conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Rosa, UpRosa, Sylvia with the genre: Teen & Young Adult, Literature & Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'She, Myself, and I'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the first four paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: She, Myself, and I
  It's a plate glass window that reaches from the vinyl flooring to the ceiling, and it was the first significant thing that I noticed about this room—so different from my bedroom in my dark, terraced London home. The second thing: no British channels on the TV, apart from BBC America. Third: no mirrors. New health and safety guidelines, according to Jane, the sturdy, sweet-faced nurse who showed me around.
  The first time the chief surgeon came to visit me here in my room was the afternoon I arrived in Boston. Monzales has a daytime-soap doctor's voice. Husky, with a Mexican accent. He has a daytime-soap doctor's face and body, too. I've seen enough daytime TV these past few years to be pretty damn sure of my judgment on this. Broad shouldered, square jawed, with wavy dark hair, brushed back.
  Dr. Monzales was on an oatmeal-colored, regular-person's upholstered chair. His shirtsleeves were neatly rolled up, his muscular hands resting in his lap. Judging by his posture, we could have been discussing summer vacation plans or whether nuts make or break a chocolate brownie rather than the imminent end of my life as I know it.
  He hunched forward, palms spread, like a saint in a painting offering a blessing. "Of course, that is what we've all planned for so assiduously."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know five more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I'm on my way to the place where Sylvia almost died while comparing myself with her and coming up short. Yet just like that, at Joe's words, my pool of toxic thoughts drains, as if he pulled the plug on my brain. I realize there are only two people in the world who can do that: Elliot and Joe.
  After just enough time has passed that I don't think he's going to respond, he says, "Side effects of hanging out with you include but are not limited to a reduction in debilitating rumination, a resurgent sense of positivity, and the reinstatement of a belief that life can involve meaningful action and even pleasure."
  I take a deep breath. "I think maybe this is something I have to do on my own. But thanks. Will you wait here for me?"
  I guess there's only so much even the most reassuring words can do to a body in a situation like this. And now that we're here at the reservoir, mine is veering toward panic. If I get out and walk fast, at least there'll also be a physical reason for why my heart is pounding like this.
  After a couple of steps, I glance back, into the strengthening sun. It's pale gold, and it's bursting above the houses beyond the road.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Reverse the sentences.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: It's pale gold, and it's bursting above the houses beyond the road..
  After a couple of steps, I glance back, into the strengthening sun. If I get out and walk fast, at least there'll also be a physical reason for why my heart is pounding like this. And now that we're here at the reservoir, mine is veering toward panic. Will you wait here for me?"
  I guess there's only so much even the most reassuring words can do to a body in a situation like this. But thanks. "I think maybe this is something I have to do on my own."
  I take a deep breath.
  After just enough time has passed that I don't think he's going to respond, he says, "Side effects of hanging out with you include but are not limited to a reduction in debilitating rumination, a resurgent sense of positivity, and the reinstatement of a belief that life can involve meaningful action and even pleasure. I realize there are only two people in the world who can do that: Elliot and Joe. Yet just like that, at Joe's words, my pool of toxic thoughts drains, as if he pulled the plug on my brain.I'm on my way to the place where Sylvia almost died while comparing myself with her and coming up short
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the last five paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: From behind us, hidden by the hospital, comes the rattle of metal wheels across concrete. A delivery being pushed for unloading. A faint siren grows louder and louder. A gull flying overhead sounds its empty cry. I listen to all of this—the familiar noises of Dixon-Dudley Memorial—and to the throb of my pulse in my head.
  I don't know what's going to happen after I send off my story. I have no real idea where I'll be in a week, or a year.
  I lean against Joe and take a deep breath. My hand steady, my gaze focused on the screen of my phone, I start to speak.
  Thank you also to the staff and students at Lexington High School, and to Joe Douglas, my first teenage reader.
  Check out our entire catalog of great novels, graphic novels, and nonfiction for young adults and middle-grade readers at Amulet Books!