Do I sound even remotely average for a teen writer?

They were in the elevator. Mickey could see the way she hid her long red curls in her brown hoodie, the arms pushed up to her elbow so you could just see the sleeve of tattoos she had. He couldn’t exactly make out the design but he could tell it was swirly, with little twinkling dots like stars. Soft music spewed... show more They were in the elevator. Mickey could see the way she hid her long red curls in her brown hoodie, the arms pushed up to her elbow so you could just see the sleeve of tattoos she had. He couldn’t exactly make out the design but he could tell it was swirly, with little twinkling dots like stars.
Soft music spewed out from hidden speakers, and Mickey found himself humming to the tune. The girl looked up to him with an amused smile on her face, her eyes looking as if set on something far away from him, but he didn’t care. It was the face he had waited years to put a name to. The big blue irises were dazzling to him.
With Mickey’s usual joking attitude, he felt the urge to say something witty, but restrained it. He knew the girl’s personality, even if he didn’t know her name. Mickey could just tell she was the silent type, the sort of women who didn’t feel the need to fill every silence with pointless small talk. She was his opposite, so he was determined to be more like her, because to him, the term ‘opposites attract’ was a bunch of mumbo jumbo. Only people who had common grounds and could relate would eventually be together, everyone knew that.
So he smiled back at her, hoping she would be equally dazzled. If she was, she didn’t show it. The girl immediately dropped her gaze, her face almost angry as if Mickey’s actions didn’t please her.
In a disgruntled manner, Mickey lifted his gaze and peered at the elevator door’s awaiting for his exit. Or should it be their exit, Mickey thought, since they did live on the same floor. He pushed the notion aside, trying but not succeeding to focus on other things. Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him, and he asked.
“What’s wrong? Cat’s got your tongue?” To Mickey’s delight, he was replied with a smile, as if she were bemused in a laughable way. “That’s what I thought,” Mickey said mostly to himself as he stepped off the elevator when the doors opened.
They walked down the hall together. Mickey kept getting the pull to make her talk. He wanted to hear her voice, because it was a voice he’d spent time trying to imagine. He’d guessed it would be soft or like a ringing of bells.
“Do you speak?” he joked, running a hand through his black curls to prevent it from dangling into his eyes.
The girl laughed, and he caught his breath. “I can,” she said. It wasn’t a manly voice, not at all, but it still wasn’t bells. It had its own independence to it, and that pleased Mickey more than all the possibilities he had conjured up.
“Well,” Mickey said, straining to keep his voice even, “why don’t you?”
The girl smiled, but didn’t look up to see him. Her hands trailed along the wall as if waiting for something, her eyes set for the end of the long corridor. She had a light blush on her cheeks. “No one to talk to,” she said lowly.
“I’m always here, you know, right across the hall. Why don’t you call me sometime? I think I have a pen somewhere…” Mickey began to pat his pockets, seeming to have lost it somewhere at the gym, where he worked.
“No, no,” the nameless girl said quickly. “Just tell me. I can remember.”
Mickey told her his cell phone number and listened as the girl repeated it to herself.
Her fingers still trailed along the walls. When they encountered a small sign outside her door, she took the sign in her hands without looking at it. Her small hands ghosted across the door until finally reaching for the handle.
“It was nice to meet you,” she said uncertainly. “Mickey, isn’t it?”
Mickey nodded urgently, happy to see that she remembered him. “Yes,” he said, when she didn’t respond.
The girl smiled. “You sounded familiar. I’m Christina.”
“Can I call you Chris?” Mickey asked.
Her smile widened. “Most people do.”
“I’ll see you later than,” he hobbled off to his door across the hall, opening the lock with a feverish attitude.
“Later,” she muttered, unlocking her door with minor troubles and leaving without a look back.
It only occurred to him later that there was a reason for Chris’s peculiar attitude and the way her ocean-like blue eyes never seemed to focus. Like Mickey was in the dark, Chris’s eyes were sightless, but it didn’t change anything.




If you were wondering, yes, I have posted this before. I need extra critique, and I have cleaned it up a little. I wanted to know if I sound somewhat close to average, because I want to advance. Constructive criticism is encouraged as long as you're not a jerk about it. Thank you so much, ten points to best answer.
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