father James recited a homily about joy. He noted the crowds of celebratory families and called for us to fill the church with so much joy year-round, not only at Christmas and Easter. "Tonight and tomorrow morning," he told us, "we rejoice with joy. And not only because we're getting all those great presents. " He paused to let the soft chuckles whisper through the cathedral. "We rejoice with joy because this is the day that Christ is born anew in our hearts. It is a day of hope for all the love that our lives can bring, here and ever after. "
  Ray's eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks hollow. He looked thinner than usual. When we all rose and snaked through the pews and down the center aisle to the altar to take communion and then shuffled back along the stained-glass sidelines of the chapel, Ray remained seated, lost in himself, a ghost. Mom put one hand on Ray's thigh, but he flinched at her touch, and she pulled the hand back. Ray moved to the very end of the pew, where no hand could reach him. The wound on his chin was scabbed and ugly. 
  Back at the house, Cullen stood tall and shook my father's hand. I stepped down the drive with him to his car. "Cullen," I said. "This thing tonight. "
  There was a pause during which neither of us said anything. Cullen gave me a quick kiss, and then I was watching him drive away.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I shouted into the trees. Shrieked as loudly as I could until my throat felt shredded. I screamed and screamed, but the wind kept taking it away.
  It was hard to understand that he wasn't coming back. Ever. I wondered if that feeling would ever go away. Or if I even wanted it to go away.
  I stepped onto the deck and peered through the sliding glass door into the living room. Bri lay on the couch. She clutched a blanket to her chest. The TV blinked shades of blue and yellow across her face, but she wasn't watching it anymore. Her eyes, I could see when I cupped my palms around my face to limit the glare, were closed. I watched her for a long moment to be sure she was sleeping, drawing my collar up against the wind. She didn't move. I could hear the TV from outside. The volume was cranked, probably to help her stay awake. She must have waited a long time
  I walked to the other end of the house, where, at the kitchen table, Dad waited. When I approached the window just beside the door, he turned to look at me, as though he'd been expecting me at just that very moment. His eyes were red and puffy, and he leaned on his elbows with heavy, rounded shoulders. His hands were folded near his chin, like he'd been—and maybe still was, even as he was looking right at me—praying.
  I hadn't looked in a mirror all day. There was no telling what I looked like, but it couldn't have been pretty. No one comes back from the dead fully healed. Dad didn't offer much of a reaction, though, and I had the thought that maybe it was so dark out here he couldn't even see me. I shivered and kicked dirt off my shoes. My legs wouldn't stop shaking. I put one hand in my jacket pocket, wrapped the other around the doorknob, and pulled. The wind still beating and clamoring outside, I stepped into the light and shut the door.