conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a story about Lincoln, Van, Sammy with the genre: Children's Books, Growing Up & Facts of Life?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this story could be 'The Secret Life of Lincoln Jones'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this story.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Secret Life of Lincoln Jones
  Ruby being naked may sound funny, but it's a sight so disturbing even Teddy C can't take it, and that's saying something. Teddy C ogles all the oldies. Fat ones, bony ones, doesn't seem to matter to him. He's ninety, but his eye is always roving. He does the whistle, too. Or at least he tries. It's more air than sound, but there's no mistaking what he's thinking.
  At first I thought the whistle was a joke, but Ma says it's for real and that his old-guy eyes see what they used to know, not what's actually there.
  Except, I guess, in the case of Ruby Hobbs. "Somebody help!" Teddy C called, like he was being robbed. "She's at it again!"
  Gloria sure does have a way with the oldies. Maybe it's how she can jump inside whatever fantasy or memory they're in the middle of. Or maybe it's the fake flower she wears in her hair. It's the exact same one every day, but every day it seems brand-new to the folks living at Brookside. "Oh, what a beautiful bloom!" someone'll say, like it's the first time they've seen it. "As pretty as you," Gloria'll reply, which makes them blush. Like it's the first time they've been paid the compliment.
  Whatever it is about Gloria, her magic doesn't only work on the oldies. It works on me, too. Ma tells me, "Focus," but all I can think about is how dumb it is that I have to spend my afterschools here, in an old-folks' home.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A t my old school, recess was indoors as much as it was outdoors. What kept us in was sometimes rain, but mostly heat or it being too humid to do much but sweat. Chasing or bouncing or dodging a ball on a swelterin' day was not my idea of fun.
  Besides, I wasn't any good at sports. Ma didn't like them, and Cliff—when he came into the picture—might have been good with a bat, but he wasn't interested in swinging it at baseballs.
  So sports and I never really got acquainted, and that was okay. Nobody made a fuss over it 'cause lots of other kids were spending recess indoors, too. And as long as you didn't mess with stuff or start trouble, nobody cared what you were doing in a corner by yourself, which, for me, was usually reading comics.
  I love comics. The superhero kind. Which aren't funny, but for some reason they're still called comics. Ma bought them for me once in a while, but my old school's media center had a secret stash of them in a back room, and Mr. Willard, the librarian, slipped them to kids who asked. "Here you go, Mr. Jones," he'd say with a wink, and I'd be glued to the thing any chance I got.
  On the back cover of every comic Mr. Willard had taped a list of vocabulary words. Words that were used in the comic. That was good for when you were reading and didn't know what a word meant, but the payback was you had to know all the words when you checked the comic back in.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: After Kandi went her way and I went mine, I started losing my nerve. I wanted to hold up my end of the deal, but...how could I ever explain my Thanksgiving?
  I thought about it when Suzie York asked me, "Do you know how to get out of here?" and Debbie Rucker called, "What is your name?" and Alice said, "Why, hello, sweet pea," and grabbed for my backside.
  I thought about it when Teddy C wolf-whistled at Gloria, and when Ma gave me one of her sweet smiles and asked if I was wantin' a snack. I thought about it when I saw that there was a new oldie in Room 102 who had the window-side bed, instead of Wilhelmina.
  I thought about it as I passed by Droolin' Stu, and when June and Linda shouted for somebody to make Paula quit tapping.
  Wendelin lives in central California with her husband and two sons. Her hobbies include the "three R's": reading, running, and rock 'n' roll.