standard american accent and natural speed please
Josie waited until she could no longer hear the television in her mother's bedroom - Leno, not Letterman - and then rolled onto her side to watch the LED acrobatics of the digital clock. When it was 2:00 a.m., she decided it was safe, and she pulled back her covers and go out of bed. She knew how to sneak downstairs. She'd done it a couple of times before, meeting Matt outside in the backyard. One night, he'd texted her on her cell - 1/2 2 C U now. She had gone out to him in her pajamas, and for a moment when he touched her she actually thought she would slip through his fingers. There was only one langing where the floorboards creaked, and Josie knew enough to step over it. Downstairs, she rummaged through the stack of DVDs for the one she wanted - the one she didn't want to be caught viewing. Then she turned on the television, muting the sound so low she had to sit right on top of the screen and its built-in speakers to hear. The first person shown was Courtney. She held up her hand, blocking whoever had been videotaping. She was laughing, though; her long hair falling over her features like a screen of silk.
