conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is a description for a book titled That Night about Island with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The emotionally powerful story of young love set in suburban Long Island in the 60s.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Perfect, Thirteen, Reasons with the genre: Teen & Young Adult, Literature & Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'That Night'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is a description for a book titled That Night about S.E, Dennis, Salt with the genre: Science & Math, Biological Sciences?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: S.E. the author lives with her husband Dennis and a regularly-visiting neighbor cat in Salt Lake City, Utah. This is her first story for children.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the first four paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: That Night
  He looked up, then slid beside me under the blanket. "I think this piece of crap is pretty useless. It looks better naked."
  The moon was full, casting light onto the icy water in the retention basin. Our breath puffed out in white clouds in front of us. "Well," I acknowledged, "some things do."
  He turned toward me, pulled the blanket up around our ears, and I felt the pad of his finger under my chin, lifting my face toward his. He kissed me lightly on the lips. His lips were surprisingly warm. I'd expected drool and other gross stuff, but this was anything but gross. My lips parted, wanting more.
  He didn't have to be asked twice. He leaned in and kissed me, still gently, but with tongue this time. Eventually all those shivers went away, and it was entirely too warm. He lowered me back on the wooden floor of the playhouse as we each grew bolder and the kiss became deeper. We started to feed on each other's lips until I was pretty sure we'd tear them clean off.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: That Night
  He looked up, then slid beside me under the blanket. "I think this piece of crap is pretty useless. It looks better naked."
  The moon was full, casting light onto the icy water in the retention basin. Our breath puffed out in white clouds in front of us. "Well," I acknowledged, "some things do."
  He turned toward me, pulled the blanket up around our ears, and I felt the pad of his finger under my chin, lifting my face toward his. He kissed me lightly on the lips. His lips were surprisingly warm. I'd expected drool and other gross stuff, but this was anything but gross. My lips parted, wanting more.
  He didn't have to be asked twice. He leaned in and kissed me, still gently, but with tongue this time. Eventually all those shivers went away, and it was entirely too warm. He lowered me back on the wooden floor of the playhouse as we each grew bolder and the kiss became deeper.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is five more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I avoided eye contact with her as we approached. Kane said, "Should we bother? We won't get seats together."
  We all agreed to go in anyway, because it was a horror movie that all of us wanted to see, and the previews usually took fifteen minutes anyway. It would have been a blessing that I didn't have to sit next to Kane or Luisa anyhow. But when we got in the theater, there was only one grouping of three, one grouping of two, and single seats everywhere else.
  Luisa climbed into the grouping of three, then looked at me defiantly, as if laying down a challenge. I wasn't going there and wasn't going to split up Nina and Javier, so I ended up sitting by myself in the back corner of the theater.
  The movie was terrible. I watched the heads of Luisa, Kane, and Declan, silhouetted in the light from the movie screen, feeling like shit. Luisa was sitting between them, in the spot meant for me. Somehow she had gotten the two Weeks boys, and I got the back row next to an elderly lady who smelled like old cheese and kept elbowing me in an epic battle over the armrest.
  When I saw Luisa stand to leave midmovie, I pushed out of the seat and went after her, intent on clearing the air.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Kane said, "Should we bother? We won't get seats together."
  We all agreed to go in anyway, because it was a horror movie that all of us wanted to see, and the previews usually took fifteen minutes anyway. It would have been a blessing that I didn't have to sit next to Kane or Luisa anyhow. But when we got in the theater, there was only one grouping of three, one grouping of two, and single seats everywhere else.
  Luisa climbed into the grouping of three, then looked at me defiantly, as if laying down a challenge. I wasn't going there and wasn't going to split up Nina and Javier, so I ended up sitting by myself in the back corner of the theater.
  The movie was terrible. I watched the heads of Luisa, Kane, and Declan, silhouetted in the light from the movie screen, feeling like shit. Luisa was sitting between them, in the spot meant for me. Somehow she had gotten the two Weeks boys, and I got the back row next to an elderly lady who smelled like old cheese and kept elbowing me in an epic battle over the armrest.
  When I saw Luisa stand to leave midmovie, I pushed out of the seat and went after her, intent on clearing the air.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the last five paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: August 31. Three days before the official start of school. That was the last I saw him. The details are hazy, like a dream. Sawyer sees to that. But the outcome is the same. Dad's gone. And we are alone with Mom and her whims.
  This early in the morning, the parking lot at Art's is empty. Not that it's ever crowded. When I lived in Boston, weather like this packed the stores with frantic people stocking up on bread and milk and toilet paper. But there simply are no people to pack Art's. It's a wonder the store stays in business, but a good thing it does. Otherwise we'd probably starve to death.
  I navigate around the old snowblower carcasses he has for sale on the sidewalk, then push open the heavy door. When the bell over the door tinkles, Elmer, who took over after Art died, stares at me like I'm a ghost. "Seda?"
  That's the most he's said to me, ever. Elmer's never been a talker, so if I go about my business, he should leave me alone. "Not today," I say, then turn to my list. It's a mile long and has things like hot cocoa and canned vegetables and bottled water on it.
  I slump against the canned goods display, then startle at the horrifically loud crash as half a dozen tomato soup cans go scattering and rolling in all directions. Elmer just scowls and picks up his crossword puzzle. I fish after the cans and restack them quickly. As I'm piling items into a basket and trying to decide whether I should buy the kids SpaghettiOs as a treat, the bell dings again and I hear a sound that makes me freeze.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: August 31. Three days before the official start of school. That was the last I saw him. The details are hazy, like a dream. Sawyer sees to that. But the outcome is the same. Dad's gone. And we are alone with Mom and her whims.
  This early in the morning, the parking lot at Art's is empty. Not that it's ever crowded. When I lived in Boston, weather like this packed the stores with frantic people stocking up on bread and milk and toilet paper. But there simply are no people to pack Art's. It's a wonder the store stays in business, but a good thing it does. Otherwise we'd probably starve to death.
  I navigate around the old snowblower carcasses he has for sale on the sidewalk, then push open the heavy door. When the bell over the door tinkles, Elmer, who took over after Art died, stares at me like I'm a ghost. "Seda?"
  That's the most he's said to me, ever. Elmer's never been a talker, so if I go about my business, he should leave me alone. "Not today," I say, then turn to my list. It's a mile long and has things like hot cocoa and canned vegetables and bottled water on it.
  I slump against the canned goods display, then startle at the horrifically loud crash as half a dozen tomato soup cans go scattering and rolling in all directions. Elmer just scowls and picks up his crossword puzzle. I fish after the cans and restack them quickly.