conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Faith's, Laurel, Faith with the genre: Teen & Young Adult, Literature & Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'The Lost and the Found'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the first five paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Lost and the Found
  While the sales assistant is droning on, I catch sight of Laurel at one of the makeup counters. A flicker of movement catches my eye, and I lower my gaze to Laurel's hand. It glides over the counter, over the shiny tubs and bottles and compacts. Her fingers curl around something—mascara or eyeliner, perhaps?—and she drops it into the bag from the department store. Then she does it again, watching the two women behind the counter the whole time.
  I turn my back on her and go to find Mom to tell her the bad news about her conditioner. She sighs and says, "Back to the drawing board," and goes to choose another one. I'm tempted to tell her what I saw. What would she think about her darling daughter shoplifting? She probably wouldn't believe me, but the proof is right there in Laurel's bag.
  Grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner, made by Laurel. Mom compliments her on grilling the cheese just right.
  Mom comes back downstairs, and we spend the rest of the evening watching mindless TV shows—all Laurel's choices, of course.
  I'm getting ready for bed and replaying my conversation with Laurel in my head. She was very convincing—not even a hint of guilt or embarrassment. Could I have been mistaken about what I saw? Maybe Laurel picked up the makeup and put it right back down again, but I was in such a weird mood and so desperate to see something to tarnish the image of the golden child that my eyes tricked me into believing that I'd seen her stealing.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is five more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Getting to the restrooms is a bit of a mission. You have to go downstairs and through the main room of the bar, which is packed full of people watching sports. I recognize a couple of guys from the party hovering at the bottom of the stairs. They probably know full well how Mrs. Bolt will react if she catches them loitering down here. After I pee, a quick look in the mirror confirms that my makeup is just about okay. Anyway, I left my bag upstairs, so there's not a whole lot I can do about it right now.
  A woman comes out of one of the stalls, washes her hands, then starts putting on some lipstick. Her face contorts in the mirror and I look away. Not before she catches me, though. "It's Faith, isn't it?" She must be one of the only people Thomas hasn't introduced me to, but it's obvious she's related to Mrs. Bolt.
  It takes me approximately five seconds to realize that Thomas's aunt is one of those people who can have an entire conversation by themselves, with little or no input from the person they're supposedly talking to.
  She links her arm through mine and leads me toward the door. When we're snaking our way through the crowd of drinkers at the bar, I tell her I have to make a phone call so I'll see her upstairs. "Don't be long—I think they're bringing out the cake soon!"
  I expect to hear the music pumping as I trudge up the stairs, but there's silence. Everyone's gathering around a spot in the center of the room. Thomas is standing next to a cart with an enormous cake on it. Mrs. Bolt is standing next to him, her arm around his shoulders. Thomas's dad is taking a photo of the cake. I can't help thinking that Mrs. Bolt did this on purpose—wheeling out the birthday cake when I was out of the room.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: You have to go downstairs and through the main room of the bar, which is packed full of people watching sports. I recognize a couple of guys from the party hovering at the bottom of the stairs. They probably know full well how Mrs. Bolt will react if she catches them loitering down here. After I pee, a quick look in the mirror confirms that my makeup is just about okay. Anyway, I left my bag upstairs, so there's not a whole lot I can do about it right now.
  A woman comes out of one of the stalls, washes her hands, then starts putting on some lipstick. Her face contorts in the mirror and I look away. Not before she catches me, though. "It's Faith, isn't it?" She must be one of the only people Thomas hasn't introduced me to, but it's obvious she's related to Mrs. Bolt.
  It takes me approximately five seconds to realize that Thomas's aunt is one of those people who can have an entire conversation by themselves, with little or no input from the person they're supposedly talking to.
  She links her arm through mine and leads me toward the door. When we're snaking our way through the crowd of drinkers at the bar, I tell her I have to make a phone call so I'll see her upstairs. "Don't be long—I think they're bringing out the cake soon!"
  I expect to hear the music pumping as I trudge up the stairs, but there's silence. Everyone's gathering around a spot in the center of the room. Thomas is standing next to a cart with an enormous cake on it. Mrs. Bolt is standing next to him, her arm around his shoulders. Thomas's dad is taking a photo of the cake. I can't help thinking that Mrs. Bolt did this on purpose—wheeling out the birthday cake when I was out of the room.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the last five paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I tell her I'm sorry. I tell her we did everything we could to find her. I tell her we never gave up hope.
  I tell her I'm not sure I've done the right thing. I ask her what she would have done in my position, and I actually stop and listen as if I'm expecting an answer.
  I tell her I'm proud of her, for being so brave all those years when she must have been so very, very scared. I'm proud of her for befriending Sadie, for being there for her when no one else was.
  There's nothing left to say after that. I'll be back—in a week or a month. Whenever the urge to tell someone gets too much for me, I'll come here and talk to my sister. She's the only one who understands. That's one thing I'm absolutely sure about. Some people might find it hard to accept why I've done what I've done. They might think it's unforgivable, that my parents deserve to know what happened to Laurel.
  Sincerest thanks to Allison Hellegers, Julia Churchill, Emily Easton, Samantha Gentry, Roisin Heycock, Ray Shappell, Trish Parcell, Alison Kolani, Talya Baker, Glenn Tavennec, the Sisterhood, UKYA bloggers, Mari Hannah, Gillian Robertson, Sarah Stewart, Lauren James, Cate James, Ciara Daly, Robert Clarke, and Caro Clarke.