AudioBook
Top Talent
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
This is from accidentally in Love By Mimi Gene. Panel Off at any moment a man I'd never met approximately six foot three brown hair and soul piercing blue eyes, according to his online profile, would walk through the door of the Congo Lounge and scream hysterically at the sight of me. Okay, he wouldn't scream aloud anyway. Not that I was heinous. But anyone who looked closely enough might notice I was different. I felt the gentle wash of summer evening air as the door swung open. A tall man with sun kissed skin, broad shoulders and tussled brown hair floated inside. Yes, floated as if he'd written in on a cloud straight from Hot Man land. Oh, sweet Virgin of Guadalupe. Please be Jake, I muttered under my breath. Emma, he said in a deep, slow, churned voice. You are Emma, right? Curly shoulder length, red hair. 53 several crazed female stalkers for best friends. Oh, no, What had my roommates done? This is from Rules of Summer by Joanna Philbin. Are you ready? Isabel entered Rory's room in a cloud of M percent. It perfume. She looked like she was on her way toe a red carpet event. She wore an ivory crush, a dress, silver gladiator sandals and a cocktail ring that looked like one large pearl set in gold. Next to Isabel, she looked like she was about to do laundry. You look nice, Worry said. Great dress. Oh, this. I've had it forever. That's a nice top, You think? Uh, sure, Isabel said less confidently. Hey, I just need to get one thing. Come with me. Isabelle darted into a room, which turned out to be a bar. What are you doing? Worry asked. Just getting something for the party, Isabel said, pulling out a bottle of champagne. We can't drive with that in the car. Why not? Isabel asked. It's not open because we're under age. Isabelle smiled as if Rory were an adorable toddler. You have got to relax. Come on. She stood up and walked out of the room, swinging the golden bottle. This is from the woman upstairs by Claire Massoud. How angry! A my you don't want to know. I'm a good girl. I'm a nice girl. I'm a straight a straight laced good daughter, Good career girl, and I never stole anybody's boyfriend and I never ran out on a girlfriend and I'm good at my job and I'm great with kids. And I held my mother's hand when she died, and I speak to my father every day on the telephone every day. Mind you, it was supposed to say great artist on my tombstone, But if I died right now, it would say such a good teacher daughter friend instead, don't all women feel the same? The only difference is how much we know we feel it. How in touch we are with our fury. We're all furies, except the ones were too damn foolish. And my worry now is that we're brainwashing them from the cradle, and in the end, even the ones who are smart will be too damn foolish. What do I mean? I mean the second graders at Appleton Elementary, sometimes the first graders even, and by the time they get to my classroom to the third grade, they're well and truly gone. They're full of Lady Gaga and Katy Perry and French manicures and cute outfits, and they care how their hair looks in the third grade,