Michael Fell- Teenage Narrator, Audiobook, Dialogue
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Teen (13-17)Accents
North American (General) North American (US General American - GenAM)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
a magazine. Everything changed because of a magazine, but really, a series of glossy pages filled with half naked and provocative images, staple together and hidden between my mattress and box Spring really shouldn't have so much power, I guess. If I were honest, I would say the changes had been long coming, inevitable until deniable a magazine couldn't possibly crumble the very foundation on which my life was built. It would take something far more powerful to do that, however, to a 17 year old who embodied so much innocents and so much youth. Well, that kid, he blamed it all on the magazine. I pushed away my thoughts, took the stairs two at a time and bounded to my bedroom, which was to the left of the sweeping staircase. And at the end of the hallway, I had a corner room. The windows looked out over the private backyard in pool. The door swung open. The second my hand hit the knob, and I was momentarily surprised. I thought I latched it this morning on my way out. I always did. I wasn't the best housekeeper. Okay, find I was a slob, Mom told me almost daily. I needed to clean up my stuff. Why bother? I just have to get it back out. I solved the problem by learning to close the door. She didn't have to see the mess, and I didn't have to clean it. A genius. My feet stumbled a little because I was moving with haste, but also because they weren't expecting the door to give the way it did. The eyes flew up as I faltered over the threshold, I met another pair of surprised eyes. Mom, I straightened away from the door a row. She half gasped. I thought you had soccer practice. I left my gym bag, can't play without my shoes. Her gaze straight across the room to the standard red gym bag with white handles lying haphazardly near my dresser. One of the cleats was poking out of the top, along with a dirty sock. I hadn't realized, she said, mostly to herself, because clearly she didn't think I'd be home. She was perched on the corner of my unmade bed, neat and put together. As always, she was a stark contrast to the twisted navy blue comforter and white sheets, basically piles in the corner of the mattress. A few pillows still board the Indian from my head up near the wooden headboard, and my earbuds lay tangled off to the side. The wooden blinds were open now, letting in sunlight something this room didn't often see again. Why were the blinds open when I would just close them? A few hours later, I could see small particles of dust floating around lazily in the brightest beam streaking across the room. Yeah, maybe I should clean up a little in here. Oddly enough, it wasn't the mess that bothered me. Neither was finding her in here snooping. She was totally snooping. It was just easier to focus on the mess in here instead of everything else that was going on, Like what she'd found, what she currently gripped in her hands.